There are few things that thrill a writer like seeing a stranger reading their novel! Makes you want to run up and hug them! Thank them! Ask them where they are in the book, what they think so far, where they think the story is going… In fact, you get so excited that you need to NOT do any of those things in case they stop reading because the author is dodgy.

The next best thing is when a darling friend spots someone reading your book on a bus in a far flung city and your friend gets so excited that she asks the chick (who is gorgeous and blonde and probably the target of a gazillion stalkers already) if she can take a photo of her, which probably sounds mad but coming from your friend who is gorgeous and stylish and bubbling with enthusiasm it’s not quite as dodgy as being approached by the author and…whew!

Thank you, gorgeous chicks, for making my day. I am grinning and bouncing and absolutely delighted!

It’s no secret that my second novel deals with disappearing children. For months I’ve been researching human trafficking, illegal migration, baby laundering and muti killings. There’ve been days when I’ve literally sobbed at my laptop as I digest what I’m reading.

And people always ask how often this happens? We all want to believe that these stats are somehow not related to us. Kids are taken from everywhere else, not from our lovely lush green suburbs.

On Friday afternoon, I heard the below story and it sent chills down my spine. Because it’s happening right now, right here and right under our noses.

On Friday morning at 11am, one of our lovely Parkwood domestic workers (let’s call her Ms A) was walking her 3 and a half year old ward (a little girl) home from the Parkview library’s reading hour. They walked around the Zoo Lake and as they reached the children’s play area opposite Moyo, she noticed a group of 10 loitering adult men. One of the men split away from the group and approached Ms A. The little girl scampered across to play on the climbing gym.

The man spoke to Ms A in English with a Nigerian accent, wore jeans and a tee-shirt and had a dark complexion. He asked how Ms A was and did the usual longwinded greeting. After a few moments, he said he wanted to make a deal with Ms A. He wanted the child, he explained. He would pay a LOT of money for the child. He needed a white child, he said.

As his request became clearer, Ms A realised that he was being serious. She grabbed the little girl and screamed and screamed and screamed.

She was heard by a couple who were playing with their own children on the climbing gym. They came over and asked if they could help. It’s unclear how long the Nigerian man hung around, but he certainly stayed long enough for this couple to snap a photograph of him. For me, this smacks of arrogance and confidence. He was neither threatened nor scared by Ms A or the couple.

The couple said they’d contact the newspapers and make sure his picture was circulated in the press. Unfortunately they never gave their contact details to Ms A and so now we can’t trace them. I hope they do get the photos to the newspapers as it might assist the police and would definitely assist concerned parents.

And then the Nigerians disappeared, gone as quickly as the monsters in your nightmares when you wake.

There are so many iterations of what might happen now. The Nigerians could move to another park, there are plenty in the area where children play. Maybe they change their tactics. Maybe next time they grab the child and run, and what could any of us do against ten men working as a team? Maybe they choose a softer target, one adult with two children? A grandparent on a play date with their grandchild? The permutations are endless and chilling.

This is a story that needs to be shared. This terrible reality needs to be understood and guarded against.

I’ve contacted Rosebank Killarney Gazette and they’ve assigned a journalist to the story. We’d love the story told on 702. The mother of the little girl has put a petition together to send to the councilor of our area. The SA Police needs to come back with a better answer than “we can’t do anything because no crime has taken place.”

Below is a small extract from my second novel, based on my research and reading, which offers a brief summary of what happens to the children that disappear. In the extract, Morris is talking at a benefit about the plight of disappearing children in South Africa.

‘In our beautiful country, children disappear all the time. One minute they’re there, laughing and playing and exploring, and the next they’re gone.

So where do these children go?

We’ve all heard the terrible stories about paedophiles. But children disappear for other reasons too.

In our country, babies are are bought, kidnapped and stolen. If they’re taken young enough, it constitutes the perfect crime. A baby remembers nothing.

Babies are laundered. Like illegal money, they’re illegally sourced then sold like commodities. They get laundered through international adoption agencies and come out squeaky clean and legal for first world adoptions.

