Blog archives

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn made me question a few things…

Gone GirlGone Girl by Gillian Flynn

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I finished this book a while ago and wanted to kind of let it sink in before I reviewed it. I also planned to go and watch the movie tonight and write my review afterwards, but we won’t be able to go anymore because of kid stuff. I reckon before I start with NaNoWriMo I should probably get my thoughts down.

This was certainly not close to being the best book I have ever read. To be honest the only reason I read it was because of the hype. The only observation I can offer is that sometimes I  kind of felt that some of the words used were a little “big” for the writing style. Maybe that’s just me though. As far as books go, it was pretty average, but this particular story did kind of tie in with something that I’ve been struggling to put into words for a while.

Now please, I need it to be absolutely clear that what I am about to say in absolutely no way reflects poorly on the author of this story. I am not one to bemoan the state of literature, or entertainment in general, and go on and on about how creatives have a duty to the public to blah blah blah. Creatives are not there to help you become a better person. They are not there to educate you or teach you any specific thing. They are there to create. That is not to say that the things we consume (movies, books, poetry etc) don’t have a growth-like/detrimental effect on us. They might. But it is your own job to be a specific kind of person and to make sure that you grown in the right direction. You need to question everything. You need to take nothing at face value. And above all: you need to remember that characters in books are not characters in real life.

I’ve been thinking about rape a lot. As in: I think about rape every single day. It’s kind of weird I guess, but it is a subject that has weighed on me for most of my life. I can give no real reason for that, other than the fact that rape exists in all sorts of forms all around us. So I think about it. A lot.

I read a statistic recently that noted that as little as 2% of rape charges are false. 2%! But let’s round up and call it 10% just to make sure that we haven’t made the number too small.

I read that statistic and my stomach lurched.

Do you know why?

Because for a very long time I have assumed that that number was much higher. I just assumed it. Seemingly for no reason, I, a girl (with a 1 in 5 chance of being sexually assaulted sometime in my life) assumed that a lot of women cry rape as a sort of “fuck you” to men who they are pissed at.

WHY ON EARTH WOULD I THINK THAT?!

The only possible answer I can come up with is because of the entertainment that I consume. The female falsely accusing men of rape is a common character who I have encountered many times, in many different forms. I first encountered her in the movie The Crush with Alicia Silverstone when I was very young. That movie gave me chills. I still, to this day, worry that that kind of thing will happen to my brother. The book Salem Falls by Jodi Picoult was just as chilling. And now, here’s Amazing Amy, with her special brand of crazy.
The false accusation of rape is so destructive (obviously rape is also destructive – I am in no way saying that it isn’t) and it has always struck me as such an efficient way to completely break a good man to a point of repairlessness.

Somehow, this woman, this destructive crazy (and fictional) woman who cries rape with ease and with the intent to punish and innocent person, has become a common figure. She has moved from the pages of books and from behind the camera and become far more “real” than she actually is.

And she has made it really difficult for women who have suffered real trauma to get justice for themselves. This fictional woman who exists only to add depth and dimension to stories (she is crazy because the story would be boring if she wasn’t) has walked into the lives of real women and she has planted this massive seed of doubt into the minds of the real public.

Is this the fault of the writers who created these women? Of course not! It is our (my!) own fault for allowing fiction to cloud reality without giving it a proper deal of consideration.

We all want our rapists to be scary terrifying people. We want our rape to be brutal, destructive, bloody. We need our rape to look like rape so that we can recognize it and be sure: this is rape.

But it doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes rape happens at the hands of a super cool guy who you went to school with. Sometimes your best mate is abusing his wife. Sometimes it’s the teacher who gives the most interesting classes. The trusted religious councillor. People with kind faces and lovely demeanours.

They don’t look like rapists. So when their victims come forward, we write them off as liars. So-and-so is a good guy. He would never rape. She must be lying. Women do that “all the time”. And so we err on the side of caution.

Because even if she was raped, at least it’s “over”, right? She can get over it and move on. No one moves on from a false rape conviction.

Right?

It is easier for our peace of mind to believe that victim as a liar, than to believe the worst of someone that we love. Anger at a liar is easier on us than having to acknowledge that our fathers/brothers/husbands/mentors have violated someone in this way. (Note: I acknowledge that women also rape and that men can also be victims of sexual assault. I in no way minimise that.)

