thoughts

Out with the Old and in with the New in New York and New Orleans

Fri, 06 Jan 2012 02:46:57 +0100

Welcome to 2012!

Wow man, when I arrived in this country there were still consecutive zeros in the middle of the year. Now it's the third Christmas and New Year behind me. Crazy

The past two weeks have been an express train that came to a stuttering stop the day before work started again. No time to stop and think, just bulldoze on, take it all in, smash it in the face and hope that it all makes sense at the end. And luckily it still does!

It all started with the Greek arriving for a two-week fling with the lover he once had - New York City. We made sure acquaintances were renewed with the same lusty vigor with which they were previously enjoyed.

Christmas at the Ellis' was warm and friendly and jolly as always - now with a new addition to that household in the cute as nuts, kid Joshua.

The very next day we left for New Orleans - a small crew consisting of me, Jilly Bob and Warren G $ - for one of the most epic trips I have ever been on. There is very little justice I can do to this trip in words. In fact, it's probably impossible to understand without actually being there. You can get an idea from pictures on Facebook, but to experience the vibe of that city, the unbelievably-always-positive-and-hilarious vibe between the three of us and of course, the generous hospitality of the incomparable Asian Zing, you had to be there.

Our first hours in the city were smoothed over by some hot apple cider and rum from Asian Zing, followed by some homemade gumbo made by a cute little friend of his in her shotgun house. What a welcome!

Highlights of the trip included watching Drew Brees smash the 27-year old single season passing yards record held by Dan Marino. That's Drew Brees a.k.a Breesus, the New Orleans Saints' inspirational quarterback breaking the record in front of his home crowd, while we watched it at a friend of mine's family's place in New Orleans. Unforgettable.

Each night Bourbon St and it's Hurricanes and Hand Grenades provided for entertainment in the commercial but oh so fun form in the evenings before a new local hangout/jazz club/dive bar treated us to some of the most eclectic mixes of characters and smoky jazz music I have ever witnessed. Ok, the most eclectic mix of characters and smoky jazz music I have ever witnessed. And these swinging and shaking scenes carried us late into the night.

New Orleans food! Damn the food was amazing. Gumbo, jambalaya, crawfish, po-boys... so much and so good. Asian Zing's carpenter even brought us hot donuts one morning. When I went to thank him for the gift he said to me, "ya'll think those are good? I know a place man, that has the best donuts in Nawlins. It's kinda far away but I go there when I can, I'm a donut fanatic man. How long ya'll here for? Friday? Ok, if I go by that place again I'll pick some up for ya'll and you can tell me which you think are better alright? "

What a legend.

'Nawlins' is full of characters like that. Our cab driver on the one morning, an elderly gent, small man, was cut off in the slow-motion way that only happens down south by a little old lady of similar geriatric tendencies. He let her figure it out, shaking his head, and just said, "in a hurry, going nowhere. Grandma you shoulda known better... we should leave that up to these here young folk," as he tapped G $ on the shoulder.

We saw another guy at a bar smoking his pipe, all casual like, to which Jilly Bob commented, "you don't smoke pipes unless you solving crimes." He then became an altogether other kind of character to us - sleuth-like and astute.

Cab drivers were some of the best though. One night we had Al. Al told us that bitches love money. Al told us a few other things that have no place in a blog of this repute. Another morning we had a rather large woman with such a genuine personality tell us about the Mardi Gras crewes that parade during the festival. Fascinating stuff. She told us we could have our own crewe if we wanted. She asked where we came from. "South Africa? What's that Cape you have over there? The Cape of Good Hope? Well, we could be like.... The Good Hope Gang or summin'... you know, and have horns and play tricks and stuff..." Bless.

There was the gay barman whose bar we happened to stumble into at 1am, the only people in the place, and have Irish Carbombs with. He gave Warren G a new nickname - Sweet Dick Daddy with the Candy Nuts. Cute!

All this time we treated ourselves to the best New Orleans had to offer - the French Quarter, a ferry across the Mississippi, old Algiers, the Lower Garden District... Warren G $ was so inspired he spent a lot of time thinking about tweets ("the rest is just life") and Jilly Bob probably summed it up best when she said on the last day, "I can't laugh anymore, make it stop", as she peeled off into more yellowy giggles.

