From Jamie Burchell’s Facebook page:
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Don’t know what got into me. Hot Running Guy was giving me a platonic kiss on the cheek to say goodnight when I turned my head to kiss him right on the lips. Have I lost my marbles?

Ella Burchell Ha! I knew this would happen! Just call me psychic.

Pumla Maseko Then we’re psychic too, Ellz. I think we all saw this coming.

Amanda Stanislau So, is he a good kisser? Tell us all, omitting no detail, however slight. 😉

Jamie Burchell “Good” doesn’t even begin to cover it, and that’s all I’m saying. *zips lips*

Liezel Lamprecht You must be careful of teasing guys like that. They cant always control themselves.

Janeesha Jerrald *rolling my eyes*

Liezel Lamprecht if uve got something to say to me janeesha why dont u say it?

Janeesha Jerrald Okay, then I’ll say that the notion that men aren’t in control of their sexual urges, and that it’s the responsibility of women not to “provoke” them, is a patriarchal myth!!

Liezel Lamprecht Its not about myths its about common sense. If you stir a guy up you have to take the consequences.

Janeesha Jerrald What, like RAPE?

Liezel Lamprecht alot of rapes could be prevented if girls took more precautions

Janeesha Jerrald Oh, for God’s sake!

Pumla Maseko Girl fight! *grabs popcorn*

Jamie Burchell ANYWAY! He may have great kissing skillz, but it’s his son who’s really got my heart. I just can’t stop thinking about that little boy. The other night I dreamed I was helping him lace up his sweet little shoes. I woke up almost in tears that it wasn’t true. 

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Tom lifted his son so he could spit toothpaste into the basin.

“Spit, Benny! Spit it all out. And again. Good job. Now, put this water in your mouth and spit again. No drinking, remember. Just spit.”

The first gulp of water was swallowed straight down, but Ben remembered to spit out the second. And that, Tom thought, was as good as it was likely to get tonight.

This tooth-brushing routine was still fairly new. It was only recently that Ben had acquired enough teeth to make it worthwhile to brush them. Tom had held out for six teeth, having visions of fluoride poisoning as toothpaste ran down his son’s throat in an unending stream.

At least they made special babies’ toothpaste these days so it wasn’t a disaster even if he did swallow most of it. Maybe mothers had some secret method whereby they managed to stop toddlers from swallowing toothpaste, but Tom hadn’t discovered it yet.

“Story time now, Benny.”

Tom lifted him up to carry him to his bedroom, but Ben kicked and squirmed until Tom put him down again.

“Oh, so tonight you want to walk, huh? That’s cool.”

The last five nights he had insisted on being carried, as though the carpeted distance from bathroom to bedroom were a day’s hike across the Sahara.

Ben ran into his bedroom and made a beeline for the bookcase. His eyes tracked across the collection of picture books until he spotted the one he wanted. Then he pounced on it and carried it to his father. “Wild!” he demanded. “Want Wild.”

Tom ignored him.

“Look, Benny, look!” He picked up the book he’d already laid on the little racing-car bed. “Look at this new book! This book is FUN! Look at all the great pictures in here. See, here’s a gorilla. He’s all big and hairy. Boy, I bet this book is going to be exciting.”

He sat down and opened the book with all the authority he could muster. “Traditional Fairytales from the Democratic Republic of Congo. Doesn’t that sound awesome?”

He sneaked a look at his son and saw that the little boy’s face was set in mutinous lines.

“Want Wild!” he repeated. “Wild! Wild! Wild!”

“Okay, how about I read you Wild and THEN the fairytale book? How about that, Benny?”

“Wild!” Ben enunciated carefully. It didn’t take a genius to realise there would be no other books read that night.

Tom put down the Congolese fairytale book and took the copy of Where the Wild Things Are that Ben was waving under his nose.

He cursed the day he’d ever bought the damn book. Sure, it was a classic, but who knew the kid would become obsessed with it?
Tom objected to it on several grounds. One – Ben was apt to take the “wild rumpus” part too literally and tear up his room before bedtime. Two – it was a Eurocentric story that added nothing to Ben’s knowledge of his own cultural origins. Three – Tom was sick and tired of reading it. He’d enjoyed it the first three million times, but now it was starting to pall. And four – it reminded Ben of the one thing Tom could never give him, which was a mother. The one who “loved him best of all”.

“Daddy loves you best of all,” he whispered in Ben’s ear as the second reading came to an end. “I love you, my Benny.”

“Daddeee.” Ben pressed his hands against his father’s cheeks and scrunched up his face for a kiss.

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Twenty minutes later, after one request for water, two requests for more light, and yet another request for water (“It’s right here next to your bed where you can reach it, Benny, see?”) Tom finally settled down in his study to do some work.

At least the requests were for water these days rather than milk or juice. Tom considered that progress, and all the toddler websites agreed with him.

He tried to concentrate on the lecture he was delivering the next morning, but it didn’t really need more work. He’d delivered it several times before, and had already adapted it for the South African setting.

“Seeking Legitimacy in the Police Custody Process.”