An acerbic, witty, wry, bittersweet, and exquisitely penned memoir, Jani Confidential tells how Jani Allan became a world-famous columnist and reveals much of life behind the scenes at the Sunday Times . Those who remember the “Just Jani” column will be intrigued and delighted, and those who missed out on those heady times will be captivated by this memoir of betrayal, back-stabbing, and life in the very fast lane. A storyteller beyond compare, she shares her remarkable story—from her adoption, her controlling mother, and the fallout of two broken marriages to the fabulous brittle creature that the tabloids tore to shreds, devoured, and then spat out. Jani Allan is a South African columnist who became well known for publishing a weekly column at the Sunday Times , where she worked between 1980 and 1989. She has interviewed everyone from cabinet ministers to Hollywood royalty. She is now a restaurant diarist and animal rights advocate. She lives in Lambertville, New Jersey. Jani Confidential A Memoir By Jani Allan, Alison Lowry Jacana Media (Pty) Ltd Copyright © 2015 Jani Allan All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4314-2021-6 Contents 1: MY MOTHER, MYSELF, 2: LIVING IN A WHITE-BREAD WORLD, 3: ME AND MY AVATAR, 4: LOOKING FOR MOTHER, 5: WITS UNIVERSITY, 6: THE TEACHING YEARS, 7: I BECOME A COLUMNIST, AND MY GORDON STORY, 8: 'JUST JANI' – THE EARLY DAYS, 9: HOOKING THE RICH FISH – AND THE HELDERBERG GOES DOWN, 10: IN WHICH I MEET EUGÈNE TERRE'BLANCHE, 11: A TRIP TO ST LUCIA, 12: VALENTINE'S DAY AND THE AWB TRAINING CAMP, 13: GOD IS IN THE DETAIL, 14: THE PALACE, AND A TRIP TO VENTERSDORP, 15: THE LAST PICTURE SHOW, PHOTOGRAPHIC INSERT - I, 16: THE STRIJDOM SQUARE SHOOTING AND THE DAY OF THE VOW FESTIVITIES, 17: PAARDEKRAAL PART 1, 18: PAARDEKRAAL PART 2, 19: THE PAIN AND THE RIDICULE, 20: FLATMATES FALL OUT, 21: MY APARTMENT IS BOMBED, 22: IN WHICH I LEAVE SOUTH AFRICA, 23: LIVING IN EPPING FOREST, 24: THE RUNNING OF THE BULLS IN PAMPLONA, 25: GLASTONBURY, 26: MEAN GIRLS, 27: THE COURT CASE PART 1, PHOTOGRAPHIC INSERT - II, 28: THE COURT CASE PART 2, 29: THE COURT CASE PART 3, 30: THE COURT CASE – FINALE, 31: IN WHICH I AM UNWITTINGLY RECRUITED AS A SPY, 32: MY MOTHER DIES, 33: MARIO AND THE INKATHA FREEDOM PARTY, 34: BETWEEN DEVIL'S PEAK AND TWO DEEP BLUE SEAS, 35: IN WHICH I AM HELD UP WITH A MAGNUM .44, 36: EXILE IN AMERICA, 37: MÉSALLIANCE, 38: MISS KATE, 39: IN WHICH HOPES OF BEING ON OPRAH ARE DASHED, 40: GIMME SHELTER, 41: IN WHICH I BECOME A SERVER, CHAPTER 1 My Mother, Myself My moon is in Capricorn. Astrologers will tell you that this signifies a plate-glass cold maternal figure, distant and given to withholding praise and affection. So it was with Janet Sophia. She scooped me up when I was a runt with cabbage ears. I could fit in a shoe box. She named me Isobel Janet. She didn't tell me I was adopted until I was eighteen. She was short-fused and I had annoyed her about something or other. 'I didn't want you. I really wanted a little boy!' I ran out of the house and sat in the stable for hours. But I am my mother. More importantly, I am her creation. Then – and still now – the long, thin beam of her spirit flashes over me and I am found wanting. 'After all the money I spent on making you a consort fit for a prince, you are a waitress in New Jersey. New JERSEY?' John Murray Allan was born in Peterhead, Scotland. He came to South Africa for the climate. He met Janet Sophia – or Molly, as she was called – at a funeral. Before she met Jack Allan, my mother was married to a drunk who beat her. Once he broke all the fingers in her right hand. She would sit at a bus-stop through the night rather than go home or turn to a neighbour. Hers was a troubled life. But when she met Jack Allan happiness struck her like a Highveld shower. He was the chief sub-editor at The Star newspaper. A slight man with a small moustache who loved to have piano sing-alongs while enjoying a wee dram or two. He died when I was eighteen months old. I have no recollection of him, save that he gave me a book of dog breeds. I scribbled over the Airedale terrier. He must have been an evolved soul to have chosen me. My mother went to work at De Beers and left me in the capable hands of my Zulu nanny, Dennis. I have pictures of Dennis pushing me on a swing. He is a gentle, pock-marked giant. In addition to adopting me, my mother fostered three other children. One of them, a teenage boy of about sixteen, took me into the garage when she was at work and did inappropriate sexual things to me. I screamed, but there was no one to hear me. When he let me go, I burrowed into my mother's cupboard, sobbing into her expensive coats. I hid there until she came home. I never told her what happened. I feared that it was my fault. Memory is a lasso, with which we capture the wild ponies of the past and attempt to tame their chaos. Sometimes we have to let a pony go because i