My own private Vanity Fair

An ASBO for Bob?

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Wed, 04 Apr 2007 16:31:00 +0000

I felt almost at home last week Wednesday; the sky was blue, I’d heard my daily dose of Afrikaans from a fellow commuter and Robert Mugabe was making headline news. In fact, it was rather surreal, and strangely satisfying, to have Bob’s mug on the front page of two consecutive editions of The Guardian just a few days earlier.

I guess it was comforting because after years of turning one of Africa’s most beautiful countries into a veritable graveyard of parched land and soul-destroyed people, it looks like there may be a tiny glimmer of light at the end of the Zim tunnel. Certainly it would appear that the silent observers around the world, and in Africa, have finally found some form of voice. True, the fat lady has not yet belted a tune and it will take more than just nudging for Mugabe and his cronies to take serious notice just yet, but if I were him, I think perhaps I would have started sweating just enough to risk ruining one of many Armani suits.

The other story - or theme, rather – that has dominated news of late is that of the various stabbings that have been taking place over London. Part of me feels sad but a bigger part of me is absolutely disgusted that these crimes, the senseless and preventable crimes that they are, are being committed by and on, young kids and teenagers. Crime in South Africa may be bad, but never in my life have I felt so angry and amazed as I do about youth crime in Britain. And the question that I continue to ask myself is; where are the parents when all this is happening? I should, I suppose, point out the obvious and acknowledge that no, I am not a parent and so cannot talk from any position of authority on the subject, but blimey, even I have enough common sense to know that young kids should not be allowed to roam the streets at 1am. Not, you understand, that late night wandering is the cause of crime, but it is indicative of the lack of parental – and social – authority, discipline and care, that goes hand in hand with this and other youth-related problems.I believe in human rights as much as the next person but I also know that there is such a thing as having too much freedom.

In response to some of the recent crimes, I heard a youth worker – himself a relatively young man – echo my views to BBC 1 on what is needed to tackle youth crime. It is not greater access to social support services, it is not rehabilitation programmes and counselling and it is not the application of the infamous ASBO; it is about a return to tough parenting. Children need guidance, discipline and boundaries and by taking the decision to become a parent – and yes, this is, by virtue of decisions around sex, an active decision - parents are accepting the responsibility of taking care of their child’s needs. Children like to push boundaries, and as growing, inquisitive beings this is acceptable. What is not acceptable, however, is allowing boundaries to be pushed over so that neither these, nor reasonable consequences, exist. Kids in the UK are allowed by society, their parents and the government to get away, quite literally, with murder because the powers that be have forgotten how to care appropriately.

The problem is not just that more and more kids are getting involved in gangs and crime, but that they take for granted the privileges that life in a first world country entails. So often I have wanted to take a few of these kids to Africa, show them just to what lengths children there will go to, to get access to education, to just one pair of shiny new shoes – that fit – and to a home with a tap.

Mugabe likes to blame everything on Britain and it is safe to say that he would quite happily lead Tony Blair to the gallows. Perhaps we can find a solution to help both parties. Maybe Tony should offer Zimbabwe a little prezzie; let’s send a gift pack of offending teen criminals to Zim - to open their eyes to real hardship – and perhaps in return one of them may be able to get close enough to Bob to do some damage with their choice of not-so-kiddie weapon. If all goes well and to my ideals, the reformed kids will return to the UK to spread the word of appreciation, respect and good fortune and Zim will find itself under good new leadership after its terrorised leader is forced to go into hiding in some dark corner. Ah, one can always dream…

Email Jen on vanity@southafrican.co.uk

SAMA sensation!

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 23:41:00 +0000

Not for the first time do I find I am grinning rather insanely to myself and feeling much like I imagine a proud parent would do watching a child collect a certificate at school. But this is so much bigger than school. This is the SAMAS (South African Music Awards) and though I am no parent, I am just so so so so so unbelievably proud of my brilliant friend Jon and his merry band of musicians, Cassette, who this evening were nominated for not 1, not 2 but 3 SAMA awards!!! This, he told me in a slightly tipsy phonecall from the glittering announcement ceremony in Fourways, is second only to the legendary Vusi Mahlasela who received 5 nominations! AND, the thing that has got all the journalists in a right old tizz is that this is the first time in 8 years that a white rock band has been nominated for Best Group/Duo!! Their other nominations are for Best Rock Album and also Best Pop Album. What makes all of this even more fabulous is that all the other nominees have been in the business for a number of years and are well established artists. But wait for it, this is just the start of Cassette rocking the veritable boat - and house!