So with an epic adventure behind us, it was left to New Year's Eve to signal in 2012 and provide one last blowout bender to make the last two weeks a complete write-off, but the perfect springboard into the self-improvement that every new year brings. And so it was, another laser party at my place that we all, Warren G $, The Greek, Spriggles, The Real Rael Kenny, Jo-Jo, Lanie, and a host of others ringed in the new year, which promises to be a year to 'Two Thousand and Delve a Little Deeper'.

I'll explain everything to the geeks

Sat, 17 Dec 2011 04:12:29 +0100

Last night I was carried to Ohio in a swarm of bees.

Watching The National live has got to rank up there with one of the most insanely cool concerts I’ve ever been to. It had everything – a breathtaking venue; searingly intense energy from the band; warm humorous interaction with the crowd; and world class music.

For those of you yet to discover the Brooklyn band I strongly recommend getting their albums Boxer and High Violet. And I’m so excited for you! Hurry though, because then you’ll want to get into some of their older stuff, which I am doing now, and then, with much anticipation, their new album will be released. And from the new songs I heard last night it’s going to be exquisite.

The venue – the Beacon Theater on the Upper West Side – is one of those old style theaters that you can picture Charlie Chaplin and various other vaudeville entertaining the minds of early 20^th century New Yorkers. These days it has retained the décor and architecture from the era, and provides an acoustically excellent setting for live music.

The opening act was a band from Baltimore called Wye Oak. Very impressive. And then the boys from Brooklyn took to the stage, accompanied down the many flights of stairs from their changeroom to the stage by a camera, filming live and playing for the crowd on a big screen behind the instruments, until camera, band and audience were united to rapturous applause.

Rolling out their amazing repertoire of Americana-infused indie rock, they reeled off Bloodbuzz Ohio, Slow Show and Squalor Victoria in one memorable stretch. England came with delicate strings creating a cushion for the music to rest on. Matt Berninger brought his baritone to bear on Fake Empire and a passionate Mr November rounded out a rousing set.

Matt’s distracted and almost headless wandering from band part to band part, almost inspecting his band mates for perfection, filled me with curiosity during the instrumental pieces of songs. There was also a surprisingly warm humor from a band I previously thought of as self-absorbed and introspected. At one point the female guitarist of Wye Oak accompanied The National on one of their songs. Afterwards Matt thanked her and called Wye Oak the best band in the world. She came back on stage to set the record straight, telling Matt that his band is the best in the world (she could be right). He quickly retorted that they were both probably in the top three… just under… The Kings of Leon. Crowd erupts with laughter. Classic.

The encore began with a beautiful new song called I Need My Girl, in which brothers Aaron and Bryce Dessner danced a merry dance together on their guitars. Please check this song out, it’s lovely.

The encore closed with Terrible Love followed by a mind-blowing acoustic (no microphones either) version of Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks. The whole band congregated front of stage and quietly began the song which the whole crowd joined them in singing. A sweet sing-a-long to close a sensational night. Leave me a comment if you like these guys as much as I do, I’ll explain everything to the geeks.

We had it first!

Thu, 15 Dec 2011 03:48:38 +0100

You know those parking sensors they have in Cavendish Square and other shopping centers around South Africa? Those sensors above each bay that turn red when a car is under them but are green when there isn't one? Well this awesome parking technology has only just reached the States. I know!

It seems bizarre that something we have had in South Africa for at least three years now has only just reached a country which has built itself by being at the forefront of technology and which has one of the highest shopping malls per capita ratios in the world.

But check this out from the Wall Street Journal. Apparently an Australian company with the patent for the technology has partnered with mall developers here to install the systems. Makes me wonder who introduced it in South Africa. There is no visible connection with any South African company on the website of the Australian developers Park Assist. Does anyone know who got the ball rolling back home?

Because this is quite a revelation over here. And for the first time I can say that we had it first.

Laduma: The Documentary

Fri, 09 Dec 2011 04:16:50 +0100

Ahh... back to the comforts of a laptop computer. Really, Yola, I hope you're reading this. Because like an ex-girlfriend, I'm over you. Well, your iPhone interface at least. Why can't we post sweet blogs together when I ride the bus? Why can't we make magic happen while I sit in Central Park in the snow? Wordpress allows me to do all kinds of things to her on my phone. You should see the shit we can do together. But I'll give you a chance Yola. You've been good to me all these years, and I'm honest like that. But seriously, you need to sort your shit out.

