Today, 30 years ago, John Lennon was shot. Yoko Ono has written the most beautiful tribute to him for the New York Times in which she says “…my memory of us is that we were a couple who laughed”. And she wrote how he mad tea for her in the middle of the night. He put the hot water in the mug first. Then the tea bag.
I’m listening to this.
So said Roger Cohen in the New York Times yesterday.
It’s lovely to read stories published in international papers that reflect us as an interesting, funny and demanding nation. When you read these stories we sound like an eccentric bunch of warm-hearted people who want to have lots of fun next month. That’s between reading the lines about chaos, politics and crime.
Firstly there’s Rian Malan’s piece which was published in the Observer on the 16th May. I only got to read it this week. And then there’s Celia Dugger’s piece in the New York Times earlier this week.
Malan says towards the end of his article that:
“South Africa is amazing! At any given moment, all possible futures seem entirely plausible. We are winning, we are losing. We are progressing even as we hurtle backwards. Every day brings momentous exhilarations and dumbfounding setbacks, and the sun shines brightly even in winter. Throw in the heady proximity of Mandela and Beckham, and you’re almost guaranteed a splendid time.”
And Dugger writes how South Africans have fought for easier access to tickets, to see their musicians at the world cup concert and “to ensure that more World Cup souvenirs were made in South Africa.”
She recognises the South African spirit. She says this country “ended a vicious system of racial segregation 16 years ago to create a noisy, fractious, vibrant democracy. Poking a finger in the eye of authority is part of the national DNA.” Don’t you love that!

Did you know that Sienna’s mother is South African? I didn’t. But this doesn’t really matter to the story of her promiscuity.
In the opening paragraph of the weekend profile on the actress the NYT refers to her as “Serial Sienna”.
“SERIAL MILLER” is what the London tabloids like to call the 27-year-old actress Sienna Miller, in honor of her long and well-documented romantic history. Her flings have included Jude Law, Daniel Craig, James Franco and most recently the married oil heir Balthazar Getty, with whom she was photographed topless and in a sailor hat. She is also famous for her retro-hippie fashion sense, for enthusiastic partygoing and for occasional miscalculations like a same-sex toe-sucking incident after the 2006 Oscars.
But they later added (we don’t know why) this correction:
An article on Page 4 this weekend about Sienna Miller misstates the nature of the relationships that she had with Heath Ledger and Sean Combs. She was friends with both of them; she did not have romantic flings with either of them.
I read Goldstone’s op-ed piece in the NY Times last night. If you haven’t read it, do so.
“But above all, I accepted [my United Nations mandate to investigate alleged violations of the laws of war and international human rights during Israel’s three-week war in Gaza] because I believe deeply in the rule of law and the laws of war, and the principle that in armed conflict civilians should to the greatest extent possible be protected from harm….Pursuing justice in this case is essential because no state or armed group should be above the law. Western governments in particular face a challenge because they have pushed for accountability in places like Darfur, but now must do the same with Israel, an ally and a democratic state.”
There is a lovely blog on the New York Times, Abstract City. Christoph Niemann is an artist and illustrator whose last post struck a chord. Know this? What is it about the little things? I’ve tried adding another bed to the bottom of our bed, where any one of them, or all of them, can lie across that bed – on top of the covers. And leave me alone to sleep.
It’s been no help at all.
I’ve stolen an illustration for here, but you have take a look at the blog:
I love this piece using a home as the spine for remembering. It’s telling and very moving: the house “the only constant, it seems… has witnessed the best and worst of Iraq’s recent history”. Zainab Salbi, writing for the New York Times remembers her parents’ friend Saddam Hussein: “Looking back, I think of Mr. Hussein’s presence in our life as a poisonous gas that leaked into our home. We inhaled it gradually.”