We need to stop confusing fictional crazy with real women. We need to not let the liberties taken by writers influence how we respond to these kinds of things. Let everything you read allow you to think. Don’t let the things you read be your truth, rather allow the things you read to lead you to your truth.

I am the first to admit that books and stories have shaped me and that in many ways the parts of me that have been shaped by the extraordinary minds of my favourite authors are my favourite parts of myself. I do need to be careful though. Fiction is only fiction. Fiction is sometimes truth but not always. Real truth is often a lot quieter than fiction. Real truth whispers and it gets lost in the midst of everything louder and flashier. You have to look for it.

You have to look for it.

You have to look for it!

It is no author’s job to hand it to you.

View all my reviews

Blog archives

November Nonsense

Photo on 2014-10-31 at 11.12 AM #2I had brilliant plans for November. I was going to spend the whole month of November celebrating NaNoWriMo month by watching every writing movie I could get my hands on and laughing aat all the fools attempting this insane challenge while still being (blocked) writery. That seems to have changed. Instead: I am doing NaNo. Why? Because apparently if I don’t have travel plans to stress over then I don’t actually know what to do with myself so now I have to add a bit of pressure. Don’t ask me to help you understand. It doesn’t make sense to me either. Anyway, I shall be NaNo-ing. And it shall be brilliant/dreadful/rewarding. Or something. But I am still going to watch my movies. If you’re keen to connect with me on a NoNo level you can find me here: *click*

Blog archives

On Staying and Going and Thinkery Things

DSCN2424I’m too zen. It’s weird. I’m not usually “ok”. I’m pretty much usually a mess. Lately I’m ok though. Obviously there must be something wrong…

(I’m kidding: yoga, better eating and a little meditation have gone a long way. I’m allowed to make awkward jokes about myself though.)

I guess it helps that our Thai trip is behind us now (pity the debt incurred during the trip is still very much in front though) and I am no longer overwhelmed by all the planning and wondering. For now we kind of have a vague-ish idea of where we stand and it feels like a good place to be. (more…)

Blog archives

A Conversation About Crime

After four weeks in what remains one of my favourite places, I find myself back home feeling rather evolved. I realise this must sound trite and perhaps a little too Eat Pray Love but it simply is what it is. Since returning from Thailand I find myself a little more peaceful and at ease, and for me that is kind of a big deal.

There is something perhaps a little eye-opening about being somewhere else. Again: that sounds so silly. And yet it is true. During our travels, my husband and I met so many wonderful people. The best thing about Thailand is that you don’t only meet wonderful Thai people, you meet people from all over the world, and I cannot help but feel like these sorts of interactions make for a particularly satisfying plate of soul food.

A recurring thought that I have had over the last few weeks was a surprising one: Being South African has somehow prepared me for far more than I have ever considered. In some ways this is a good (sensible) thing, but I admit in some ways it is also perhaps a little disturbing.

As much as I would like my parents (and friends and loved ones) to believe otherwise: Thailand is not the safest place. Actually, the world is kind of not the safest place…

Before jetting off to a foreign land, it’s always best that those who love us are able to watch us go without having to worry about our safety. Of course this is almost impossible because love and worry go hand-in-hand, but I realised that as a travelling South African, I have been indirectly equipped with something that not all travellers seem to have: vigilance. If nothing else, this almost automatic vigilance should be a source of comfort to those who might be invested in my wellbeing.

While engaging in conversation with some of our new friends, I discovered that the topic of crime is a relatively universal one. That is kind of obvious, of course, but as much as we all love the stories about folks who live in neighbourhoods where they never have to lock their cars (unheard of in SA!) and about places where you can leave money lying out in the open and know that it will still be there when you get back, that is not exactly a common reality. Folks all around the world have dodgy things happening in their neighbourhoods. As South Africans we often have all sorts of weird ideas about crime. We sometimes think bad things don’t happen in other places, or other places’ bad things are different to South African bad things. Of course we are wrong. I am getting better at exploring the things that I am wrong about.

It’s strange perhaps, but during conversations about the botched investigation of the murder of the British couple in Koh Tao, and discussions about how tourists in Thailand are such easy targets for muggings and pickpockets, I found myself thinking about crime and the role it plays in my own life. While some of my new friends seemed to have found themselves in a place weeded to implement a slightly stricter routine of self preservation, the “scariness” of Thailand didn’t affect me at all.

Why?

Because I’m South African. And I’m a girl with zero upper body strength. I pretty much always assume that someone is about to mug me.