Anyway, this time last week I was watching the amazing documentary called Laduma that I blogged briefly about last Thursday. What an incredible night.

It was on the back of a pretty bent week - so fears of falling asleep soon after the lights went soft were not unfounded. Jilly Bob, Warren G and I shuffled to the makeshift bar on the 3rd floor of the NY Film Academy and tentatively asked for three beers. The piss-yellow wine in paper cups didn't look too appealing. But I'll be damned, when that first sip of yeast milkshake hit the lips, all was right in the world again.

We were soon shepherded into a long room with a pull-down screen on one end and rows of directors chairs all the way to the back of the other. We found our seats towards the back, behind a Jake Gyllenhaal doppelganger. Moments later three guys walked to the front of the room to introduce the film - the makers themselves and also Jilly Bob's friends. They explained the premise of the film - a documentary about the game of soccer and it's ability to unite people from vastly different backgrounds as told through the eyes of US soccer supporters travelling in South Africa for the FIFA 2010 World Cup.

With that the lights dimmed and the first ever screening of this film began.

What was to unfold over the next 90 minutes or so was a heartfelt and passionate account of the life of a travelling soccer supporter; an appeal to the minds of Americans to see the beautiful game as something that they can all get behind; and most delicately and masterfully handled - an exploration of the country of South Africa and what the game of soccer, and that World Cup in particular, meant to us as a nation.

I felt lumps in my throat throughout the screening: when they showed the kids of the Takalani Daycare Center in Alexandria, always smiling; the throngs of black, white and brown South Africans in unbridled joy at sightings of the Bafana Bafana bus or a Bafana goal; young members of the Young Tigers soccer team who unanimously chose Simphiwe Tshabala (scorer of this wonder goal in the opening game - check the celebration afterwards too, loving it) as their favourite player.

The filmmakers were not overly effusive at all in their sentiment towards South Africa. It never came across anything more than an honest American impression of our country, and yet the light it painted South Africa in left a warm glow for hours after watching the film.

I also left with the impression that American soccer is really on the rise. That their team did so well and received so much support from South Africans (until they faced Ghana of course, when one supporter quipped that it was like they were playing the whole of Africa in that round of 16 game) is testament to a team that plays the right way, fights hard and is winning more support by the day.

Bravo to an excellent job gentlemen. Really classy production.

Upon leaving the screening, the filmmakers greeted guests at the exit and accepted warm praise from all those that attended. One of the guys even had tears in his eyes - you could see how much this meant to them.

The plan, apparently, is to get the film into various festivals here in America. They are also in negotiations with the SABC to broadcast the documentary back home, which I think would be an excellent idea (are you listening Sizwe Nzimande?). Hopefully the film gets the publicity and recognition it deserves.

As for us... well, I think Warren G, new to the States having been here for 4-5 weeks, summed it up well when he wrote this: "Last night, I drove my car into the greatest city in the USA to watch a local movie production at the New York Film Academy, it was an Americans point of view of the Soccer World Cup 2010, I can't tell you how proud I was of our wonderful country. We brought the AYOBAness!"

Ayobaness fo sho.

Laduuuuuuma

Thu, 01 Dec 2011 18:31:26 +0100

I should be blogging tonight but instead I've been invited to go watch a documentary about the World Cup 2010 made by a bunch of US supporters. It's supposed to be a behind the scenes look at Mzanzi as seen by these visiting American. I'm really looking forward to it, should be interesting.

Oh, and I should be blogging because of a self-imposed routine for Thursday nights. Early resolutions bitches.

This is also the first blog I've ever posted using my iPhone. Man alive it sucks. Sort your shit out Yola. This is slower than service at Home Affairs.

Whose country is it?

Wed, 23 Nov 2011 02:50:59 +0100

It scares me more than it inspires me now how far South Africa still has to go as a country.

I’m still inspired by the potential of the place – the beauty, the resources, the resilient spirit of the South African people – but it becomes clear how far we still have to go when you travel from the European bubble that is Cape Town to the African metropolis that is Johannesburg, and even more so when you do that with a more worldly perspective. The contrast is stark.

The outrage over the Secrecy Bill has made this even starker. Is the government intending to use the legislation to protect their power by concealing corruption? Or is this new bill a much-needed redraft of apartheid-era legislation in the interest of national security?

