Howard Feldman

My wife wasn't impressed. Not for the first time, she was concerned about something I was “putting out there”. To be fair, what I said was a little weird, but there was enough of a back-story to justify my “poor” choices.

Someone who confused me with my late father had added me to a “40 years since school” WhatsApp group. “Shame,” was my first reaction. I should probably reply that he won't be attending unless they plan to host it at Westpark Cemetery.

I was ordering something on Takealot when I remembered that the half-cup measuring thingy I use for my morning oats had gone missing in action.

Nobody ever taught me not to stop at the top of an escalator.

When I asked whether it surprised him in any way that his son Elon had not only become the world's richest man, but had also reached, quite literally, stratospheric heights, he told me how smart his other son's children are. Apparently they achieved a lot of distinctions in matric.

We might be good at weddings. We might even be world-class at Barmitzvahs. And if there's a kumzitz anywhere within a 50km radius, we'll somehow find ourselves singing in harmony around a guitar.

We might be good at weddings. We might even be world-class at Barmitzvahs. And if there’s a kumzitz anywhere within a 50km radius, we’ll somehow find ourselves singing in harmony around a guitar. But on 30 June I realised something. As Jews, we are simply not built for protest marches. The revelation came when I heard that the demonstrations were expected to begin at 10:00 and wind down at around 15:00. […]

I have no recollection of where I was when I first heard the word “peptide”. Nor do I know where I'll be when I finally understand exactly what one is. What I do know is that, according to my Instagram feed, peptides appear to be the answer to almost everything.

I ve started to worry that living a long life is becoming a full-time job. As someone who has recently burrowed deep into the rabbit hole of longevity, I am fast reaching the conclusion that getting older is honestly not what it used to be.

Around a week before I got married, my father decided it was time for an intervention. Not the “Sit down, son, let's talk about your obsession with Holocaust literature” kind. More the practical kind. In his mind, he would have failed as a father if he hadn't taught me how to change a tyre before I became someone's husband.