Ban the foghorns

I am warming to South Africa as the venue for the 2010 football World Cup. The recent Confederations Cup played there served up a surprisingly delicious aperitif of sublime skill and fierce competition.
And it was the microcosm of the real thing – one team got robbed by hookers (Egypt), tournament favourites got beaten (Spain), there was a darkhorse in the final (US), the host nation reached the semis, and Brazil won in the end.
All South Africa has to do now is - ban the foghorns. Seriously, the foghorns destroyed the tournament and the cacophony killed the TV experience.

R.I.P

I stayed away from the MJ memorial, precisely because I was unsure what the ceremony would be. By the time I got home, alas it was not over, and so, I had to endure the last 20 minutes of a vapid, pretence-ridden, farcical dribble. The Jackson family reminded me of loan-sharks at the funeral of a huge debtor – yellow ties, gloves and all.
Perhaps saddest was getting MJ’s daughter, Paris was it, to speak . It was unnecessary and disgustingly exhibitionist. Strangely she doesn’t even look like MJ – black or white. Truly, may he rest in peace.

What you should really learn from Federer

I have combed papers across the globe online today looking for an inspired Federer headline. I have not come across one. That is true greatness. When one makes headline writers struggle to capture the immensity of one’s achievement. That, and fitness.
Roger Federer did not beat Andy Roddick yesterday at Wimbledon because he played better. He beat him because he was fitter.
Fitness has nothing to do with talent, or genius, or opportunity, or privilege. It has 100 per cent to do with mind-numbing, body-destroying, resolve-busting hard, hard work. Federer showed that without super-fitness you cannot be a legend.

How to make a Jap flee

The new airport paranoia is swine flu. Masked lab technicians and thermal scanners have been added to racially-profiled security checks and not selling cocaine at dutyfree (except maybe at Tijuana International).
Step off a flight and you are scared to even clear your throat. God help you should an untimely cough come your way. Then there is the Japanese (there is always one no matter where you travel) in front of you with the mask on. In fact, all the fuss is guaranteed to make you sneeze. It’s worth it though, just to watch the Jap flee. Aah choo!

Big world, small me

My reluctance to travel has much to do with the need to remain king of my empire. To remain relevant in the universe. I temper that egoistic streak by reading National Geographic. I have yet to come across an issue that has not left me thinking… God, I’m small.
However, to really gain perspective on the minisculity of one’s life, surely it is traveling to another country that is tops.
In Malaysia I discovered an entire race (actually three) that have made Islam a religion of life and happiness, prosperity and peace. And they did it all without me.

The hook up

When you have spent the best part of your adult life in bars, you learn stuff.
You can, with one look, know if the bartender is under pouring. You can pick out, with one look, pimp, whore, addict, dealer and the DJs girlfriend. You can tell which girl the drummer is going to bang. And you learn to enjoy an entire movie with the sound off.
The one thing I haven’t learnt is being able to pick out the girl that is up for a hook up (not to be confused with the hooker). My friends say it's karma.

Michael Jackson

I waited to write about Michael Jackson because I needed to separate his suspected pedophilia from his genius.
I was to see him at the O2. One of life’s great regrets will be not having seen him when he toured India.
Jackson had a huge influence on my career as a music critic, my passion for dance and my love for the arts. Then he had sleepovers with kids.
For me, Michael Jackson died with Dangerous. After that it was a freak show dragging on till the inevitable.
The day he entered Neverland, is the day the music died.