Newly appointed events manager Jo Cooper, keen to bring live entertainment to The Mist, had booked her friends Les McQueen and Tony Cludeo, a duo who went by the name Crème Brûlée.  Everything was going well until Jon Bosman, a local pub enthusiast and connoisseur of bad decisions, decided that it would be a good idea to pinch the backside of a 15-year-old girl who was playing pool.

Unfortunately for him, the girl in question was the daughter of lead-singer McQueen and within seconds, the evening’s setlist changed from soft rock to kung fu fighting.  The furious musician confronted Bosman, leading to a heated exchange that might have ended there- if not for Chef Stuart Scott-King, a man known more for his right hook than his culinary skills.  Scott-King decided to deck the band member, knocking the glasses clean off his face.

“Everybody stop fighting! I hate this!”

This prompted Cludeo, the larger of the two musicians- a man built like a walk-in freezer, to intervene. The fight spilled onto the outside deck, where the monster musician shoved the chef to the ground with a force that rattled the pub windows.

Witnessing his chef sprawled out on the pavement, pub manager Nick Dunstan-Smith decided it was his time to shine.  With the fearlessness of a man who had clearly overestimated his own strength, he leapt onto the back of the enormous drummer in an ambitious but ultimately doomed attempt to strangle him. The band member, unfazed, simply flipped Nick off his back, sending him crashing down like a bag of mielie meal.

Seeing Dunstan-Smith on the ground, Chaz, the 14-year-old son of the Cludeo, decided to get stuck in as well.  In a move straight out of a 16th century shin-kicking contest, he laid into the back of Dunstan-Smith as many times as possible before being dragged off by the manager’s girlfriend Tosca Perissinotto.

It was at this moment that Mist & Drizzle regular and Knobble Hill News’ own sub-editor Matthew le Cordeur could take no more.  Jumping onto an outdoor table, he flung his arms into the air and shrieked, “Everybody stop fighting! I hate this!” in what witnesses later described as the most dramatic display of pacifism since the 1960s.

The unexpected theatrics worked.

The enormous band member, suddenly overcome with regret, began apologizing profusely, particularly to Dunstan-Smith, begging him not to call the police.  He stated that he was already on parole for previous assault charges and could ill afford another misdemeanor.

Meanwhile, Chef Scott-King, who had very clearly thrown the first punch, attempted to deny any involvement.  Despite multiple eyewitnesses and the fact that he was still wearing his chef’s jacket, making him the easiest suspect to identify in the entire ordeal.

When things calmed down and the bar staff had cleaned up the broken glass, Jo Cooper announced that the night, despite the small scuffle, had been a huge success.

The Mist & Drizzle patrons agreed that it had been the most entertaining night in Knobble Hill that year.

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The individual in question, who wished to be known as Miss Josephine, made a grand entrance in the hotel’s rose garden, just outside the Tudor Room, sporting a bold red floral ensemble that could only be described as fearlessly flamboyant.  The outfit- a calf-length skirt, camisole, and matching blouse in a diaphanous, figure-hugging polyester fabric was topped off with sling-back silver heels and a patent red clutch.  The daring fashion statement might have graced the pages of Vogue, had it not been accompanied by a quart of Carling Black Label.

While Miss Josephine’s nails were impeccably manicured, her demeanor was significantly less polished.  Witnesses described Josephine as, “completely plastered and obviously a man in women’s clothing”.  A point confirmed by Mr. Amos Sithole, a waiter at the hotel, who revealed that Joseph Ntshangase had been “enjoying a considerable amount” of alcohol in the staff canteen, earlier that day.

Guests at Table Four, a prime location by the window, renowned for offering a perfect panoramic view of the award-winning gardens, found themselves dismayed to discover a floral display of an entirely different variety.

Mr. and Mrs. Tremoulet, longtime hotel patrons, initially assumed Ntshangase was simply a guest out for a pre-lunch stroll.  That was until her increasingly erratic movements and repeated stumbles as her high heels dug into the turf.  As Ntshangase’s performance grew louder and increasingly boisterous, diners began abandoning their pickled fish to watch the spectacle unfold.

“Well, I really don’t see what all the fuss is about. We were always cross-dressing in Happy Valley. In fact, my late husband was never happier than when he was wearing my twin-set and pearls.”

Upon seeing the disturbance, Mr. Michael White, the highly accomplished maître d’hôtel, made a beeline for the French doors.  White’s prestigious career included serving none other than HRH Princess Margaret at the Royal Albert Hall in London- he was used to over-the-top performances but nothing quite like this.

To his horror, but not surprise, he immediately recognized Ntshangase as an off-duty hotel employee who, to make matters even more surreal, had worn this exact same outfit to the staff end-of-year party.

Thinking swiftly, White attempted to restore order- he closed curtains on proceedings, shooed away curious diners, and discreetly called security.

However, his efforts were met with fierce resistance from guests at the window tables, who flatly refused to accept the curtains being drawn, citing both the hot weather and their right to a scenic garden view.

One particularly indignant patron was overheard exclaiming, “I mean, they’ve already had the bald-faced impertinence to take jelly and custard off the menu—and now this! If they’re not careful, I shall take my custom to Fern Hill or Rawdons.”

