Why do people who want to make horrible hateful posts on Facebook pages or news stories almost always use pseudonoms? What kind of person has such strong opinions that they feel compelled to share, but are too afraid to say who they are?
Why is it that even the graveyards of Moorreesburg (and, I'm sure, many other places) reflect the disparity and inequalities in our society? The solid, granite-entombed citizens at the top of the hill and piles of sand and wooden crosses further down. If you look closely, you'll see that the flowers on this grave are inside water-filled, upturned cooldrink bottles. Ingenious.
We were at Moorreesburg's graveyard so that Greg could bury Margaret, one of Cape Town's homeless whose sister lives here. What was really heartening was the fact that two official government Social Welfare cars brought people who had known her and worked with her to the service.
What on earth made the designers of this hotel on Cape Town's Orange St think it was a good idea to put a kitchy gold couch in the lift?
Especially as the lift only feeds three floors! Seriously, not even time to sit down.
Why don't I get to spend more quality time with my sons? Why is life so often a rush? Why doesn't someone realise how incredibly talented Simon is (including himself?). Why can't I bottle happiness and contentment and give it out in copius quantities to the people I love (and the ones I don't... it would make even them into better people)?