The adventures of Tintin

As a child, I loved reading Tintin and getting swept up in his thrilling adventures with the fiery but lovable Captain Haddock. As a dog lover, I had a soft spot for Snowy — brave, clever, and always at Tintin’s side. Created by Belgian artist Hergé in 1929, The Adventures of Tintin became one of the most beloved comic series in the world, translated into more than 70 languages. With its exotic locations, daring escapes, and sense of curiosity about the world, the series may well have sparked my own lifelong love of travel and exploration. Hergé was known for his meticulous research, often spending months studying the culture, geography, and history of the places Tintin would visit — all before the internet — which gave the stories a vivid sense of realism and depth.  

The llama incident

At the London Zoo once, I got a little too close to a llama. Thinking I could connect with it the same way you can with a horse — by gently breathing into its nose — I leaned in with all the calm and goodwill I could muster. It promptly spat in my face. In retrospect, I really should have seen it coming. I’d read Tintin as a child, after all — and the exact same thing happened to Captain Haddock! As you can see from the scene below, I was in good (and very soggy) company.

Asterix and Obelix

As a kid, I absolutely loved Asterix and Obelix. It was the perfect mix of humour, history, and cartoonish chaos. Studying Latin at school and being fascinated by Roman history made it even more enjoyable — I got such a kick out of the clever historical jokes and wordplay. I adored Dogmatix (especially when he’d get upset about trees being cut down), and I always looked forward to the grand feast at the end of each story, with the bard gagged and tied to a tree while everyone else tucked into roast boar. Obelix’s obsession with wild boar and his delight in biffing Romans never got old. It was pure, joyful fun — and somehow still feels timeless.

Favourite toys as a kid: Lone Ranger and Tonto

I had several action men as a kid but my favourite was the Lone Ranger and Tonto. Many hours were spent playing with them. One of the reasons they delighted me so much was my love of westerns as a kid including The Good, the Bad and the Ugly and western movies we watched at Eight Bells. I especially loved western movies that featured Indians.

Favourite toys as a kid: Lego

Apart from my model trains, my favourite thing to play with was lego. Jo and I spent countless hours building things. It was pure bliss.

Favourite toys: Labrador puppies

I had lots of furry toys as a kid including several dogs, a bear, a rabbit and bambi.  But my favourite was my two labrador puppies.  How I loved them.  They slept on my bed throughout my childhood.

Dragons and the nostalgia they stir

Dragons have always stirred something deep in me—an emotional nostalgia tied to two powerful childhood memories. At St George’s Grammar School, where I spent my formative years, the presence of St George loomed large, both in name and in symbol. In the foyer, a commanding artwork depicted the legendary moment: St George, lance in hand, vanquishing a dragon. I passed it daily, and it etched itself into my young imagination—not just as a scene of conquest, but as a symbol of courage, myth, and mystery.

Around the same time, in early primary school, we read The Hobbit, and I encountered a very different dragon—Smaug. Unlike the defeated beast of the foyer painting, Smaug was cunning, regal, and terrifying. I was utterly captivated by the scenes where Bilbo, cloaked in invisibility, crept through the vast halls of gold to face the dragon alone. The tension, the quiet bravery, the shimmer of firelight on treasure—those images never left me. Between St George’s lance and Bilbo’s ring, dragons came to embody something more than monsters; they became symbols of the unknown, of imagination, and of the hidden treasures we discover when we dare to face what frightens us.

St George slaying the dragon

Bilbo and Smaug

Why I love stamps

There’s something quietly magical about stamps and stamp collecting—something that has captivated me since I was a child in prep school, when I first began to collect pristine British mint stamps. It stirred a feeling of connection—to stories, to beauty, to history, and most personally, to my own heritage.

My mother is British, and those little gummed rectangles became a bridge between where I lived and where I came from. Each stamp felt like a fragment of Britain itself—its monarchy, its culture, its national pride—miniature windows into a place I felt instinctively drawn to. They connected me to the rhythms of a country I knew through my mother’s accounts and those of her parents (my beloved Gran and Gramps) who visited us and later emigrated to South Africa.

For me, stamp collecting has always been a celebration of aesthetics. There’s an artistry to stamps that is often overlooked: the vibrant colours, the careful engravings, the elegant typography. They’re tiny masterpieces, created not just to serve a postal function, but to express identity, commemorate milestones, and capture imagination. Through stamps, I witnessed the visual language of British history—royal jubilees, royal weddings, national achievements—all preserved in this rich, visual archive.

Part of the joy lies in the collector’s instinct itself, which runs strong in me. The thrill of discovery, the satisfaction of order, the simple joy of curating something meaningful—it’s deeply fulfilling. It felt like each stamp I acquired added to a growing sense of narrative and purpose, not unlike piecing together a personal museum.

There’s also the quiet pride in owning a piece of history. Stamps are time capsules. They carry the dust of decades, the whispers of moments past, and the marks of human endeavor. They’ve survived wars, coronations, revolutions, and recessions. When I hold one in my hand, I feel like I’m holding more than paper—I’m holding memory.

Looking back, I see now that stamp collecting wasn’t just a hobby—it was a way of rooting myself. A way of engaging with beauty and history and identity all at once. And even now, when I come across a particularly beautiful or significant stamp, that childhood wonder returns—undiminished, immediate, and true. 

St Georges Cathedral

I spent a wonderful time in the cathedral, reminiscing about my choir days and listening to the sublime music sung by an opera singer who happened to be practising at the same time. So beautiful, it moved me to tears.  It reminded me of one of the first spiritual experiences I ever had - one that I had as a young choir boy here at the cathedral.

Some facts about St George's Cathedral

• Oldest cathedral in Southern Africa, founded in 1901 with the laying of the foundation stone by the Duke of Cornwall and York (later King George V).
• Designed by Sir Herbert Baker, the cathedral features classic neo-Gothic architecture and was constructed using Table Mountain sandstone.
• Known as the “People’s Cathedral” due to its central role in South Africa’s anti-apartheid struggle.
• Archbishop Desmond Tutu used the cathedral as a base for non-violent protest, prayer meetings, and political activism during apartheid.
• Famous for its Peace Marches, which began on its steps and drew national and international attention to the apartheid regime.
• Home to a renowned choir and hosts frequent concerts, contributing to Cape Town’s cultural life.
• Contains beautiful stained glass windows and intricate stone carvings, including a stunning Rose Window.
• A symbol of spiritual resilience and social justice, it remains an active place of worship and civic engagement.
• Located in the heart of Cape Town, near Parliament and Company’s Garden, making it a prominent historic landmark.