Upon the arrival of Head of Security Mr. Ram Khumalo, Ntshangase launched into an ear-splitting stream of invective.  Khumalo showed considerable strength and skill in restraining Ntshangase who put up fearsome resistance.  Two security guards joined the effort to restrain the frocked felon who had by this time removed their high heals and was using them as weapons to hammer the head of anyone in striking distance.  Finally the three men brought Ntshangase to a heel, and was then dragged off and handcuffed to the guard hut to the delight of some and disappointment of many.

With many of the guests being pensioners and hard of hearing, the whole scene might have played out like a slap-stick silent film had it not been for octogenarian socialite Mrs Shirley Forsyth-Thompson who was on hand to provide a running commentary of the proceedings.

As she prepared to depart the parking lot, perched behind her considerably younger boyfriend on a Harley Davidson, Mrs. Forsyth-Thompson, who originally hails from Gilgil, Kenya, was quoted as saying:

“Well, I really don’t see what all the fuss is about. We were always cross-dressing in Happy Valley.  In fact, my late husband was never happier than when he was wearing my twin-set and pearls.”

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The man, whose identity is being withheld pending family notification, is believed to have devised an elaborate mechanism to end his life.  Investigators say he rigged a candle to burn through a string, which then released the sharp blade, decapitating him instantly. A mattress was placed beneath him, seemingly to prevent his head from rolling away.

“We thought it was strange that he was starting an instant lawn business in the mist and drizzle of Knobble Hill where no one has a problem growing grass.”

Before carrying out the act, he reportedly sent a message to a friend, informing him of his plan so that someone else, rather than his parents, would discover his body. Police arrived on the scene after being alerted by the friend, who rushed over but was too late to intervene.

When asked for comment, the friend responded, “This was not a cry for help.  He was determined to kill himself and had clearly been planning it for at least two weeks.  We thought it was strange that he was starting an instant lawn business in the mist and drizzle of Knobble Hill where no one has a problem growing grass.”

Authorities are treating the case as a tragic suicide, and no foul play is suspected. Friends and family have expressed shock at the man’s death, describing him as someone who had struggled emotionally following his recent divorce.

Mental health professionals urge anyone experiencing distress to seek support, emphasizing that help is available.

For confidential support, contact a crisis hotline or reach out to a trusted friend or counselor.

The post Man Beheads Himself in Suspected Suicide appeared first on Knobble Hill News.

With a significant number of widows in the village, many of whom had lost their husbands years ago, Atwood quickly became an invaluable presence, offering practical assistance where needed.

“Men generally take care of home maintenance- changing light bulbs, tightening taps, that sort of thing.  I know that might sound old-fashioned, but we come from a different era,” Atwood told Knobble Hill News from his modest one-bedroom flat.  “There are a lot of women here who need help around the house, and I’m happy to do what I can.”

Residents appreciate his generosity.

“Just to call an electrician or plumber can cost 400 rand before they even start working!” said Beryl Johnson, a longtime village resident.  “Harry never charges a call-out fee, and if it’s a small job, he won’t even take a penny.  Lovely man.”

A New Chapter in Life

Beyond the practical support, Atwood formed deep friendships with many of the residents, sharing cups of tea and long conversations about life, love, and memories of their late partners.  Over time, some of these friendships evolved into companionships, with Atwood providing not just handyman services, but emotional and personal support as well.

“I was married for 41 years, completely devoted to my wife,” he shared.  “Before she passed, she told me to keep on living, and that’s what I’ve tried to do.”

“Then one day, one of the ladies gave me Viagra and suggested I take it before my next visit.”

As he spent more time in the village, Atwood realized that many of the women were longing for a deeper connection, something they hadn’t experienced in years.  “Then one day, one of the ladies gave me Viagra and suggested I take it before my next visit,” Atwood recalled how the relationships began to become more physical.

“I realized that many of the women had needs that hadn’t been met in years.  I was completely honest with all of them about having multiple partners, and they were all very understanding,” he admitted. “With so few men in the village, most of the ladies were just grateful for the companionship.”

Health Concerns and Community Awareness

However, concerns arose when Dr. Wren Stewart, the village physician, noticed an increase in certain medical conditions among some of the residents.  On further discussion, it became clear that Atwood had been a common link.

When asked about his own health, Atwood acknowledged that he had been advised to take a step back.

“I do have a few health issues, and Dr. Stewart has suggested I abstain,” he admitted.  “I know I should be more careful, but I also have a pacemaker, high blood pressure, and arthritis- I don’t know how long I’ll be here, and I believe life is for living.  The women know the situation, and for those who still wish to carry on, I’m happy to oblige.”

Atwood’s story may be unconventional, but at its heart, it is about companionship, purpose, and human connection in a stage of life where many feel forgotten.  For the residents of Oaktree, he is more than just a handyman- he is a friend, a helper, and, for some, a second chance at happiness.

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Davies was walking back to his home in Sloane Ave. In the opposite direction Jane Sexton, 24 was en route to visit her boyfriend.

“I saw Father Christmas walking towards me and beamed him a great big smile. I may not be a child anymore but I still get excited when I see Santa. I never expected to see quite so much of him.

“As he got closer I noticed he was fiddling with his suit. Finally he revealed his Christmas baubles to me and shouted ‘Secret Santa!'” Sexton told the court.

Magistrate Gillian Wright noted that this was Davies first criminal offence in his lifetime.

“I’m not sure what came over you Mr Davies but this was not in the spirit of Christmas,” Judge Wright said before sentencing Davies to 200 hours community service.

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