I hardly knew I felt that way until it came up in conversation. I am careful, and I am careful in a large part because of where I come from, but I have always been one to laugh off the doomsayers when it comes to South African crime. When folks ask me, with genuinely concerned looks on their faces, how I cope with South African crime, I always laugh it off. The perception of South African crime always seems more dire than the reality. I do not live in fear. I recognise that crime is an issue, and that it may touch my life at some point, but I don’t live in the kind of fear that other people seem to expect that I should.

This, of course, begs another question: Am I wrong?

So far, I have been lucky enough to have lived a life largely untouched by crime. But just because my experience has been one thing, I can’t really expect that experience to be a real reflection on the reality of what crime is in this country. I may happily stick up for my country and the beautiful people living in it (criminals aside, South Africans are great people!) but perhaps I am not so accurate in my defence.

As I was going off on one of my defensive tangents the other day, I started to list the few times crime that had actually touched my life. I expected the list to be short, but as I continued, I realised that the list was way longer than I thought it was.

Let’s take a quick look:

  • a.)   Grabbed on the vagina by a man who passed me in the street when I was a teenager (thankfully I was more infuriated than traumatised by the event)
  • b.)  Wallet lifted from my handbag while washing hands in a public restroom
  • c.)   Cell phone lifted from handbag while shopping
  • d.)  Cell phone lifted from my desk at work
  • e.)   My house has been broken into twice
  • f.)    Washing stolen from the line on various occasions over the years

These are massively irritating things and were quite upsetting at the time but they haven’t caused any long-term damage. I have learned to close my handbag properly and to hold it closer to my body. I am good about setting the alarm when I leave the house and not leaving any windows open. We have household insurance, which makes a huge difference when it comes to the trauma of discovering that your house has been broken into and half of your belongings are missing (although the violation of having a stranger in your house can’t really be fixed by a cheque). These are just simple things that are no big deal and eventually don’t really feel like a big deal, but when you list them I guess you kind of have to admit that it’s a little iffy…

And then I look at articles like the one I recently read on Hippo’s Blog about ‘The Real State of SA Crime’ and can’t help but wonder if I am exceptionally naïve to feel that way. If these are the kinds of realities that face South Africans, why am I not a constant nervous wreck? Nervous wrecking is, after all, what I am so exceptionally good at.

Should I be proud of myself? Or is it perhaps that we just kind of get used to these things? Perhaps they become part of our scenery, our psyches, our day-to-day. And they become almost invisible.

Is that bad?

Are my usual habits just good sense or have they been born from this place where I live?

It seems sensible that I don’t use an ATM unless someone (preferably male) is with me. It seems sensible not to take my camera with me to the park unless my husband is able to come too. It makes sense not to walk to my dad’s office down the road with my laptop in my bag unless I am not alone. It makes sense to never let myself get publicly intoxicated enough to make myself an easy target (although I admit that I kind of don’t really like being drunk anyway so that one is easy).

It makes sense not to walk alone at night, ever, with or without valuables on my person.

Doesn’t it?

 

 

 

 

Blog archives

Home & Happy

It’s Thursday (I think) which means I have been home for three sleeps now. I still feel a little high.

I must admit, as much as I love my home (being the introverted little hobbit that I am) this time being home feels particularly good and I’m struggling to grasp why. Usually coming home has a little bit of sadness attached to it. A bit of oh-here-we-go-again let’s-get-back-to-reality kind of thing. I don’t know. The sad part is missing this time.

A week before we left for Thailand my pastor from Molteno (the man who has been at the head of my spiritual wellbeing for most of my life) came up to PE for a visit and he spent almost a whole day with me. I must admit: I spent most of that visit with tears pouring out of my face. Again, I can barely express why. I suppose this has been an exceptionally overwhelming year in almost every way. From considering massive changes like moving countries, to (still) trying to get to a point where stepmom and stepkids can happily co-exist in the same space, to heavy financial burdens made heavier by losing previously reliable clients, clients who just don’t pay, and an unfortunate drop in financial help as far as two of our children are concerned – this year has been a challenge.

Then, of course, Thailand started experiencing its crazy strict military coup and all sorts of things started to go as pear shaped as possible.

During week three of my vacation (aka: week two of hell-on-earth TEFL course) I sent my pastor a message which said something like this:

I don’t know if it counts as a miracle, but I hate teaching English so much that the degree thing is no longer a problem. I will never ever consider doing this as a career.