Sometimes they take all the kids in a family. The babies are laundered and the older children are forced to work. We are surrounded by illegal child labour. If we looked, we’d see it every day. Small kids beg for money on the streets. Young girls and boys work in restaurant kitchens, cleaning houses and working on farms. Young boys work as illegal miners. Like canaries in cages, children working in mine shafts are expendable.

And these children are the lucky ones that escape prostitution and muti killings.

And it is not only underprivileged children that disappear. Children are taken from schools and shopping centres and from behind our high walls and security fences. One minute they’re up a tree in their garden, the next they’re gone.’

As I write this blog post, Bug is standing at my knees trying to get my attention. She’s gorgeous and smiley and the proudest chick ever because she took her first three steps on Thursday. She’s almost one year old and just delicious. Looking at her, I am – as always – overwhelmed by love. We all love our children. They are innocent and delightful. They are our privilege and pleasure. They are the bread of life.

I am writing this post to help avoid the same situation arising with tragic consequences. The responsibility of sharing what happened weighs heavily on me. Please could I ask – mother to mother, parent to parent, gaurdian to gaurdian – that you forward this email to your friends, so that they can share the story with their friends and the wonderful ladies who look after our children while we might not be around. The more educated, aware eyes looking out for telltale signs, the safer our beloved children will be.

Thank you,

Astrid

Good news:

The John Robbie show on 702 radio will be running the child trafficking story tomorrow morning (Friday 22nd Oct) sometime between 6am and 9am.

Safe Parkview have suggested the George Hay Park playground is a safer option than Zoo Lake as they patrol the park 24/7. And its got a gorgeous kiddie play area!

Bad news:

Here’s a summary of what’s happened so far….

On Friday the-mother-of-the-child went to Parkview police station. The charge officers on duty said that no crime had been committed, so they couldn’t open a docket.

She wasn’t happy with this, so the duty officer passed the buck. He told her to come back the next day (Saturday morning) and talk with someone more senior.

The next day, the senior guy gave her empathy without action. He suggested she contact everyone responsible for manning safety of the zoo lake park (which sounds like a little more passing of the buck). He did mention he’d rotate some plain clothed cops through the area over the next couple of weeks. This sounds like hollow promises without guarantees … let alone results!

Still not satisfied, the-mother-of-the-child managed to get a meeting set up through the representative of Zoo Lake at City Parks. Attendees were City Parks, Parkview Police, Metro Police, Chubb, Zoolake Security, and the Saxonwold & Parkview Resident’s Association. At this meeting the cops changed their story: apparently if a docket isn’t opened, when the man is spotted again, nobody will be able to make an arrest. So why wasn’t she told this on Friday????

End result of the meeting was utterly discouraging. Turns out our law enforcement departments are so short of resources that they’ll never be able to secure the kids park. Not even by working together, with a roster, etc etc. A more lame and disappointing outcome would be difficult to imagine.

And as for the man: he’s known to parks security as he is a regular vender selling cigarettes. Ok, just to call a spade a shovel. He’s known to security. He spends a lot of time watching the kid’s park. He probably knows our kids as well as security knows him. And if he’s into trafficking children (a difficult market to trade in, unless you’re connected), he might also be making a quick buck off drugs, prostitution, house robbery etc.

So the dance continues. The last I heard the-mother-of-the-child was heading to the Parkview police to INSIST that a docket be opened on harassment with extended circumstances to allegedly partake in Child Trafficking.

And so here we sit, witnessing bucks being passed, apologies being made and nobody with any clout doing anything. We’re a community up in arms. A community trying to drive awareness, get the message out and make a difference. Because this stuff does happen, they’re not fantastical stories made up for a kick. And if we don’t do something about it, the next incident will have a very different outcome.

Anyway, tune in tomorrow. Listen. Think. Call in.

I’ll be listening too.