Now, I insist you go directly to www.playcassette.com and then go out and buy their album Welcome Back to Earth!

I'm still here!

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Tue, 14 Nov 2006 22:40:00 +0000

Oops. I have been neglecting this blog, haven't I. Oops, again. The good news though is that I'm a tad more diligent about my fortnightly columns for the South African, if you missed the last one, here it is below. For more, visit The South African

****************************

T’was a wise person indeed who said that the only certainty in life is change. Possibly even the same sage soul who noted that the more things change, the more they stay the same!!

A little over a week ago, on a ticket destined for the non-existent ‘Jan Smuts’ airport, I touched down at Johannesburg International. In a few days time, however, I will fly out of the re-baptised O.R Tambo Airport. From that hub of travel, we drove towards Pretoria, stopping only to show a passport at the boerewors curtain border, which is when I noted that there is now a designated car-pool lane on the Ben Schoeman Highway – ja well no fine. What’s more, soon, thanks to a government re-capitalisation programme, ‘skoro-skoro’ taxis will (supposedly) be on their way out. Change of a grimmer kind came in the form of headline news a few days later telling of the death of the enigmatic Lebo Mathosa in a car accident, followed swiftly by ex Mr Lotto, Humphrey Khosa – also in a car accident. And today, in a slightly surprising gesture, President Mbeki was flying flags at half mast to mark the passing of Die Groot Krokodil, PW Botha. These are just the most notable changes to have happened during the course of the short week or so that I’ve been here – jeez, hope it wasn’t anything I said!

This being my first trip back to South Africa since I moving to Londonium some 13 months ago, I cannot help but notice that many other changes appear to have taken place. I have always prided myself on being fiercely patriotic and of an exceptionally positive outlook – and I choose to surround myself with people who share my views. It is for this reason that I must admit to being thrown a little off-balance at the moment as I see some of that positive spirit ebbing unwillingly and cautiously from people whom I know to be amongst our country’s staunchest supporters. Could it be that the honeymoon period that started 12 years ago is now really and truly over? Is this what real life feels like? And most importantly; what now? I feel perhaps that we are poised on the edge of a precipice of change – and, dare I even think it, it could go either way.

So, if we are teetering on this precipice, is it not within our rights now to ask when real positive changes will come to fruition? I WOULD like to know when crime will cease to be an issue. I WOULD like to know when poverty is set to disappear and when education, HIV Aids and corruption are due to come under control. I feel sure these are the changes that all of us, united in nationality would like to see.

An ex-colleague of mine, a foreigner, once noted that South Africans are South Africans above all else. I agree. I know it when I laugh as the radio DJ describes mannequins as “models that work for free”, when the car guard tells me my car is still safe on six wheels (four to drive on, one steering wheel and one spare!) and when the kids on the game-viewing vehicle in front of me bare their teethy joy when they see an elephant and wave at us, absolute strangers, with the exuberance of puppies as we drive past. This is my Africa, these are my people! I’ve been gulping in the familiar earthy smells and sounds of the bush these past few days, contemplating change in this most steadfast of environments, where time could stand still under a starry sky punctuated by the roar of lions and the call of birds. Out here, change seems inconsequential, but tomorrow, when I am once again in a city, I know that things will feel different.

Change must happen, this I realise, and though I am somewhat pensive at the moment, this is not to say that I or my peers have lost all that optimistic zeal, it’s just that reality is nudging in and in real life, as in business, things are expected to work. One of my best purchases this trip has been a piece of jewellery engraved with a quote from Madiba: “My country is rich in minerals and gems that lie beneath its soil, but I have always known that its greatest wealth is its people, finer and truer that the purest diamonds.” Like my countryfolk who wear their “I love Africa” T-shirts, I will wear this little trinket with particular pride. But I will wear it now also as a wish. As a hope that the people of the south will ensure that the future of our phenomenal country IS good, IS safe, IS sure.