I also admitted that even though feeling this way is technically a disaster in the face of our plans, I am feeling quite content about it and not panicking at all.

He replied that peace in the midst of the unknown comes from God.

I have to wonder if that is what it is then: just peace.

I have absolutely no idea what we are going to do from here. We’ve talked about it a few times and the conversations have all branched off into quite extreme directions. I’m not even sure which ones were serious ideas…

But for now? For now I’m just going to enjoy this peace.

Later I might tell you all about why I think that TEFL (in Thailand at least) is a farce.

But for now? Peace.

I’m not even going to think about all the credit card payments I need to be making on a non-existent salary. That is future Nadine’s problem. Present Nadine is unpacking and playing with her kids.

Blog archives

Why I need to learn to speak Thai ASAP…

NO-I-DON-T-WANT-A-F--K-N-SUIT,-TUK-TUK-OR-MASSAGE-TopsIt occurs to me today that there is an increasing number of stuff that I need to be able to express while I am out and about in this country, and my inability to do so is creating a bit of a wobble for me.

One of the main reasons that I decided that English teaching is not for me is this: English is my thing. I love English. I love communication. Communication, in fact, is my superpower. And when you put me in a classroom full of people with whom I cannot communicate, I kind of feel as though I have been stripped of my superpower. This leads to unhappiness. And the whole point of anything really is to not be unhappy…

So…here I am in this country where my snark and sarcasm mean nothing. My ability to express myself means nothing. I cannot even so much as order more than one thing off of any menu without being almost 100% sure that the wrong thing is going to arrive at my table. I will then not be able to communicate the mistake because in Thai culture it is considered the height of bad manners to embarrass someone by pointing out their error… *sigh* (more…)

Blog archives

Perspective… (Alternative title: Let’s not freak out just yet.)

Photo on 2014-10-08 at 9.10 AM

I’m sitting in the breakfast nook of the Holiday Park Hotel in Lamai Beach, Koh Samui at the moment, drinking coffee and talking to you, while there are 21 braver-than-I-am souls currently on their way to a school, whose name I can’t pronounce, in order to teach a (large) group of children to speak English. At the moment I can’t really remember ever being happier.

Pure relief is highly addictive…

Some of you may know that Ty and I are currently in Thailand. We’re into the third week of four and we are doing a TEFL course and trying to establish if we really really would like to move here for a while. Correction: Ty is doing a TEFL course. On Monday evening I tended my resignation for this course which I paid way too much money for because honestly – I just could not deal! (As a quick side note: Ty seems to be enjoying it and has said he can see himself doing this one day if we decide to still move here so at least there’s that! He’s on his own though!)

For the last ten months I have been so lost in preparing for this trip that not once did a very pertinent question did not occur to me: What if I hate it?

And I do. I hate it so much that not doing it right now has been the most insane source of happiness. I almost feel bad for the others because they are all having a miserable time of it as well (something which the course administrators seem to find baffling…ok then….) but my guilt is most definitely being overshadowed by relief. (more…)

Blog archives

Underwater Selfies

I just kind of felt the need to share my absolute love for my new camera with everyone. My God it’s been a long time since I’ve had so much fun. And I’m so glad I married my husband. Spending time with his is the best. Our trip so far has been awesome! I can’t wait to use this camera while snorkelling! I’m SO glad we were lucky enough to find it!!

P9220105 P9220107 P9220152 P9220154

Blog archives

Suddenly….the Husband….

Hello to the three folks who read my blog from time to time!

This message is coming to you from my hotel room where I should be taking a mid-morning nap in an attempt to be well rested for our over-night bus ride to Koh Samui later. The husband has gone off in search of a giant swing that has Hindu origins (it’s close by) but I stayed behind because I need a break from touristing and because yesterday I had a yogurt that has somehow made me feel a bit off for the last 12 (18?) hours or so. Blegh. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t yogurt so much as it was a yogurt-like substance. I may have to stay away from dairy products for a while….

So, anyway. After admitting that I am taking a break from the bustling information overload that is Facebookland, I discovered that my husband has been sharing our daily photo downloads from my computer on (you guessed it) my very own Facebook wall. Boundaries… Apparently in marriage there are none. Anyway – I hope you all enjoyed those ten thousuand selfies that are of no consequence to anyone but the two people in them. I shall make an effort to squash my OCD need to make sure I haven’t “ignored” anyone’s comments in that regard.