It’s difficult to miss that I love yoga. For me it’s magical, healing, calming, challenging and inspiring. I love the internal journey. I love the focus on breath and posture, the way your body aligns and mind settles. I love the way yoga reinforces what I already know about myself, the fact that when my life is out of whack, I wobble in every balance pose. When you love something, I believe that the greatest gift one can offer is to share the experience with others.

I’m delighted to let you all know that after much hunting, I’ve finally found my yoga-home in Jozi. And I’m teaching again. It’s a gorgeous Ashtanga studio, overlooking a garden filled with roses and wild irises and jacaranda trees. The community is heavenly, filled with wonderful students and teachers who drink tea and laugh about wobbles, moon days and all things yoga-nerdy after class.

For more about the studio, click here.

And to have the truth about yogini-me revealed, click here.

It’s amazing how quickly time flies – unbelievable really – and how life has metamorphosed. The years prior to the Bug’s arrival seem infinitely removed: a stranger’s life filled with indulgent delights like mornings lounging with croissants, coffee and the Sunday papers. And the tequila of the night before!  Those priceless moments are now replaced by others (generally very very early or very very late) like baby grins, coos and that laugh! She is uncomplicated and innocent: a smile is just a smile; a cry is without malice. Children are a gift and privilege.

Click here for more photos of the Bug

And so I must apologise for past and future silences. For as I emerge from the sleep deprived haze of new-motherhood, I simultaneously retreat into novel #2.

My self-determined four months of maternity leave is over. Now my dreams are filled with plot twists, turning points, back stories and motivations. N#2 will be done by the end of the year. Another self-determined deadline. And until then, I’ll be found in the room overlooking the Plectranthus, mobile and modem switched off, as I dive back into a world inhabited by the characters none of you yet know. Because there is no way I can’t complete this book…it consumes me like, well, the Bug. And that’s pretty huge.

About the bug (and her arrival)

Like a shooting star, Flutterbug burst into our lives on Halloween and revealed herself a little girl. Annabelle Elizabeth was promptly nicknamed “The Bug”, a name that slipped of her father’s tongue and stuck. For the sake of her privacy and dignity, I shall refer to her as The Bug in cyberspace. This makes me “MOB” (Mother of Bug) and Himself, well, he’s just Himself.

The Bug arrived with a mop of dark hair, navy eyes and the most gorgeous smile. It was a divine finale to the hormonal rollercoaster of pregnancy. Weirdly, pregnancy seemed unrelated to The Bug. I somehow didn’t connect the dots: bump didn’t equal baby. The bump just was; and the Bug… well, the Bug was just a figment.

My pregnancy went fine. Ahem, that means that everything happened exactly as it was meant to and the Bug arrived healthy and bellowing. I survived the catatonic exhaustion, terrifying mood swings, sleepless nights with pillows wedged everywhere and nauseating reflux. I adopted a “what will be will be” approach, augmented with a load of yoga (more about that later!) and a bit of preparation (nursery! dog training! More about that later too!). It worked until my focus shifted from growing bug to getting bug out.

Then the wheels fell off!

It’s one thing to wax lyrical on natural childbirth without pain medication, but with 3 weeks to go, I suddenly realized I needed to, well, ahem, do it. I was terrified. I decided to embrace inherent female knowledge… and engage the help of a doula. The word doula comes from Ancient Greek and refers to a woman who provides emotional support during childbirth. They help with all the touchy feely stuff before, during and after childbirth. Basically what generations of grandmothers, village elders and wise experienced ladies have been doing when skittish new mums start falling apart like I did (grin). I’d read a gazillion books on the topic but the quote that convinced me was from a US gynae who said that if a doula were a birthing medication, it would be unethical not to prescribe it. The results seemed to speak for themselves (more natural deliveries, less complications, lower requests for pain meds, happier and more empowered mothers etc etc). But before I broached the subject with the various sceptics in my life (everyone is my family is medical!!!), I embarked on a series of surreptitious interviews to find out whether or not there was anything to this doula-business. Let”s not kid, it’s a pretty personal decision and with three weeks to go, I’d left it pretty late. Irrespective, I embarked on a series of interviews. It was hysterical! I met a wafting hippy in a kaftan, a fanatical youngster in a turban and finally the marvellous Elizabeth. Let’s just call her my tonic!