Madonna and child

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Wed, 18 Oct 2006 18:20:00 +0000

So is it a publicity stunt gone somewhat awry or a genuine attempt to do something good? I'm not sure, but Madonna and Guy Ritchie's pending adoption of little David Banda from Malawi certainly has given rise to distinct 'for' and 'against' camps. At present, I must admit I am leaning towards the 'against' group, for various reasons. Amongst them is the fact that so many children, perhaps not as cute, or as visible as David are continuously overlooked by foreign adoptors. Read this and let me know what you think. I, in the meantime, will attempt to put my stance into words.
Oh and PS, mark my words; the couple haven't heard the last from the child's biological father.

Naked acoustics

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Thu, 31 Aug 2006 22:55:00 +0000

Last night I joined a pride of South Africans in Putney to watch Arno Carstens and Theo Crous sing us happy at the Half Moon. I stole the set list for my friend Andi and made small talk with Arno as we got it signed (Thanks, Jon and Toast, you're my permanent link to all musos in South Africa so I use your names in vain!) The event was, of course, sponsored by The South African so I had my column read back to me by my kick in the side, Nik. How odd. Of course, if you'd like to read this week's column, click here.

What would the world look like...

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Mon, 21 Aug 2006 21:37:00 +0000

...if there were no words?

What would our minds feel like, if there were no
.advertising on the station walls
..graffiti on the postbox
...instructions on our take away coffee cups
....newsprint on our Metros
.....rules on our plane tickets
......calorie counts on our chocolate bars
.......missing people on our tree trunks
........promotions on our matches.

Who's shoulder would we read over on the tube?
Where would we look?
Who would we see?
What would we like?
How would we be?

Stages of life

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Thu, 10 Aug 2006 00:05:00 +0000

Sometimes I feel like my life is one long music video. I sit inside myself and watch the world float by in musical waves. Sometimes the images are fuzzy, but always the flow is ongoing. And when there is real live music involved, well, the whole effect just somersaults! Like tonight. Sometimes, you see, it is good to go out on a school night because there is opportunity for learning. And if not learning, then at least remembering. Tonight, scuttled under a green and slouched on a couch I watched a stream of romantics strum their hearts on a little wooden platform. And I remembered that despite the various pretexts we put out there, all we really are is emotional beings trying desperately to read the map and plot the right path. And yes, sometimes the lyrics were trite while at other times one sat enthralled, drawn in by the presence of a gentle soul speaking truths - even if they were his truths only. But whether trite or truth, I have to admire these people for doing what I feel would be a very vulnerable exercise; sharing musings on life. And for a few minutes these people found their way into my life and sometimes, the power of a stage and a red light seemed strong enough to wrap us up in a momentary love-affair. And the pictures! The shadow of a mic moved as a bow across the heart of a gentle hat-wearing guitarist, turning the huckleberry finn himself into an instrument. And by his side, a glass of water on a once-velvet chair, seemed to me more art than article.

Yes, it was good to hear lyrics again. To have pace slowed down and lights turned low. Good to hear, to see and to be reminded.

Now can I call myself a Print-cess!

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Wed, 02 Aug 2006 20:46:00 +0000

SYNDICATION BABY!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Thu, 27 Jul 2006 20:52:00 +0000

I am tres pleased to announce that as of Tuesday 1 August, My own private Vanity Fair will be a feature column in London's The South African newspaper!

Eeverybody say "ay-ay"!

If you're in the UK, make sure you pick up a copy outside your favourite (um, well, you know...) Tube or rail station or visit www.southafrican.co.uk. I'm starting gently so it will only be every second week for starters but you can write to me at vanity@southafrican.co.uk if you feel I should be persuaded to write weekly.

Here we go...!

Heita buttercup!

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Tue, 18 Jul 2006 23:21:00 +0000

It feels like a bit of a chicken and egg story: did London tempratures rise to 34 degrees today to welcome Freshlyground, or did Freshlyground bump up the mercury and get London sizzling? Either way, the day was steamy and Zolani quite rightly kicked off her shoes so as to feel the dusty piece of Africa that was the stage at the Carling Islington academy tonight. And I know that I am sounding like a music review, but I'm afraid it can't be helped.

