The Strathyre home has been a refuge for abandoned and abused girls for nearly 50 years, but it may soon close due to a funding crisis.
Anti-Americanism and Sinophobia are a chimera that our government should help to disabuse our professional protesters of, writes Khadija Magardie.
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/ 9 September 2008
By Jove, who would’ve thought it? That with our delicate constitutions and proneness to osteomyelitis, we’d still be allowed. Into the army, that is. We? Girls, that is. But just when we’re given the chance to prove our mettle, we go and stuff it up. And to make it worse, it had to be by those rapacious Iraqis!
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/ 27 November 2006
And there I stood: eyes downcast, in all my crimson shame. As my eyes welled with the pools of my disgrace, and the tips of my (well-covered) ears burned, I felt myself transported to the cobbled streets of … Salem, Massachussets — and I could almost get a whiff of the smoke as the tinders licked at my (hosed) feet. My crime was read out: guilty of immodest dress unbefitting a woman of The Faith.
Dubya couldn’t have been very happy when he was told his nemesis may have gone out smiling. Freshly satiated with an alcohol-free nightcap, Psalm 23 at his side, and about to lay his head next to Laura’s on his all-natural Martha Stewart buckwheat pillow, who would blame the plaid pyjama president of the world superpower for feeling a tad envious.
I’ve always believed the military is no place for pussies (feminist gallery: exeunt omnes). And when countries steeped in centuries-old traditions and ideas regarding the place of ”their women” suddenly find themselves in the terrain of a 21st-century war zone, it doesn’t help when the new guy on the block starts rubbing ”his women” in your face.
”There wasn’t one handy.” And so it came to pass that The Elephant himself, u-Msholozi, departed the real world. He is now said to be keeping company with the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny — in the Land of the Tall Tale. They also say his days of financial woe are over, with at least one confirmed sighting of leprechauns at Nkandla.
A lot happened during the time the so-called Muslim faithful set about their holy task of riot, pillage and arson over the notoriously unfunny caricatures of Islam’s last prophet. The shackled, manacled and hooded Muslim detainees on hunger strike against their indefinite detention at Camp X-Ray were being nourished with tubes shoved down their throats.
Some of the lesser martial arts conjure up images of sterile white suits; of politeness and Zen garden sensibility. The world of kung-fu is about Buddha figurines with red lips, licentious villains, Bruce Lee’s abs and crimes of passion. But whereas cinema buffs and trendy types are reaching for their elasticated black slippers, there are real, dedicated kung-fu disciples in the world — including South Africa.
That’s what happens when the gentry try to behave like common people. They themselves become common. But unlike August Strindberg’s Miss Julie, the same could hardly be said of Jemima Goldsmith, until recently aka Haiqa Khan. Fresh from the talaq queue, the blond billionaire’s daughter is partying up a storm with celebrities and the like in some of London’s poshest clubs.