Ag…buggerit… Let me pop in to say hi :)

Blog archives

Bangkok by Tuktuk

P9210036Have you ever slept for 15 hours without being sick? Gosh! On Saturday night I passed out at 6pm (Thai time) and woke up the next morning at nine. We nearly missed our free breakfast!

Of course that wasn’t supposed to happen. We weren’t supposed to be quite so exhausted on Saturday night. We were supposed to arrive at our hotel on Saturday at lunch time, and then rest a little. You know? I possess about as much spontaneity as a tree, so when we hopped onto a tuk tuk offering us a ride to a couple of temples instead of just grabbing something to eat and then heading back to our hotel room to rest after a sleep-less flight I must admit I was quite surprised with myself.

It didn’t take long to realise that when there are only two people in your travelling party, mastering the “selfie” becomes quite important. Luckily Tyrone sucks at it way less than I do so we managed to get a few pics with both of us.

Blog archives

An Almost Facebookless Holiday

20140924_123209I’m sitting on a sun chair right now, being moaned at by my husband for posing for the photograph he is trying to take of me with my pineapple shake in hand. I think he likes the weird glass…. After three days of go-go-go, we’re relaxing by the pool with our books and some drinks. Being a tourist is hard work – especially if you’re like me and tend to spend most of your life on your well-cushioned bum in front of the computer. I should really take up something more active as a profession… Like tour guiding. Those folks are active! And super fit!

You may have noticed that I’ve been a bit scarce on the social media scene.  That’s not because my poor exhibitionist ass can’t figure out how to use the wi-fi. No, folks, I’m taking a well-deserved break from Facebookland. Why?

Well, because:

a.) Doctor Who spoilers

b.) Humans

I am quite enjoying living in this strange little world where I have absolutely no idea what is going on around me. Nothing anyone says makes sense – even if what is being said is said in English. I really like it. I don’t have to listen to/read a thousand opinions on the Oscar trial (yawn) or absorb all the new Nkandla hate. I can miss out on a couple of celebrity scandals for a while. And let go of the Koh Tao murders that were absorbing my psyche for a while. When I suggested a sabbatical from FB to my husband he was very keen, but he has caved the way a tourist should, I suppose, and hasn’t been able to resist pic sharing and the like. I kind of miss writing a little (and realize now how much effing around on FB “feels” like writing and therefore often takes the place of actual functional writing – gah!) so I may post on here from time to time. That way I get to kind of keep in touch but run way less of a risk of getting lost in an ever-consuming Facebook hole.

So yeah…. Don’t bother commenting on the FB link to this post which will automatically pop up on my wall in a little while. If you do, I will either not read it, or if I do manage to find it after a month-long holiday, I will know that you didn’t read the post at all.

I hope all of you are well. From sunny Bangkok I wish you all health and happiness!

I think I’ll have a watermelon shake next….

Blog archives

A little Bit in Love

Heehee I keep playing this video over and over. I’m in love with the spunkiness of this girl and I want her wardrobe – especially the tiny green frock with the white tights and yellow cardigan — so cute! Thought I’d share it just for fun :)

Blog archives

It Was Life Who Failed You

rwI watched Jack last night with the kids and then binge watched The Crazy Ones again while I waited for my husband to get home from his cricket match. He then crawled into bed with me and binge watched it too. Until way later than he should have.

During the releasing of the ducklings scene on one of the earlier episodes of The Crazy Ones I suddenly thought it’s weird that I don’t feel sad watching this. I had kind of expected to. But I could still laugh. I guess that’s where the world as a whole is kind of lucky. We didn’t lose a husband or a father or a friend. We lost an icon. And we only need a television set to revisit him. We can, if we wish, simply pretend.

I won’t pretend to be an expert on suicide or depression. I won’t pretend to understand fully. I think personally I am very much inclined towards possibly serious depression and anxiety from time to time (ok fine — all the time). Being a hyper-sensitive person in a world that seems to have collectively learned how to be cold has its challenges. I hope that if it ever gets really bad that I might be brave enough to ask for help, though to be honest I probably won’t.

