Love doesn’t look like a bright red heart at all these days. It has just gone pear shaped, and all green. No one believes in it anymore.
It was a small spiral-bound little yellow book where I first saw his photograph. It was a black and white image of an oldish man. He must have been in his mid-60s. A shock of white hair framed a face that you couldn’t quite call handsome or otherwise.
Love doesn’t look like a bright red heart at all these days. It has just gone pear shaped, and all green. No one believes in it anymore.
I feel your pain, yes, I do! There was a time you used to be fit, and looked it too. No, it wasn’t a six pack tucked neatly into your low-waisters necessarily, but at least it was flat….ish. And the shoulders had the nice rounded look of one who knew how to work with his hands, if you know what I mean.
My hall of heroes has been awfully noisy for the last few months. Champions who inspired me through thought and deed have been keeling over like eager pins in a bowling alley.
In the cold inky blue of a frosty Beijing night, the Red Theatre stands out like a bright red flame emitting warmth and light. On a night like this even without the pre-booked ticket in my pocket, The Red Theatre would’ve called out to me like the open arms of a long lost lover in city full of strangers
Every time I open my book of heroes, a gust of wind blows a leaf away. And swirling with it into the great blue beyond disappears another life well lived, another inspired moment, another story that tells you that mortal though you be, these winds will carry your story on their lips into eternity if only you have the courage to dare.... To care.....!
It had been a long day. Grey and near freezing, there were a million needles flying with every gust of the cold old winds that whistle their way through thousand-year-old ramparts and shiny new towers jostling for space in this ancient city that has flourished and floundered and flourished again in the shadow of the Great Wall.
As autumn slowly meanders into winter, India’ homeless would gather around a handful of winter shelters and hope to survive the cold hungry nights. Invariably, there would be too many homeless and only a handful of shelters.
While the world watches the Les bleus collide with the all-blacks this Sunday to decide which set of massive sweaty arms get to drape themselves around the Rugby Union World Cup Trophy at the Eden Park in Auckland, a few kilometres away, in a quiet room in a hospital lay a man who wished he was there...
Should it be the pale white of a clinical death, away from the eyes of onlookers, on a tiled floor smelling vaguely of disinfectants mixed with a sudden terrified burst of faeces and an impending sense of doom, and the sudden cold touch of death as the lights go out?
“Amsterdam is an amazing city! It has this really nice ambience!! You must go thereâ€, GA was gushing. He had just returned from his honeymoon, and of all the sights and sounds from Champagne to Cologne, all he could remember was Amsterdam.
Every good story, I’m told, has a set-up, then a problem or a hurdle if you will, and then the climax. So this one is not going to be a good story, because the problem is the set-up, and we can’t talk about the climax. It’s a family magazine after all.
I always knew I was going to be rich and famous... Just like you all did too... But I tell you what... I really will be rich and famous when I grow up... Because now not only do I have a dream, I also have found the way to realise that dream.
August 26th is celebrated as National Dog Day through much of the first world. Dogs that have saved lives, dogs that have brought smiles and dogs that are waiting to be euthanised because there’s no one waiting to give them a home, are all recognised and celebrated for the space they share with us humans in our lives. On such a day, here’s a story from the vault to remind you of your responsibilities as a pet owner