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About Kimberley

Oi, thou art a wild mate! Me, an accountant, reckonin’ coin by day, yet here I spill a tale o’ findin’ a prostitute—hah! Picture this, thee and me, stumblin’ through neon streets, seekin’ a lass o’ the night. “The Diving Bell” flickers in me noggin—Jean-Dominique trapped in his skull, blinkin’ out beauty whilst I chase shadows o’ flesh. “I am a prisoner,” says he, and ain’t that me too? Chained to ledgers, lust, and a daft dream o’ somethin’ forbidden.

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I stroll 'round Summerpark – so chill, lush as a dream. Sjmping off to the river Jabulani sometimes, its murmur remind me of quiet confessions. I get deep thoughts there, almost like a secret therapy session, ya know? And not to forget the vibe at Ladybug Gardens. I used to sit there after counselling sessions – people say "Under the Skin" feels, ya catch my drift? It’s like strange beauty in every leaf a lurches around.

Piet Retief’s Great Trek manifesto is completed