For those of you not in the know, Freshlyground is a 7-piece Afro-pop style band from mZansi. I feel kind of motherly about them because since first spying them at the Cape Town Jazz festival some three years ago now, I have watched this baby waddle into releative stardom. I say relative because hey, celeb culture is not exactly an African phenomenon. And look at them now, in London, performing to a sell out crowd. And in a way, this is surprising, because unlike the majority of so-called hot acts, Freshlyground has an air of quaintness about them - which the people are respondong to. There is a gentle hippiness to their lyrics which liken girls to buttercups, speak of politicians listening to the people, and is infused with the African culture of story-telling. And of love. Not just the hot sweaty lustful stuff, or even the sweetly romantic stuff, but love of humanity, of sun, of culture and of life. Certainly there was a lot of love in the room. I personally sang my little heart out with the lovely black man to my right, and shook my African booty alongside the smiling coloured lady to my left. And this to me is the spirit of Africa. This is what gets under your skin and into your blood. This is the spirit of a grounded continent, a sun-soaked, dry-earthed, ryhthm-swayed triangle of the earth that I feel blessed to call home.

To feel that positive energy it seems hard to believe that ours is still a continent of strife and violence. If only I could scoop this energy up in a swollen gourd and deliver it to Madiba on this, his 88th birthday, and give him the power to annoint the whole land with it.

For now, I guess, it is at least good to know that despite the difficulties she suffers, that warm heart of Africa still beats and her people, wherever they are in the world, are clapping to the rhythm.

When poetry takes over

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Sun, 25 Jun 2006 13:50:00 +0000

I'm not a poet. Never will be. But there are times when poetry, sometimes obscure in shape and form, seems the most logical and successful organiser of thoughts, a flask of emotion. I have been known to scribble my own personal set of stanzas, but to lay them bare in the world requires a strength that I am not quite in possession of. Perhaps that's okay. For me, writing is a cathartic excercise, a healing undertaken with words. Sylvia would understand this. And Martin is there for the happy times. And Stevie, well, one of Stevie's sticks in my mind always:

Not waving But Drowning
- Stevie Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

--

Oh don't worry. It's just thinking, not drowning.

A soleful fire

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Sun, 25 Jun 2006 10:40:00 +0000

More feet on fire
Originally uploaded by Jen_Smit.

People are precious

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Wed, 21 Jun 2006 23:34:00 +0000

For all the ease that modern communication affords us, I have verifiable proof that no text message, no missed call, no voicemail left or email received is in any measure equal to the satisfaction of a smile shared, a hand touched or an eye met.

It may well be possible to live one's life from the safety of one room - shop online, date online and play online - but when I spend an evening like this evening, in the company of good friends, smothered in an array of textures and moods to tickle the senses, I am reminded all too clearly how important people are. Real people. People with hang ups and hardships, quirks and confusions, twinkles and passions. To be sure, I am and have always been a social person, but in quiet moments of contemplation, nights like tonight serve to revitalise the senses and remind me how much I do indeed love my friends. This is perhaps especially true in a foreign environment where one's friends naturally conjugate into 'framily'. The fact that we have all known eachother a relatively short time is neither here nor there (just as 1999 is neither now, nor never, never - no?). The fact is, we share an energy, an Iggy Pop lust for life and a retro keeness for community.

This is why we live.

Birth right

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Wed, 14 Jun 2006 22:58:00 +0000

Well will ya look at that! H&M, budget saviour of teenage girls and throwaway fashionistas, knows where Windhoek is! AND Walvis Bay! It is, you must admit, quite astounding what young lady Pitt-Jolie (or is that Jolie-Pitt) has accomplished in her short life. For I can only explain this latest H&M window display, a sandy homage to Namibia, to baby Shiloh Novel Jolie Pitt (or Pitt Jolie) - the most anticipated baby in celeb land in about 20 years! Just like it has been said that war is God's way of teaching American's geography, this little excercise may well be his way of highighting the case of Africa amongst celebs and fashionistas.