Three days before Flutterbug was due, everything was perfect: the baby was well placed, the umbilical cord was unlooped and I was fine. My doctor quipped that the baby was likely to be late… which meant we reopened the negotiations on how long he’d give me before we induced: he said a week; I said two. We hit a stale mate. I called Elizabeth and asked for ways to encourage Flutterbug’s arrival. The answer was reflexology! The next day I had a little rub-dub on my feet (very nice!), dressed up like a pregnant witch (very ironic!) and headed to a Halloween bash (the last hurrah?).

The contractions started at 2 am… but it takes ages so I let Himself sleep and pottered around the house, jotting down the time between contractions on a scrap of paper that I’m now too nostalgic to throw away. Amazingly calm for the chick who’s greatest fear was that I’d somehow not get to the hospital in time and end up giving birth in the corridor at home. Very ironic!

By 8 am, Himself was awake and rubbing my back.

By 10 am, Elizabeth was summonsed. She was on the other side of Jozi supporting her kid’s water polo match. She arrived at noon. The contractions were random and all over the place. Afterwards Elizabeth said that she’d thought it would take another 48 hours at least.

At 2 pm, Elizabeth paled.

At 2.05 pm, I was in Clementine – Himself’s tangerine orange 1968 Porsche 912 -racing to the hospital on hard shocks on a pot-holed and deserted road. Halleluja for rugby – the Currie Cup final was about to get started! Not that I saw any of this… my eyes were shut for the entire trip. Well, almost. All I heard was Himself’s voice “breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. You’re doing fabulously.” Three times he said: “we’re almost there”. The first time my eyes shot open: we weren’t even a kilometer from home! I didn’t look again. What followed was a tortuous walk into the labour ward, wide eyes from the midwife and sisters on duty, and a quick-quick turnaround. I was in the delivery ward before you could snap your fingers.

At 2.35 pm, the Bug literally bungee jumped into the world.  She flew out in two pushes, the umbilical chord so tightly wrapped around her neck that the midwife’s hand shook uncontrollably as she cut it. Our fabulous gynae missed all the excitement, arriving in time to shake Himself’s hand and comment on the bug being as gorgeous as a c-section baby. Our little yoga bug made such a determined, hasty entrance that she was utterly unsquashed!

So the thing about yoga…

Well, yoga is a big deal to me. I love it, adore it…it calms my mind and awakens my body. So the whole way through the trial of pregnancy, I did yoga.

I was pretty yoga fit anyway but I bought a preggy yoga book, understood the shoulds and shouldn’ts, and kept going to my favourite classes. Thanks Natalie, you were a star for not throwing me out of the advanced classes just because of the Bug! Like much in pregnancy, the thing about yoga is to keep doing what you did before you were confined (don’t you love that description! ha ha) and don’t over do it. Friends of mine have run marathons while pregnant, but they were runners before. I couldn’t: I’ve got dicky knees, hate running and wouldn’t dream of doing a marathon. Ever. But yoga, well, its simply my best and it works and…

….oh, how I hate peanut galleries! The banal, uninformed comments from “well-meaning” strangers who’ve no idea what they’re talking about. Like: “she shouldn’t be standing on her head, she’s 7 months pregnant”. Ahem. For the record, inversions are cool: the yogis say it, my gynae said it, the book substantiated it. And I think it’s pretty damn impressive to be able to balance on your head when you’ve got a 12kg bump throwing your balance! Anyway, the peanut gallery ruined it for me. Blame it on the hormonal roller coaster but I wasn’t prepared to fight that battle: it was all just too much for me. I hightailed it to a smorgasbord of different preggy yogas – from Kundalini to Hatha – where mums-to-be are understood, supported and, well, adored. I’d totally recommend it to preggy mums!

