It was a light, airy space, but we were feeling dark. We looked each other in the eye. Slipped our hands to our trousers, fondling. I took mine out first. Then he was holding his in his hand. And his was bigger.

ΓÇ£Nice Laguiole,ΓÇ¥ Anthony said, stroking his much more deadly looking pocket-knife. ΓÇ£MineΓÇÖs got 22 notches on it. One for every country visited.ΓÇ¥

I slipped my modestly-sized Laguiole knife back into my pocket, cursing. If you are going to play knifey-knifey with Anthony Hamilton Russell, make sure you donΓÇÖt bring a toothpick to an axe battle.

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Woodstock in all its glory.

ΓÇ£How much wood would Woodstock stock if Woodstock would stock wood?ΓÇ¥ This is about the extent of my poetry education received at a revered Cape Town Catholic primary school. And I was no stranger to the industrial Cape Town suburb of aforementioned Woodstock in those days of innocent youth.

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