Of course, did you hear just how irate it made the Hollywood set? Humpf, they moaned, "what's wrong with our hospitals?" Now, now, no need to get jealous, but I suspect that this latest celeb birth may give rise to several copycat arrivals. After all, they're not the most original of people, celebs, are they. Just think about baby names. Gwynnie got great coverage with Apple, Jamie cemented his foodie status with Honey Poppy and now, desperate for some exposure, any exposure, one of the ex-spice girl Mels has Bluebell Madonna (bestill my beating heart...). But baby names are so last gestation. Time to move on and start at the very beginning, so to speak, with the birth. Mark my words. Scan the pages to see which celeb is the next to pop and my guess is some obscure little spot of land will find itself printing out a new passport for its newest citizen.

But I wonder: will any of them choose Iraq?

Waving the flag of humanity

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Sun, 04 Jun 2006 15:51:00 +0000

I've just tried some of that pearl enriched dedorant - supposed to transform your armpits into things of beauty beyond compare. Call me a skeptic, but I'm not convinced that it works. Certainly I haven't noticed a hunk from the other side of the room mesmerised by the gorgeousness of my pits. Disappointing. But I guess pearls belong in oysters - and you don't hear people saying 'the world is your armpit', now do you.

I received said deodorant as part of the goodie bag that we 10 000 London ladies were given this morning after completing the 5km Race for Life in aid of Cancer Research UK. As you may know, though i have been known to run a few kilometres here and there, the thought of a race generally fills me with dread. Yet alighting from the tube at Farringdon this morning to find myself bouyed along a sea of pink, the little flutterbies of delicious energy were awakened and I remembered, as I always do, just how much I enjoy taking part in events like this. Part of the attraction I think is the sense of community that one experiences. Most of us live such fast-paced and fairly selfish lives and the concept of community has become so diluted. But when you're out there, just you and the 10 000, all from different walks of life but drawn together for a common cause, you can't help but feel good. And of course it was sunny! Yes, sunny on a Sunday in London! St Pauls seemed to gleam against the blue sky and churches across the city were ding-donging their bells in celebration.

What made this particular race so moving though - if you'll excuse the pun - was the focus on people. Real people who have suffered through cancer. It was hard not to get emotional when reading the dedications so lovingly pinned to the backs of each runner. "For my nan"; "For my beautiful mum, proud on her cloud"; "For my daughter, my husband and my best friend". That's a lot to take in in so few simply put words. And seeing a mother and daughter walking hand in hand in memory of their mother and grandmother, well, it was as tender a scene as I have ever seen in a crowd.

Watching it all from a little introspective part of myself I marvelled at the fact that even those who had no one person in mind to run for, had turned up to lend their support to the fight against cancer. It struck me because over the past year I have felt overwhelmed by my growing sense of social awareness. I have never thought of myself as a campaigner, never felt driven enough by any one cause to get out there and show it, and yet I find myself in a space and time where given the opportunity to 'give it all up' and fight for a cause, stick up for the world and its people, I would probably do it. The fact that over 1 million women around the country went out today to run for Cancer Research UK makes me thinnk that this is an increasing phenomenon.

Which brings me back around to community.

Could it be that community, being no longer so much a geographic or even cultural concept, is re-emerging as a social animal? Is the social cause the new community? The world is a small place, after all and traditional social groups are now spread across the planet - I only have to look at my own family and friends, scattered across Africa, the antipodes and the UK to know that this is true. We're people, we need to belong to things. Most people will now recognise the African word Ubuntu, but take the full Zulu maxim "umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu" and you'll learn that "a person is a person because of other people".

The world is a tragically wonderful place but to survive it and smile I guess we need other people. And a flag to wave.

Home and away

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Mon, 29 May 2006 21:20:00 +0000

Last night I went home, if only for a little while. Which was somewhat surprising considering that I'm pretty sure it was my mother, not I, who earlier in the day had boarded the Gatwick Express to head back to Jozi.

Yet there I was, surrealy so, sitting in Soho's Lyric theatre tapping my tootsies to Tamara Dey and coming up for air in between waves of laughter brought on by the likes of David Kau, Martin Jonas and Riaad Moosa; the SA comedy heavyweights as they like to be called.

