So, here we are. The end of November. Silly season in Salisbury.
The annual influx of snake-oil salesmen, the eloquent exaggerators with eccentric accents.
The massive flock of blightly-plumed Angry Birds on their yearly pilgrimage to Harrr-ari and Merrr-acky and Ku-moo-sha.
Here we go again with the braais and the clubs, the duty-free whisky mixed with Cream Soda, the fraud and the fornication, the nausea and over-spending and over-speeding and eventual selling of smartphones.
Here’s to December in Zimbabwe – I wish you all love and sex and alcohol in abundance.