Inside this week | Working at a novel

September 1st, 2012 7:39 am| by admin
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Sometimes things are not what they seem. Since 2009, The Copenhagen Post has been based in Kødbyen. Like any establishment, it has an address, and until recently, that’s all it was to me: a number and street name that I could never remember how to spell. 

 

And then one day, I had a closer look, and no, I wasn’t on LSD. Slagtehusgade 4-6 … err, that’s Slaughterhouse Road, how cool is that (our office still has the pillars that are customary in most abattoirs), I thought, we’ve got an address straight out of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

 

Chuckling at the thought of Leatherface coming in to complain about the absence of a livestock page and to chop our chief executive, I look at the numbers. Four to six, four to six and in between … five. Slaughterhouse Five! For nearly three years I’ve been working at a Kurt Vonnegut novel and never even noticed!

 

Now visitors to this weekend’s Trailerpark Festival might be expecting music from Eminem, lectures on the rise of the Chatham chav, and seminars on impregnating tweens, but they will be disappointed. It transpires, we found out this week, that the underground music festival got its name because the founder happened to be living in a trailer at the time. Trailerparks? In Denmark? Maybe she was a groupie. 

 

While visitors to the Zulu Comedy Festival might be expecting spears and warriors accompanying the best comedy South Africa’s fourth biggest demographic has to offer. Or at the very least, a homage to Michael Caine and how one of the greatest ever film careers hinged on the American casting director presuming the 30-year-old unknown, who had originally wanted to play the cockney corporal, would drop his Elephant & Castle accent when portraying an army officer.  

 

But Black Swan Lake is exactly what it says on the tin. It’s a couple of black geezers performing a ballet. It’s what Black Swan could have been if only Darren Aronofsky had embraced his inner brother and recast Pam Grier in the lead role. Now I would have paid decent money to see Foxy Brown kick those ballet bitches’ asses. 

De Saint Phalle may be dead, but her vision of femininity lives on in her art. (Photo: CCO)
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