And even old faithfull, Alex Jay was there. Ag sweet man!

And, ahem, I know this will sound strange, so I'll whisper, but there were real proper black people there too! Not many, granted, but at least they were real; the kind of people that have rhythm, can say 'eish' and think that Ainsley Harriott sounds 'bietjie odd'.

Now now, before you get all uppity with me for talking race, let me tell you why.

You see it's an odd thing, to find yourself surrounded by South Africans, chuckling knowingly through South African humour in a gilded theatre one step out of the glow of Piccadilly Circus's lightspan. And it is in this setting, when one is out of context, that aspects of home strike, well, home.

And last night, it was race and culture.

You see, I think that without exception, each of the nine comedians that appeared used as a source of material either black people, coloured people, Afrikaners or Indians - yes, as black and white as that. And sure, it was refreshing to see a full cultural range of players but I couldn't help but think how even now, race and culture appears to be such a central theme in South African life. And I'll admit, it was strange and my knee-jerk reaction was 'this isn't right'.

I've always felt lucky to be born when I was, for as a child of the late seventies I am young enough not to have to bear the guilt of apartheid, old enough to remember its reality and consequences and lucky enough to have a vibrant social mix of friends. I suppose I forget though, that we've only been a democracy for 12 years and that this is not nearly time enough to shake free entirely of the race cloud that hovered over our country for so long.

But actually, is cultural categorisation of this nature necessarily a bad thing?

Living in London, a cosmopolitan city if ever there was one, I am struck by two things. 1) How many cultures exist here but, sadly, 2) how strength of culture is being diluted. It might be that I am alone in this, but for me the complexity and diversity of cultures is what makes the world an interesting place and it saddens me that 'democracy' and 'equality' are to a certain extent watering down the richness of cultural diversity. As a traveller I am drawn to places where life, not just landscape, is different. Yet as the world 'advances' so its people become achingly similar.

What will all this mean for South Africa? Will our unique past, a canvas not lighty touched by the brushstoke of race, serve to protect our differences, or will our quest to break free from our past be such that in its demise, apartheid, the one system that recognised racial and cultural differences (albeit negatively), will lead directly to the total equalisation of our people? Is our future, a product of our past?

Like most of my questions, this one has no clear answer. Yet. I suppose that for now, comedy is just one of the many tools employed in the exploration of our diversity, and so though superficially it may seem wrong, perhaps its themes are healthy. It will be nice though when our colourful make-up is served as a flavour-enhancing condiment, rather than as the main course!

Friendly is as friendly does

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Mon, 22 May 2006 21:06:00 +0000

Oh I do love a good survey! Nothing like a few stats to tell you what you're supposed to agree with. So how delightful to open my daily e-update from the Mail & Guardian with the results from a British survey proclaiming once and for all, apparently, that the French are rude and boring. (And here we all were expecting the Brits to say "we're sorry about Waterloo, come over here and give us a hug".)

So yes, 46% of the 6 000 people surveyed by travellers' website Where Are You Now (Wayn) said the French were the most unfriendly nation on the planet. But if this is the case, I just have to ask, what about the people who travel on public transport? Were they not surveyed?

You see my confusion is this; on the two trips I've made to Paris this year, one of the things that strikes a visitor coming from Britain is that unlike the silent London Underground, there is the constant buzz of conversation to be heard throughout the Paris Metro system. To a pukka Londoner it must seem positively dirty. I mean really, talking on the train - disgusting. And all that eye contact; makes me shudder.
The London Underground by contrast is a place where, so long as a station announcement isn't being made, you probably *could* hear a pin drop. And if it fell near you, you'd probably see it too because your eyes would be focused on the floor - just where the Brits like 'em!

But it's not all bad, there is one thing sure to provoke a smile and a bit of friendly banter.

A spot 'o crime.

Yup, in the land where everyone understands the meaning of ASBO, there's nothing like a bit of drama to bring out the smiles. I saw this in action just this afternoon when a train was held at Great Portland Street station so that the police could contain a 'violent customer' in carriage one. As if by some miracle, people on the platform started smiling. And then talking. To eachother. And I did it too. It was just so 'kumbaya-ish without the hand-holding. All of us there together, all tribal-like and smiling, bound by curiosity and just a little bit of vulturous glee. Heck, I even took my earphones out my ears!

