Some observers might have thought that our MPs were sufficiently men and women of the world not to be shocked by the presence of a sex shop so close to their place of work.
They clearly don’t understand how easily such an emporium could distract parliamentarians from their important legislative duties. It could replace matters of state in their minds with sexual imaginings.
Tim Noakes's high-fat, low-carbohydrate diet may well enable you to lose weight – some of my friends are mere shadows of their former selves after following it, and a photograph of Noakes himself, with his belt tightened several notches, shows how scrawny you can become, if you like that sort of thing.
I listened to his debate with my old friend Lionel Opie (actually, Tim is an old friend, too – many years ago before he was famous we flew up to East London together where we were joint speakers at a high-school prize-giving), and decided to stick with Lionel in my eating habits.
UCT, my alma mater, could take a leaf out of my wife’s, Stellenbosch, where a body called the Centre for Inclusivity is looking far beyond mere race as a criterion for student admission.
UCT’s council has annoyed various student bodies by deciding that race should not be the sole deciding factor, but the Centre of Inclusivity has shown that race is just the start of transformation and characterised Stellenbosch University as too “Afrikaans, white, male, heterosexual and Christian”.
Who said history doesn’t repeat itself. For me this week it did, in a way I would naturally have preferred it didn’t.
Many years ago I and my young family went on holiday to Ceres, having booked a week in one of those chalets under the pine trees. Our old kombi was laden down with everything bar the kitchen sink, and half-way up Bain’s Kloof the engine blew with a shattering explosion.
Motoring through what is called the Midlands Meander in KwaZulu-Natal we decided to pop into one of the province’s top private schools, Michaelhouse – not just because it is featured in the book and movie Spud but because a few of my mates are listed among its most illustrious matriculants.
One is cosmologist George Ellis, who I’ve known since we climbed mountains together as students. Another is my late newspaper colleague Barry Streek. When Spud was first published, Barry and I were fellow weekend guests of a mutual friend, and for two days he never lifted his nose out of the book.