I believe, truly and utterly, that yoga kept me flexi bendy, kept the weight off, the blood circulating and contributed to me growing a healthy bug. I also really believe my strong yoga core helped with the birth. But then again, it could have been those 1968 shocks and the potholes on Jan Smuts!

Preparing for the bug

Well, there were a couple of things that needed preparation. Of course, there was the nursery (divine fun) and as I’ve been regailed with requests for photos, I thought to throw a couple of snaps of Bug’s Bedroom up. I love it, it’s charming and warm and absolutely perfect. And given that you spend a LOT of time there, it’s pretty much an acceptable mum’s indulgence. grin. Click here for pictures.

We also needed to do house alterations…a right of passage, right? We had wonderful builders who became more and more polite as more and more things went wrong. Like needing to knock the uncentred pillars down. Twice. And getting the lights to actually turn on when the power was switched on. They were also very timely and managed to get everything finished as late as feared. This meant that in her first month, the bug was well acquainted to the sounds of hammering, drilling and shouted conversations directly outside her window. And I became acquainted with being demurely addressed as “Mrs H”.

Preparing Greta-the-dog  (aka training-the-mum)

And rather than traumatise the teenage Greta-the-dog with daily building teams, we dispatched her each morning to traumatize my parents. While at “doggy day care”, she liberated the feathers from the down cushions covering the garden in snow, reconstructed the corner of the white linen sofa and scarred Sally (my brother’s German Shorthaired Pointer) in her attempt to usurp Sally’s top dog status. Aren’t grandparents wonderful!

I was also determined to train Greta to walk beside the pram. What I failed to understand was that it wasn’t Greta that needed the training. Imagine spotting a heavily pregnant chick struggling with a misbehaving pram, a “baby” in newborn gear (actually Lily-the-doll) and a German Shepherd attached to a bright-pink cross-body leash walking around the Zoo Lake. Now imagine the faces of the passing traffic as they witness the “baby” being dragged upside-down beneath the pram as the pregnant chick chatted to her dog! Darling Himself t pointed out that it didn’t particularly suggest I’d be a haphazard, hazardous mother as babies come with early warning systems. They cry!

And so about White Knights…

Well, you know my philosophy about standing on tiptoes while reaching for your dreams? Remember how White Knights was dedicated to Himself and given as a gift to our wedding guests? That White Knights was really a gift for everyone else, wasn’t about me at all? That gift has been returned a thousand fold.

White Knights has sold over 1,000 copies in South Africa. This makes it a bestseller in South Africa.  At Daunt Books in London, the sales keep rolling in. The press have been fabulous! (click here for press highlights). I’ve been humbled by the wonderful people who’ve invested time to read White Knights. And then taken the time to contact me, offer feedback and comments. I’ve spoken to book clubs and writers circles, at career days and book events. More people than I could ever have wished for came to the official launches in Jozi and Cape Town. And through all this time, I’ve felt supported, encouraged and appreciated.

So thank you. Each and every one of you. For making this year about dreams coming true.

And on that note, I have to say adieus until November….

Cross fingers for the writing!

My dream was always to be a published author, fall madly in love with a wonderful man and have a family. It was a white picket fence with a touch of quirk. I dreamt of a gorgeous family, a dog and a home surrounded by trees, filled with love, jazz and the smells of fabulous cooking. And in this most glorious year, all those dreams came true.

And the best of all, better even than seeing White Knights on the shelves, was becoming a mother. I always knew that I wanted to be a mother, always knew it would be wonderful. I just never imagined it could be quite so phenomenal. When I saw Annabelle in Andrew’s arms, I fell into love. A deep, swirling, seemingly endless pool of love that envelops, comforts and colours everything. The sort of love that you gulp in, savour and get lost in.

She’s wiggling now, is round and plump and more gorgeous every day. The dark haze of sleepless nights is easing and the uncertainty of new motherhood is fading. The gloriousness of Annabelle being part of our wonderful home still sometimes catches us by surprise. When she smiles, I see Andrew and I love them both more than words.