Let’s go back in history quickly to understand where we have come from as a nation – I feel this is the best way to understand the way forward. In 1652 the first White European settlers arrived – the Dutch. They, however, were not the only White people interested in settling at the tip of Africa. Although it took more than a hundred years, the British eventually developed an interest in our shores and in 1820 began establishing their settlements in earnest. But there were other people here first – the nomadic hunter-gatherer tribes of the Khoisan, the truly indigenous people of South Africa. White expansion from the ports of Cape Town and eventually Durban forced the Khoisan inland. But there was pressure from the north too – vast African tribes, Bantu-speaking from East and Central Africa – had migrated south to farm in the fertile lands they found there. But this migration of Black Africans was by no means united – tribal divisions, dialect differences, and cultural cleavages: all factors that contributed in making the migration a splintered affair. Then there were the slaves – huge numbers imported from Malaysia and eventually India with vastly different cultural and religious backgrounds.

Think about that for a minute – indigenous Khoisan people slowly eradicated by Black tribes from the north and White settlers from the south – the Black tribes distinctly unique and often opposed to each other; the White settlers split bitterly at times between English and Afrikaans speakers. And of course, we know how well the White and Black elements of South African society got along with each other. Then there are the Indian and other Asian influences on South Africa… and you quite easily have what people like to call the ultimate melting pot. Wars were fought over racial and tribal lines, almost always over the right to occupy/own (depending on your cultural background) the 1.2 million square kilometers of land that ultimately became known as South Africa.

And now we are faced with the question – whose country is it?

Most recent history has seen the rule of the country pass from White, largely Afrikaans hands to Black liberation-strained hands – our leaders were Xhosa, and now they are Zulu. Opposition parties are starting to get significant Black representation (witness Lindiwe Mazibuko of the DA), but the ruling ANC has a firm grip on the country and will have for a while to come.

The question – whose country is it? – became very real to me when I travelled up to Joburg, having spent a couple of weeks in Cape Town. In Cape Town, I felt like I was in a bubble, separated from the rest of Africa by a thin veil of colonialism that sits as precariously as the tablecloth on Table Mountain. In Joburg it is clear that this is an African country. White’s work in ivory towers next to the Black elite – separated from the poor majority, mainly Black, by sixteen security gates and an electric fence. They don’t fuck around in Joburg. Shit’s real there. The Black elite enrich themselves at the expense of the poor majority and so the gap widens. The White’s just continue to keep themselves as secure and indeed, as separate, as possible.

And again, we are faced with the question – whose country is it?

The recent suspensions of Julius Malema and Floyd Shivambu from the ANC Youth League elicited a quote from them which sums up this divide perfectly. “All who rejoiced the NDC outcome are our enemies, plus white monopoly capital, plus you, the media.” These are the future leaders of our country?

Contrast this with the United States – a country with so many ethnic and cultural minorities you would be forgiven for thinking you were in China, Russia or Italy in some areas (there are also a few differences in the American situation that bear consideration, the biggest being that White people were never a minority in this land – I won’t go into the implications of this here, maybe for another post). But despite the differences in background, religion and way of life, citizens of this country identify themselves as one thing – American. They don’t agree on everything. They are a nation of debaters in fact, but they all argue for the same thing – to improve the country they identify with, for the benefit of all the people within it. They have a black president but this is not an issue when his government is challenged on healthcare or immigration or the American economy. One of the opposition Republican candidates competing to run against Obama is black.

The point is, in South Africa, racial cleavages are so deep, and so wide that the reconciliation process has years of hard graft ahead of it. And these cleavages are not only deep, but plentiful – between white and white and between black and black. Real issues are not debated as openly and honestly as they should be because these debates so often degenerate into a racial issue. As soon as the race card is pulled, everybody downs tools (and all reason it seems) and begins with the accusations. The point is then lost entirely.

For South Africa to progress as a nation, the answer to the question – whose country is it? – needs to be a clear and resounding “ours” from all South Africans, not just from the Black elite; not just from those living-in-the-past White’s seeking to hold onto power and dominion (because of fear) over the Blacks; not just from the poor disenfranchised; and not just when we host or win a World Cup again.

While it would be easy to give up on the situation, one thing true South Africans have is an indomitable spirit. Respect and love for each other will be the weapons in this fight. The fight will be long and hard. But a fight for a unified national identity is worth it. Just ask the Americans.

