I look at him bent over the table; intently completing the dailies Sudoku puzzle and the adage ‘I am my father’s daughter’ could not have been any clearer than at this moment. I have his hair; the wispy hair that grows too fast for its own good. It is the

I continue to wear the new girl tag around my neck. I continue to wear it because I haven’t quite settled in to the regularity of a routine. A routine which includes, among other things, a payday that comes at the end of the month. So it was that on

It is wrong for a woman to decide a man’s pleasuring prowess based on the first kiss only. Maybe his cardboard lips were purely out of the nervousness your grace and beauty stirred. Maybe his sweaty palms were the reason he wrapped his arms too awkwardly around your waist. Maybe

The voice on the other end of the line is gentle yet coaxing. I have reached her office. I am speaking to her personal assistant. I make my introduction and the PA asks me what my problem is. I explain it with the most sincerity and most pithy I can

My girl Annette got married. Hold on, this was no ordinary wedding. I was not one of those guests who attended the event as an excuse to flaunt a dressy little piece. Or one of those who arrived fashionably late to make spiteful remarks about the choice of theme colour,

Stephen King’s memoir, On Writing, is a book I have read more times than my niece can count. The memoir was recommended from blogger Joey (of Joeytales. God bless this dear). Joey recommended the book on 8 January, at 12.47PM. I downloaded the e-book at 12.49PM. I started to read