The King's Lodge

The sudden almost-full moon rising up above the Amatolas gasped my breath away as I arrived in Hogsback's through its backdoor, the scenic and less travelled 49km gravel road from Cathcart. "Oh my God," I said out loud and swerved my car to a halt. In the light that Yeats describes as 'half light', I feasted my eyes on the sight, celebrated my life and inhaled the pungent pine scent of the forest.

I booked into the King's Lodge, had a glass of red wine in the bath and then collapsed into bed. The last month and four days have tested me, taken me beyond my percieved limits. At the end of July I bought (as unexpectedly as the rise of last night's moon) a majority shareholding in the local community newspaper. It's the least sleep I've had, it's the most challenged I've been, and now's the time to apologise to everyone who communicates with me as a result of this blog. Not only have I not blogged, but I've also not replied to your emails. My sincere apologies...and thank you for taking the time to 'talk' to me, also for being patient.

Of course you are wondering why someone would buy into a paper during a recession, also why on earth something as extinct as a newspaper? I'll answer those questions over the next few days as I let myself relax into the most dynamic journalism conference on the continent. All I know is that I've done the right thing...

And now to leave this incredible village behind unsavoured because of hurry. I am filled with regret and nostalgia. But I am riding one of the waves of my destiny and it requires focus and dedication. And I don't mean destiny in any glamorous sense of the world and its ways at all.

I'm again gleefully reminded: I am in the world but not of it.
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