And so this year, apart from finishing novel #2 (about half way done but with loads of twists and turns that still need to be sorted out!), Annabelle and I are collaborating on an African fairytale… filled with magical fabulousness and the wonderousness of childhood. It is my indulgence, a delectable project that I can’t wait to begin!

Just wanted to zap a quick post to announce Flutterbug’s arrival!

On Halloween Annabelle Elizabeth joined our family. She’s the most gorgeous, adorable little girl. Chilled, philosophical and absolutely divinely cute. Motherhood  is amazingly wonderful and our home is simply overflowing with love.

Happy holidays to everyone. Pictures and more news soon!

No news… completely focussing on getting Novel #2  out before Flutterbug (my fabulous doctor said that it was highly unlikely that Fb would arrive late, despite my absolute conviction that Fb is working with me on this one…!) but thought would post a belly shot!

4 weeks to go today… grin!

I’ve been getting such lovely emails, facebook messages and tweets from readers, that I simply had to share! It’s been absolutely amazing to hear from readers, has made me grin and bounce around. Writing is so solitary and I think everyone thought I went a little mad, chatting about characters and places as though they were real people. And of course to me they were real. And still are. And now that White Knights is published, life has been breathed into the characters and novel. And it’s been divine to hear from readers, who feel passionately about the novel, relate to Emma’s struggles or are coping with the madness of the investment banking lifestyle. I can’t tell you how fabulous its been!

PS: Women24 sent a gorgeous review of White Knights today, and an interview with moi! It is completely divine… quite blushing making, but I simply had to share! Click here for the author interview and click here for the White Knights review.

READER COMMENTS

‘White Knights definitely gets my thumbs up!’

Karabo K, fabulous, gorgeous, chick-about-Jozi (and presenter SAfm Literature Show)

Astrid comment about next post: I just so needed to put this comment in right at the beginning, it came from one of the ladies who attended one of my corporate networking events and made me smile, grin and feel so wonderful. It’s so gorgeous and more than a little embaressing even putting it up here, but I had to! Thank you Adriana, you have made me feel COMPLETELY wonderful & utterly motivated!

‘I began reading your book yesterday afternoon and didn’t speed read a single bit – a first for me in a very long time. I just savoured each page, each paragraph and was enthralled in the way in which you captured the hustle and bustle of New York, the working environment and the development of the characters. Brilliant! You have to be SA’s most promising new writer if not the best at the moment! Your intelligence and humour shines through your characters who spring to life with such immediacy. I loved the way in which you operate on the various levels and have all these themes running through the book. If I were you, I’d drop the chick-lit category and let it just run – the workings of the investment bankers will be sure to grab a large audience. You are so talented – I really feel in my gut that you’re
destined for a great literary career if you continue to write as beautifully as you’ve begun. An international book but proudly South African! Please continue writing forever!’

Adriana, knowledge management officer, Jozi

‘Loved the depth and multiple themes of White Knights. A simple story, almost allegory, with legs. Had me thinking long after the twist was revealed! A difficult story to write but intelligently done! Loved it!’

Sarah, medical doctor, Cape Town

‘The underlying theme of the story is timeless and the novel is immediately engaging. White Knight is well written and has hidden depths. Thoroughly enjoyable!’

Lizzie, teacher, Cape Town

‘Highly readable! Super job of making investment banking understandable (not an easy task, I know).  Loved the new perspectives on NYC: the characters’ lives in the city are different from experiences and locations I’ve read about in other “chick lit” books like Nanny Diaries & Bergdorf Blonds. Great novel!’

Christina, ex-investment banker, New York

‘Mid-twenties angst personified! Readers across a variety of demographics will relate to Emma’s disappointments, confusions, twisted reasoning and deep down optimism. Loved the twist in the tail!’

Leslie, marketing, Jozi

‘Loved White Knights so much I couldn’t put it down. Have been going to bed late every night so I could carry on reading. Astrid should be congratulated on a brilliant first novel. I hope she writes another because I’ll be sure to read it!’