True, this is not a trait wholly attributable to the Brits - have you ever had to pass on bad news to someone and found it hard not to grin? Still, when one comes from Africa where even the most unfortunate members of society seem only too ready to offer a smile, it does seem rather hypocritical of the Brits to be labelling the French in this way.

Now what was that saying about a pot and a kettle?

Sunday morning with AQA and George

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Sun, 21 May 2006 10:30:00 +0000

Our kitchen table is not just a kitchen table, it's a platform for discovery, a site for solutions and the stable frame to a web of somewhat tenuous analysis. We like to sit there of an evening or over breakfast, just we three girls - and maybe one of the Michaels: George or Jackson - and casually 'sort it all out'.

So it was that I made my way home from the neon buzz of Soho, at a rather respectable hour on Friday night, to find that in fact, the party had been at my house all along. Not that this was a guest-heavy affair, because I've realised that a party isn't necessarily defined by the number of guests, but rather by the hue of the red, the flamboyance of the hands and the clamour of the conversation. And of course, you'll always find them in the kitchen at parties. Around our table. And loathe though I am to admit that we are no different to 99% of women out there who are prone to discussions of the relationship kind, this is generally where all red-laced conversations tend to lean at 3am on a Saturday morning. You see, the girls have dubbed this simultaneously The Year of the Date and The Year of Yes. Both laudable, I reckon. But will these two ever be that simple when behind it all are two undeniable truths: 1)women are analysers and 2) it's all A Game.

Frankly, I feel sorry for men. How can you not when you know in what minutiae we oestogenised beings analyse a situation? One would think that like any vice, being aware of it would be enough to quell it, but when it comes to Analysis of The Game, methinks women are just naturally programmed to this and little short of shock therapy would be able to change it. And the problem is that we analyse men not based on the male brains that they actually have, but on the female brains we imagine them to have. By this I mean that it being impossible for us to know exactly how a man's mind functions, we have no other option but to base our deciphering on the only encoding device we know; the female mind. And though I do not wish to offend the male psyche, I do feel that perhaps the most deceptive thing about men is that they are not nearly as deceptive as what we women think! How about that lads, your secret weapon, your guile, is fully loaded at the hands of women!

Oh for a real-life AQA! True, only AQA as it currently exists is kind enough to tell me that Johnny Depp has indeed been a fool and will come running to my open arms any day now, but in truth, I'd much rather know what real life TargetManA or TargetManB are thinking!! And what, pray tell, one needs to do to score in The Game!

Until then, I guess the girls and I will have to rely on the good old kitchen table. That and George Micheal.

Forget CDs, MP3s are a pain. All you need...

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Fri, 19 May 2006 12:59:00 +0000

...is a Cassette!

Or to be linguistically correct, not just any old cassette but THEE Cassette.

I figure since right now I don't have a job marketing other people for money, I may as well market something I believe in for no money (just undying adoration, right Cassette?!). And isn't it our duty to support SA music even from London, Melbourne, Paris...?

So you see, the thing is this: that talented bunch of Jozi musicians, Cassette, launched their debut album Welcome Back to Earth on Monday this week. They've also just recently signed to the biggest record company in the world, Sony/ BMG, so hot things are afoot! BUT they really, really need to sell 4000 copies of their album to make absolutely sure that Sony/ BMG can do crackerjack things with them. And this is where you come in. For a paltry £10 - or thereabouts - you can go online and buy the album that made Entertainment Africa's 'album of the week' (and it's only been out 5 days!). And because I know that product endorsement is important to some people, how about this: Dave Thompson - yes the judge from Idols (oh, and head of BMG in SA) - has said that "Cassette is one of the most original and dynamic live and recording acts seen in South Africa for many years.Watch out everybody !!". Also, when I opened my electonic newsletter form the Mail & Guardian this morning, what did I see mentioned on the front page as 'hot and happening this weekend?": Cassette launch their truly original pop-rock sound on CD this week in Jozi at The Bohemian on May 19 and Tanz Café on May 25!!!

