Thursday. The tide is full, so Durban’s North Beach is a slither of glittering black sand that’s already warm underfoot at quarter past six in the morning.
I’d been driven out of bed an hour before by the heat and a rather lurid nightmare involving Minister of Manicures David Mahlobo and the Ling Ling twins, and felt somehow grubby and in need of cleansing, so all roads led to the Indian Ocean.
Mahlobo’s a creepy cat, and a gropey one at that, but at least he’s proved my man JahNoDead wrong when he reckoned Ongoye University’s finest son couldn’t organise a handjob in a whorehouse.