Rachel, tennis coach, Jozi

‘My husband jumped the queue! He finished White Knights in 2 days and said it was spot on re banking and much more than girl’s beach read! Seriously impressive feedback given that he’s such a tough task master! Can’t wait to start reading myself!’

Caroline, stay-at-home mum, London

‘Lucky my husband can look after himself as I didn’t put the book down until I had read it all…  Even my dog didn’t get her walk today…I had to finish the book!’

Gloria, the fabulous assistant behind a lucky man, Jozi

‘Loved White Knights for so many reasons – it made me laugh, I had a heap of aha! moments and it inspired me to stand up for myself. It made me realize I’m not alone and reminded me that dreams are there to be chased!’

Alex, lawyer, San Fran

‘Its 12.57am and I just finished reading White Nights!!! Thank you thank you thank you! I loved every last word!’

Gill, Italian yummy mummy

‘I have to say that I was compelled to keep flicking the pages as I read White Knights. It is racy and leads one on. It confirmed for me all that I do and don’t like about Manhattan and certainly what I do not like about New York bankers! Emma must have had one helluva constitution to be able to absorb so much maltreatment of her eating, drinking and sleeping habits! I enjoyed the inclusion of the Prof and Siddhartha. The contrast of love at a distance, true love, internal needs both short and long term, the challenges of relationships and the distinction between men and women in their approaches to love, were very well posited. The egos of Yuppies et al. It is very impressive as a first novel. Congratulations.’

Ken, fabulously modern man

‘I just have three things to say:

1) I absolutely loved your book  and I’ve recommended it to all my friends. I ended up reading until 4am, cos I could simply not put it down ;o).I can relate to most of Emma’s experiences and it was so refreshing to hear about someone else who is going through similar issues as me.I must say though, I’m highly disturbed the following…When Brad tells Emma – “”In investment banking we look for people that are intelligent, competitive and insecure”". The worst part about reading that line -  is that it’s actually true. I work on average about 80 hours a week and I realised that I’m one of the “”insecure people that Brad is referring to.. cos I’ll work myself to a standstill in order to get approval”". Urgghhhh.. I’m still irritated… just thinking about the fact that someone has played on my insecurities and the worst part is that I’ve fallen for it…

2) Why are women in investment banking so mean? No-one is willing to mentor you or look after you (it’s irrational, given that we are a minority in the industry)?

3) When is your next book coming out? I can’t wait to hear what Emma did after investment banking and how she applied that lessons that she learned from the harsh and cut throat world to her own life?’

Miss G, Jozi suits & stilettos banker chick

To read more comments, click here

Ever wonder why, when you have the most massive deadline, the sort that is absolutely not going to shift, dissipate or vanish (like having a baby or needing to get a novel written), normal life takes on a magnetism of magical proportions that makes it impossible not to be lured into participating… everything is imperative. Everything else, that is. Like choosing new glasses frames. Or reupholstering chairs. Or cooking up unbelievable feasts that take days in the making. Or contemplating fairies and elves and their place in the world…

Anyway, despite Andrew probably wanting to avoid any responsibility for said procrastination, he did go off and buy a new car… which of course needs to be tested out, taken on road trips etc. And not just any car. A bright red 1982 911SC Porsche, which Greta (the puppy) and I consider a true thing of beauty. And she really does go like the clappers. Andrew, darling man, has said he’s going to get a baby seat in the back, which will really make him the sexiest man in the world. As though there was ever a doubt.

So, as one does when one becomes the proud owner of a new sports car, we took her bundu bashing and headed up to Timbavati for the most glorious long weekend with friends. Have included some snaps for your amusement. Also, as one does in the bush, I wore bright pink (animals really are colour blind) and we took some belly shots. Most disappointing, as I came out looking quite tiny, which completely undermines the fact that I need to sit on a chair to tie my own laces! Anyway, at 23 weeks… oops, that means I’ve got 17 weeks until our scorpio baby arrives…. eeeeeeeeeeep! Gotta dash, gotta get typing!

xxx A+