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      Kate Turkington

      YES,

      REALLY!

      A LIFE

      Tafelberg

      To my family and all my fellow travellers

      You know who you are

      Prelude

      I’m in my ninth decade and can still have multiple orgasms.

      But more of that later.

      I’ve had two husbands, four children, nine grandchildren and a clutch of lovers.

      Recently, cleaning out some files, I found a bunch of old love letters. I had no idea I’d kept them – I mean, some of them are over 60 years old – but they got me to remembering and thinking about past loves, past happenings and my life so far.

      There were letters – some of them very sexually graphic – from Malcolm and Alan, the two husbands; and then, somewhat mysteriously, with a perished rubber-band around them (I don’t do pink ribbon), there were four letters together in a separate bundle.

      The first was written by a university don when I was eighteen and in my first year at university. He was a Scot, tall, blond and married. He thought I looked like Audrey Hepburn and fell helplessly in love. I flirted with him and led him on a bit, but when he finally got very serious and presented me with a gold watch, my eighteen-year-old morals (quite strong in those days of the 50s, not yet the rollicking 60s) kicked in and I refused him and the watch. His letter is morbid and morose (typically Scots after a few drams), saying his life was ruined.

      The second non-spouse letter was from another academic, one from Nottingham whom I had met on an examining trip to West Africa when I was Chief Examiner for O Level English for the West African Examinations Board in Nigeria. He wrote me a quite wonderful Shakespearian sonnet.

      I might let you read it later …

      The third letter was from a racing yachtsman who described me as ‘a fast sloop that sailed in and out of his life’. Mmm.

      The fourth love letter, however, was the most interesting of all.

      It is written on the thin blue airmail paper that was still used in the 60s and 70s and, penned in beautiful copperplate handwriting, begins:

      My Darling Kate

      I can’t live without you. I can’t sleep, pace the room at night, go drinking till all hours at the club, and never for a moment stop thinking about you …

      The letter continues in this anguished vein for three more pages.

      Finally:

      I am going to take you away from Alan and run off with you and we will be together always.

      Alex

      I have simply no idea who Alex is.

      1

      Sort of Famous

      ‘Are you famous?’ asks the wide-eyed friend of Alice, my eleven-year-old granddaughter. (I think Alice had been hyping me up.)

      ‘Sort of,’ I reply.

      And in a way, that’s true. Especially in South Africa, which has been my home since 1970.

      I have appeared variously on TV shows since the opening week of SABC television in 1976, when I did a book review on the arts programme Galaxy, and discussed for six minutes Harry’s Game, the first novel of a then unknown writer called Gerald Seymour. It was a groundbreaking thriller and Seymour became one of the genre’s best-known authors, with multiple international bestsellers to his name.

      In the early 80s I co-hosted the TV show Prime Time, also on SABC. Directed by the late great Bill Faure, it was revolutionary in terms of its presentation, its glitz and glamour, and in its array of celebrity guests. I’d already had my fair share of celebs with BBC TV during the Swinging 60s, before my family and I came to settle in South Africa, when I’d hosted a show called Kate at Eight. I had interviewed everyone from the Beatles, fashion icon Mary Quant, assorted film stars – including Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton and Anthony Hopkins – to, once, a talking dog (it barked, ‘I want one!’).

      I’ve seen the Queen’s knickers (yes, really), chatted with Prince Charles, and interviewed prime ministers. I interviewed Pierre Cardin, Richard Chamberlain and Sharon Stone, and many more, now either dead, fallen from grace or just burnt out.

      I was also sawn in half on live television. There were my feet on one side of the screen and my head on the other and a big wide space in between. To this I day don’t know how the magician did it.

      But it was Believe It or Not, the radio talk show I hosted, that introduced me to ideas, stories and people that I had never dreamed of. Over the course of 20 years on Sunday evenings, I spoke to prophets, poets, prisoners, pagans, pantheists, witches and wizards. I listened to charlatans, Chinese healers, archbishops, the Dalai Lama, agnostics, atheists, leaders of cults, nuns and priests. I watched faith healers at work, met people who had had near-death experiences, people who had talked to angels or seen ghosts, and those who communicated with their loved ones on ‘the other side’. It was one of South Africa’s longest-running talk shows and I conducted approximately 4 000 interviews with the famous, not so famous and totally unknown. Most guests on my show had fascinating stories to tell.

      Once I interviewed Jesus Christ – who was on the line from Southern California (where else?). He told me that there were secrets his mother had never told him. A listener immediately called in and said that obviously one of the secrets Mary had never told him was that he was stark-staring mad. However, we got along very well with one another and the next day I got an email (I still have it as a very cherished souvenir) in which he told me he had made me an honorary angel.

      Shortly before this I had been chatting with the leader of a vicious homophobic cult in Kansas. So vicious in fact, that the US government passed a law against him. I didn’t get on as well with him as I had with Jesus the Puerto Rican messiah. In fact the Kansas cult leader urged his followers to put a curse on me and my family.

      The Turkington Curse. For all I know it might still be there on the web. However, nothing happened to me or my family although, rather mysteriously, the radio station’s transmitter was struck by lightning the following day and went off air for 24 hours.

      Later in life, I turned to full-time travel writing and, like Shakespeare’s Puck, I have now girdled the world several times and continue to do so. The thing about travel writing, as I tell young eager journalists and wannabe travel writers, is that you won’t make any money but you will travel the world at somebody else’s expense.

      So … sort of famous.

      There are a lot of good things about getting older. When you’re young you want everyone to like you and you want to make an impression. When you’re old you don’t give a damn. You know who you are. You know what you’re good at and not good at, and you’re not scared to say so.

      I have experienced life to its fullest and I’ve learnt much along the way. Now I would like to share some of my experiences with you, and for you to meet a few of the people who have touched my life and impacted on my thinking in some way.

      I am inviting you to come with me on a journey, not only to some of the world’s best-known destinations, but also to some places you perhaps might never have heard of. Maybe we’ll even travel beyond this physical world to other, still unknown, realms.

      Leave your baggage at home so that you’ve space in your mind and heart to gather some new stuff.

      All the people you’re going to meet in these pages are real and all their stories are true.

      I hope they will resonate with you in one way or another, perhaps bring you some clarity, acceptance, knowledge – even power.

      There is always

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