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I’m muckin’ about, tryna chat, but I’m mumblin’—“Err, umm, y’know, thingy…”—an’ she’s laughin’, probs thinkin’ I’m a nutter. Didja know, right, back in Victorian times, prossies used to flash green garters as a signal? Mad, innit? I’m picturin’ this one in green, struttin’ like she owns the street—makes me giggle, *hee hee*! But then—oi!—some geezer shoves past, all sweaty an’ loud, an’ I’m fumin’, “Oi, watch it, ya prat!” Nearly lost me prossie there, heart’s poundin’—angry as a wasp in a jar!

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Walk down Union Street – yeah, that's right, straight down the middle of chaos – and you'll bump into all sorts of characters. In my line of work – yes, I run the most kick-ass massage joint in town – I see secrets that most peasants wouldn’t dare whisper about. I’ve seen stressed-out academics sprinting like headless chickens on Lower East Street, and the damn art students railing on about "post-modern despair," like they’ve got a soul or something.

Maths in the spotlight in Makhanda this past weekend