The thing is: life feels really long sometimes. We all love to yell “carpe diem” and wax on poetically about how we need to use every moment. Am I the only one who feels like it’s a bit of a farce? Now and then I catch myself thinking “Another 40 years of this? Really?” None of us actually asked to be here. And yet here we are. Here we are loving people who have the power to hurt us in every conceivable way. We’re going through the tedious motions of what is expected – living impossibly busy but often empty lives. Sometimes we start the day with little more than the goal of getting through to the other side of it. Our friends get cancer and they die. We lose people constantly – to accidents, to suicide, to murder. Daily we are bombarded with just how fucking crap it is to actually exist. I’ve just this minute seen a photograph of dead children covered in blood. We’ve got Christians and Muslims killing each other. We’ve got human trafficking. Rape culture. Ignorance. Oppression. Homophobia. Racism. Slut shaming. Fat shaming. Misogyny. Bullshit. We’ve got factory farming which is literally (yes literally) worse than anything your mind will allow you to imagine. We’ve got the homeless on our streets and we’ve got governments who are making their already difficult lives even harder. We’ve got people stealing our pets and using them as bait for dog fighting. We’ve got high jackers dragging four year old boys to their deaths (I couldn’t even type that without my breath catching and now there are tears pouring down my face). We deal with permanent powerlessness when it comes to the things that hurt our lives and the lives of our loved ones. Not only do we have to somehow manage our own baggage, but add a spouse and children to your life and guess how much the baggage grows!

I’m not saying that depression isn’t real – of course it is. But fucking hell life sucks enough without it! Add depression on top of “just life”? Bloody hell! Yes, enjoying all the little things can make a huge difference….but….but there’s always a but. I should feel grateful that my children are not being bombed in Gaza. And I am. But how do I not mourn for those who are? How do I not feel guilty for having what others do not? I am grateful to know that my family loves me. But how do I not mourn for children who do not have that for themselves? Sometimes all I want is peace from the thoughts and life that seems to so fully consume me, as if it is gnawing at my very bones and digesting my entire essence. I cannot be the only one.

Here we are in an age where we are so connected to each other, and yet how many of us feel like these tools that were meant to bring us together have only made us more disconnected from our own lives? This massive disconnection from self is crippling. It is exhausting. It is overwhelming. It can be worked on, yes. But it takes work. Something more to make you feel like you might be failing. Being “ok” does not come nearly as easily as being “not ok” does. It is the joke of The Universe. It is why we need to constantly feed ourselves with all sorts of things to keep afloat. Be it art or literature or entertainment. Or food or booze or drugs. Be it hanging around people whose views uplift you. And even then, all that “filling” guarantees nothing because sometimes there’s just a hole in the bag…

I saw someone say today that perhaps if Robin Williams had known how much he was loved he would still be alive today. That’s a kind of sweet (sad?) thought, but I don’t think that it’s necessarily true.

I need to say here that I promise I am not going to commit suicide. I gave up my right to do so the day a second blue line showed up on my pregnancy test. But the thing is….so often I find myself tired of being alive. And that is not a reflection on my family or my friends or any sort of lack of love. I know I am loved and I am blessed in that regard. I also have an extraordinary amount of love for others. That in itself can be debilitating, though I admit that loving my son brings with it a certain flicker of hopefulness.

But love is not a cure for life. It may act as a soothing balm from time to time, but the magic of love is limited. There is no cure for life except to get to the other side of it. I may never choose to hurry that process by my own hand, but I sure as hell will never judge someone who made that very real choice for themselves.

So to Robin Williams I can only say this: I know that we the public did not fail you in our love for you. I know that your family did not fail you. I know that your friends did not fail you. And I know that you did not fail yourself.

It was Life who failed you. It is, after all, what Life is best at.

Rest in Peace, dear friend. You will be missed, and always loved. You may not have been your own reason to keep going, but I think in a very big way you have given many many others a reason to get through just one more day.

Blog archives

Campaign: AutoTrader iTunes App – Simplifying Your Search *sponsored post*

auto t

South Africa’s No. 1 automotive website brings you an easy and convenient way to search for Cars, SUV’s, Bikes, Boats & commercial vehicles from your iPhone, iPad or iPod Touch with the same rich browsing experience you have come to enjoy from our website and more.

The application gives you access to all the vehicles listed here. Search over 45,000 vehicles for sale with the convenience of narrowing down your search within kilometres of your location. Once you select your vehicle it’s easy to contact the seller: Call or email the seller directly from the app, visit their website (if applicable) or simply use the maps functionality to give you directions to their location or showroom. (more…)

Blog archives

July Photo Challenge #6:Love is…

Love Is

 

Kid could not be more in love with this dog….