I wasn’t sure what it would be like going back home after 12 years. Last time, I was a decade younger, with two small girls and far less London in my bones. Now, I’ve got more kids, more wrinkles and I may have forgotten what the sun looks like.

The sensation of being torn comes in waves. Can I belong to two places at once? Or is it my lot to be traitor, one way or another

Is there such a thing as too much Springboks?

Only a game? Since when. Oh… you’re not South African. My condolences.

Being given 50c to spend at the Spar down the road was, like, better than winning the grand prize on Telly Fun Quiz. No seriously. (Okay, not counting the trellidor.)

Mike’s Kitchen—a necessary rite of passage into the utopia of growing up, where you could stay up late, eat sweets all the time, watch too much TV, live at your friend’s house and never do any times tables.

There was only one proviso with Inecto—never ever spill it. Like, ever. On your face, on your clothing and especially not on your boyfriend’s parents’ cream lounge carpet.

The lady looked pensive. Her head turned this way and that; too quickly, like a meerkat on the lookout for snapping snakes in the veld.

My mom, who knew nothing about rugby (she shouted for Australia in the opening game until we told her that South Africa wore GREEN not GOLD #facepalm), was an absolute legend; scouring Shell garages for World Cup collectors’ memorabilia.

Jis, I miss home when the rugby’s on. It’s just not the same here in London. Today is Friday and I know the people back in SA will be rocking up to school and work in their bokke jerseys, and if they can’t afford one they’ll rummage for green or yellow, or a flag or something (anything!), to represent.

Andrea Zanin was there when expat South Africa descended into the stadium to will ‘home’ into the atmosphere…

Not that many years ago – in fact, the day before the RWC 2019 final – I sat in my daughter’s school assembly wearing my Springbok rugby jersey (couldn’t resist taunting, just a little)… writes writer, wife, mother and dreamer ANDREA ZANIN, who now lives in the UK and is author of Our Fireside Stories.  […]

If you fell on the ice, you had to make fists because some super-jock speed skater would almost certainly skate past you at that exact moment and chop your fingers off. An arm if you were super unlucky. Everybody said so. It happened to people who knew people. No, really. No matter. We were in. […]

If you’re over 60, on a Wednesday you have privilege of appointment to renew your driver’s license at the licensing department in Edenvale. My license was due to expire so I decided I would take up the offer… writes Clare Paterson. I devised the perfect plan… …the department opens at 9am and I had a […]

There’s nothing like a Parktown Prawn in the car on the way to school. “We’re going!”—mom bellows from the other side of the house. I lightning myself out of bed. Throw on my uniform (luckily, it’s summer—no tie), lurch for my school bag (praying I packed accurately the night before), will an apple into my […]