Okay, so maybe you're now a little bit interested. But you want to hear what they sound like before you buy an album. Fair enough. Go to http://www.5fm.co.za/news_5fm_details.asp?id=4453 and read more about Cassette AND LISTEN TO THEM LIVE ON 5FM TOMORROW VIA STREAMING AUDIO. (That will be between 4pm and 5pm UK time, folks)

Right kids, you know what to do. Go to www.playcassette.com and buy the album. Oh, but I should mention, the site is having some teeny weeny problems this week - I think it got overexcited about the album launch - so in the words of Jon Savage, Cassette's fontman, 'it's a bit fook-ed'. BUT the online store is apparently working - click on the record player icon in the top tool-bar.

If you are in the South of Africa you can buy the album from any Musica, Look & Listen or CD Wherehouse for a piffling R99. Tell your friends, tell your family, and buy a copy for each of your pets.

Worthy research?

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Thu, 18 May 2006 22:14:00 +0000

Apparently my brain is a bit special. Apparently I display a phenomenon - yes, a phenomenon - known as synaesthesia. It is estimated that 1 in 2000 people are 'synaesthetes' but Catherine says she suspects there are more of us lurking out there.

Catherine is a PHD student and because of my 'special' brain, I'm participating in her neurological study. On Tuesday I filled out a questionnaire, today I played neuro computer games and next week, two Italian chaps will douse my hair in gel, stick probes on my head and measure brain activity for a couple of hours. No comment please.

Taking part in this research study I've been reminded how the range of research subjects out there has always astounded me. I mean, did you know that there is a name for the conditon whereby someone feels they are about to sneeze and so look at a light in order to bring it on? Yip, uh-huh, it's true. But who in the world figured that this behaviour was worthy of a full study and who, pray tell, felt it viable enough to fund and publish it?

I think perhaps I would like to commission a study into the number of research projects currently being carried out across the planet. Yes, all of them. I'll bet there'll be some winners out there. I hope someone's working on a project to explain why gnomes only come in primary colours - what's wrong with pastels - and there had better be one explaining how it is physically possible for women to miss the toilet bowl!

But actually, I've got a better one. I'd like to see research done into the luck of birth. Seriously, more and more I look around me and think: how is it that I had the good fortune to be born into the family, society and culture that I was? Is there a formula that can explain how I, my me-ness rather than my body, came to be placed where it was and not in the guise of a starving Congolese child or an exploited Thai factory worker? Or a chav.

I guess it was my little shopping trip to a slightly ahem, uncouth, area of London today that pompted this thought again. And forgive me a 'Sex in the Cityism' but, "I couldn't help but wonder": where is the line between snobbery and fear? Truly. I like to think of myself as a pretty liberal type - some of my best friends are white middle class heterosexuals* - but walking around certain parts of London, I feel just a little out of my depth and it concerns me that I seem to be able to look at other people with a sense of unexplained prejudice. Or is it unexplained? And is it preudice, pity or merely anthropological curiosty? And if it's wrong does that make me a snob? Perhaps I just don't get the whole sports gear and 'bling' look and because of the circumstances I was born into, seeing teenage mothers - in the first world!!! - provokes a shaking of the head.

Somebody, please get researching. Oh but hang on, I have to sneeze...

*Yes, yes, I know. Bad joke.

The raison d'etre...

noreply@blogger.com (Jen Smit) — Wed, 17 May 2006 15:54:00 +0000

Once upon a time I started a blog. A sweet little thing, all bedecked in pink, which allowed my friends and family a little window into my life in London Town. I spoke of the garden gnomes I met in Ireland, the human race I ran in Paris and the cocktails I laughed over in Brixton. I also shared my dispair at the state of the world, the crisis that is Aids in Africa and the dire state of British youth. For some reason people seemed to like it. And then people started suggesting I write a book. Or something. SJP did the fabulous columnist thing on the telly while balancing in Manolos. Me, I'm lagging a little in the fame department but have blog, will publish. And so, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to share with you the thoughts that distract me from real work in this, My own private Vanity Fair.

Brace yourselves...