The gallimaufry approach to life

He sat - legs slightly apart for more comfort - on a thick towel, sweat streaming down his face and dripping at his feet. Splick... Splick... Splick... He wiped his forehead with his other towel. Ulrike had always told him that a second towel made complete sense when in the sauna and, of course, Ulrike had known best. Even thirteen years after her death, he still followed the 'rules' that she had enforced in his life. Ulrike still knew best. He looked around. The usuals. The grey-haired, the overweight ("why can't they look after their bodies instead of over-indulging, those lazy good-for-nothings?”), the empty pendulous bosoms, the unkempt pubic hair. All of it was usual. There were of course a few new ones, curious as to what lay beyond the grey, clinical walls outside. Sunday was his sauna day, from 2pm to 4pm, and today was like every other Sunday. Fifteen minutes on the hourglass. He stood up, gathered his two towels and stepped down the pine benches to g...

257 flashed in little red dots on the screen on the opposite wall. She looked down at the little crumpled ticket she was holding: 258. She still didn't know where she was or how she'd got here. She did feel strange. Actually, what was strange was that she didn't feel anything, not hot or cold, not hungry, not tired. Nothing. Maybe she'd had a kind of fit or something and had been rushed to a hospital. The walls were white and there were magazines. Besides, the other people waiting didn't look too fresh either. "NUMBER 258. Come on, I haven't got all day." She jumped up and walked to the counter where a grey haired lady was sitting, typing on an outdated computer. "State your full name and date of birth." the woman said harshly. "Erm... Samantha Tamara Cayle ... 23rd of June 1980..." "Hmm... yes, Miss Cayle. Time of death 12.53 on March the 17th 2012." She punched a key every time she said a number. "Sorry, b...

"I told you to get off the phone and go and cook dinner!" "I'm trying to finish my home work. Leave me alone!" "Sorry about that. Now, where were we?... So, when its a C.O.D, then you need to check what the object of the sentence is, right?..." "That's the last time, now go help your mother!"  "Why should I? I'm at school all day and then I get home and have to do my homework. She's here all day, sitting on her fat ass, doing nothing. Just look at the state of the house, it's disgusting!" "What? If you don't like it here, you can f - ing leave!" " Sorry, I'm going to have to go.... Yeah, me ..." Her phone flew across the room and smashed against the opposite wall. She turned around,stood up and looked directly into his face. His eyes were wide open, barely blinking, his mouth, a thin hard line, his nostrils seemed to be the only thing moving as he breathed in and out, making a ki...

gallimaufry [ˌgælɪˈmɔːfrɪ] n pl -fries a jumble; hotchpotch [from French galimafrée ragout, hash, of unknown origin] I have just arrived in Düsseldorf, Germany to live for the second time round. The last time I was here, I was a (reasonably) young woman who used to take advantage of the location and prices of plane tickets from Düsseldorf, enjoying carefree braais near the Rhine with friends and my South African boyfriend and who lived on the 5th floor (with no lift) of a not very commendable building in Flingern. Beer and cigarettes and staying out until the small hours of the morning were our motivators for getting through the cold, drab winters and simply our way of life. I am writing this now while my toddler has her afternoon nap. Ah, how times have changed since those insouciant years. Now my life evolves around what to feed her, when to change her nappy and how to stop her climbing onto things and stealing all the chocolate. This blog ...