But going Home is good for the soul

Fri, 18 Nov 2011 01:52:51 +0100

In the last post I described how transient the notion of ‘home’ has become to me recently. Returning back to the country of my birth over a year after my last visit and two years since I left with my entire life for the shores of the United States made me realize that home is really where the heart is – and we all know how fickle those things are.

But there is nothing quite like your original home: the familiar faces and places, the good memories, the bad memories that dissolve with the excitement that comes with something new and seeing people you haven’t seen in ages, and of course family. Being away from family for so long makes you appreciate them more than you can imagine and makes you realize that despite the wonders of Skype, there is still no substitute for human touch: the sense that brings the intimacy missing when words and pictures are carried over cables.

This trip was completely unlike my previous visit. Last time I visited I trekked all over the country following the Spanish football team on their way to World Cup glory. This limited my time in Cape Town especially, where all my family are. This time I spent two weeks in Cape Town, getting to know my parents and brother better with some proper quality time. From famous family braais, to late night whisky whispers with Strett; from a surprise birthday trip through a game reserve to look into the eyes of lions to a long hike up the Twelve Apostles of Table Mountain; from the best (Borrusso’s) pizzas in the world to a wild whisky tasting conference with my dad and bro, this trip became just the tonic to the sometimes tumultuous lifestyle I’ve been living in New York City. I’ve come back refreshed, relaxed, and with an over-flowing well of inner peace and excited energy for what lies ahead. Is there any better way to refuel your soul?

Next weekend is Thanksgiving here in the States, a time for remembering what you are grateful for. For me, I am eternally grateful for the family I have – that we are such a close unit, that my parents still love each other to endearing levels, that my brother and I are best friends in addition to being blood: these things are rare and cherished. I’m also grateful for the amazing friends I have – the crazy crew in NYC and those friends back in SA who are my best measure of how much I’ve changed. Isn’t it awesome that so much time can feel like so little when it passes between good friends? I think this is one of the best measures of whether you’ve changed fundamentally or grown.

Home is where the heart is

Fri, 18 Nov 2011 01:53:17 +0100

I've been home for two days now. I was away for just over two weeks, two and a bit of the best weeks - catching up with friends, getting to know my family better and spending time with people I grew up with....

And that is the paradox that is my current reality. I'm home now, nearly 8000 miles (yes, I measure in miles now) from the place I grew up in. I'm home now, in an apartment on the west side of midtown, New York City. And it feels normal to say that.

This is what I experienced in going back to South Africa for the past two and bit weeks - a strong sense of being a visitor to my home country, and an attachment to the city where my life currently leaps and bounds.

On the way to the Gautrain to the airport in Joburg, my symbolic big sis, Tanya, said to me, "home is where the heart is". This is usually such a throwaway phrase - a cliche used to fill empty space without any substance or grace. At least that is how I always thought of it, as did she. But we realised something together. For the first time it suddenly had meaning to us. Home is absolutely where your heart is. That is not to say that I don't love South Africa. I do, very much so. But the passions of my heart, the ebbs and troughs, the pulse, the rythm, the beat... it's all here on these streets.

I learned much while I was in SA - I thought about choices, roots, family, cleavages (not those kind man), world perspective.... and of course, I learned that home is indeed where the heart is: the transient nature of things. Over the next few posts I hope to explore these themes, guided by the stream that was my two and a half weeks in the Republic.

Check out the pics from the trip here.

New Music

Sun, 16 Oct 2011 01:22:49 +0100

Finally!

I've updated the music page of this blog. A backlog that went all the way back to Bonnaroo. A backlog that included some of the sickest bands I may ever see. The backlog of all backlogs.

Unclogged.

And blogged.

As the year draws to a close I propose a list of the breakout bands of 2011 in my world (they may have been around for longer):

The Naked and Famous
Noah and the Whale
Rural Alberta Advantage
Awolnation

I've seen all of these bands live except for Awolnation which I'll be seeing in mid-November. And then... there is the not-so-small matter of Brooklyn's very own The National performing in December. I'm so freakin stoked to see these guys that I'm probably going to go watch them twice in the same week. What what?

Check out the updated list of live bands I've been lucky enough to see here - where music is what feelings sound like...

So Wrong About You

Thu, 15 Sep 2011 01:40:37 +0100

It's been just over a month since I found out what she did. Sadness gave way to anger, which gave way to bitterness, which now mixes with profound dissappointment. Disappointed with someone I thought I knew. Disappointed with someone I trusted.

