So I'm in Woolworths and I get these frantic phone calls, and I can't understand it because my girlfriend can't be more than 200m away. Eventually I see her waving and pointing to an elegant figure under a stylish black cap. She was 'vermom' under a scarf, and I actually glanced at her in the Long John section...I only recognised her in retrospect when my girlfriend knocked breathlessly against my shoulder, gasping: Dis Paula van 7de Laan..." "Breathe." Hold onto something I said.
Sure enough it was Diaan Lawrenson - that's her real name. While we were browsing pajamas 'Paula' and a foreign looking dude with a shaved head (in tow) moved stealthily through the warm Woolworthy aisles.
I contemplated giving her my business card. It has the word 'photojournalist' on it. I'm not sure why but I was suddenly very bashful about the idea. I realised later that the reason for my discomfort is that I probably know 'Paula' as well as I knew 'Leigh' for Isidingo, which is to say not at all. And so what would I be giving my card for - an inside scoop, to offer my services as a photographer (compared to what she's used to? - well, why not). Anyhow, I let the opportunity, and Paula, merge with the busy interiors, and dragged my wobbly girlfriend out of the store and into the cold under-construction area outside.
