It’s 1998 and I’m in Johannesburg, the city of Gold and sunshine and winter storms and carjackings and the air is crackling with electricity and the dust and smog from winter fires.

Ally Mcbeal appears every Monday evening just before Frasier and between them they set the scene for the beginning of every new week. Sundays don’t feel so bad thinking of the week ahead because we have Monday evening viewing to look forward to.

Just like Ally, I’m at the early stage of my career and have a housemate as well. I share a cottage with Fiori, who’s a graphic designer and her favorite color is white. Her interior decor choice of color is similarly white. And by white I mean the sofas are covered by white sheets, curtains, towels, crockery, bedlinen, tablecloths are all a similar shade of crisp white. She sets the washing machine to the highest temperature so all the white can be maintained and unspoiled by any stains or marks. Fiori breaks the white every weekend by filling a vase with a huge bunch of flowers. Well, I’m inclined whenever I buy flowers to end up with a small bunch of carnations but not Fiori. Her bunches are huge and take up space and I love them really. Apart from that the white grows on me.

We lived together quite compatibly. I only remember upsetting her once. She had been away for a few days and there was a bottle of opened asparagus in the shared fridge. After a few sips of asparagus-infused milk, I took the liberty of discarding it. It’s only a bottle of asparagus, I thought, easily replaced. She wasn’t happy. How could I discard something that didn’t belong to me? I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you would be upset by it.

I was single. I had broken up with my partner in the December of 1997 and no one else on the scene. Well, I was 24 and now free to find Mr Right. He didn’t seem to be anywhere though. Patience, I thought. He’ll be out there somewhere.

I visited a friend in Australia. She had spent nine months in Johannesburg during the previous year and we had become friends. I went to visit her on her family home outside Perth on the west coast of Australia. I attended her 21st birthday celebrations. Not realizing only a couple of week’s later her life would be cut short in a one person accident, her car careening off a rainy road and into a country tree. Her life was celebrated in the same venue as her birthday celebrations just a couple of weeks earlier.

I was back at work and having a humble homemade sandwich lunch when my mobile phone rang. It was one of those old brick phones. This was in the days before smart phones, google, streaming services and now we can add AI to that list as well. It was an unknown number. Turns out it was Natalie. I’d only seen Natalie once before, the year before when I visited my partner’s work. He had mentioned her in passing. Now she had my number and was calling me. I’m Michael’s finance, she started, and I’d appreciate you not calling him. Well, I had been guilty of calling him every few weeks or so just to say hi and how are you? Not often am I caught without a words but it was all like a punch to my guts. To my credit I respected her wishes. Why would I want to call someone who couldn’t ask me himself?

I bought a small cottage that year. It was being leased so I continued my year with Fiori. Our time together would come to an end soon anyway. She went away for Christmas, and I saw in the new year by myself. I had learnt that Michael and Natalie were getting married in the January – coincidentally when my aunt had bumped into both of them and they had brought her up to speed, mixed with a dose of hostility I’m sure.

I pondered my prospects. It’s New Year’s Eve, I’m alone, have a radio countdown for company and surrounded by white. Take cheer, I thought. We’ll soon have a new season of Ally Mcbeal.