Betrayal. It's one of the worst kinds of pain to suffer because it comes from someone you trusted. There can be any number of motives for it - discontent, boredom, cowardness, immaturity - and usually a combination of many of them. But whatever the motive, there is no excusing it. Fortunately this kind of behaviour is not exhibited by everybody. But unfortunately, those that betray often do so again and again.

I have learned a lot over the last few months. At the end of an experience like this, that is all you really have to take away. I'll try elucidate some of those things here, for my own reflection as much as anything else. Much of what I have realised has come from echoing the thoughts of one man in his very personal account of a failed marriage. His reflection has allowed me to do the same, and hopefully realise some things about trust and getting a better read on people.

What I've realised now is that I was in an abusive relationship. It was not physical abuse. It was the more subtle form of emotional abuse.

I never felt at ease in the relationship. It wasn't because of any obvious behaviour in front of my eyes. It was more a sense of well-being that was lacking. A sense that I wasn't getting the same kind of affection and attention as I was giving. A sense that there was someone else.

How this manifested for me was jealousy. I was jealous not so much of random people who showed an interest in her, but of ex-boyfriends of hers that clearly had not let go. Text messages saying I'm thinking about you today. Messages going back during concerts we attended together. A constant stream of communication that had the pretense of being innocent (and admitedly probably was for the most part) but carried undertones of keeping options open. As it turned out, I was completely wrong about the ones I was suspicious about. It was out of left field that the betrayal came. But an ex-boyfriend nonetheless.

Deception is a key characteristic of abusive relationships, but it is so difficult to see when you're in it. Lies in the form of ommissions are the common tactic, and obviously almost impossible to pick up. I only learned of the of the full deception after the betrayal when I was told that she had been in quite intense contact with her ex for a few weeks leading up to it. Contact that brought her to tears from accounts, but which she never mentioned anything to me about. She also knew she would be seeing him, but denies this. Whether she is lying to herself I don't know, but when a third person knows she was going to see him, it's fairly obvious that she did too.

What I have learned from this is to trust my own feelings about a situation. I rationalised away the fact that I felt uneasy. So did she. All sorts of other reasons (work, family, stress) were given and accepted. I never thought she would actually cheat on me. But I did worry about it. And perversely, I could've prevented some of the pain by acting on my underlying unease. Not in the way that I did, by being jealous and suspicious, but by confronting the issue more head-on.

Which brings me to my next point. I would often confront her about these issues. But whenever I questioned her she became fiercely defensive. She would accuse me of not trusting her and get emotional. That usually ended any line of questioning right there. I cannot face a girl crying, it melts even the toughest heart I can muster.

Still more things I learned. She very rarely supported me in anything. In the more innocuous banter with mates she would always take their side in a popular gang-up method. This was generally playful and I didn't mind. But even when I felt strongly about something, she would usually be contrarion. I used to think this was healthy. But I really struggle to think of a position she supported me in. It was with my more eccentric passions that she especially didn't agree. I stopped writing. I stopped meeting new people and having fun with certain friends. I accept that this was as much down to our significant differences as anything else, but I never felt like we were a team in anything.

One of the things that struck me from reading the personal account linked above is how the writer talks about self-centered people as wanting friends and family to understand their feelings, but they do not understand the feelings of those they love. I think this was very much the case in my relationship.

Self-centered people are very charming friends or lovers. They have no scruples against lying (as they are often lying to themselves) and they can easily get the sympathy of others by laying the blame for something elsewhere. In my case, she has actively reached out to all my friends (despite saying she would do no such thing) to try and 'explain' why she cheated on me. I find this behaviour the most intriguing. I know she can't stand being alone, but to try and salvage friendships with people she met through me is a pretty desperate attempt to pretend that nothing happened.

And this is my final point. She has not realised (and I purposely choose this degree because 'acknowledged' is too soft) that she did anything wrong. In her mind, I firmly believe, she did what she thought was the only thing to do. Our relationship was not perfect. We were not meant to be together, I realise this now, but her answer to the problem was to fall back into the arms of her previous boyfriend. Her advice to me was then to accept it and move on. That's life and shit happens she said to me. Really? Maybe in your life. But I believe stronger than ever that you should declutter your life from those that betray your trust.

My last words to her were - "Goodbye, Bayly".

Her last words?

"Fuck off".

I could only smile wrily and shake my head as I hung up the phone.