Cutting Edge of Hamilton Russell Pinot Noir

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.

“Nice Laguiole,” Anthony said, stroking his much more deadly looking pocket-knife. “Mine’s got 22 notches on it. One for every country visited.”

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 don’t bring a toothpick to an axe battle.

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Franc’s for the Woodstock Memories

 

Woodstock in all its glory.

“How much wood would Woodstock stock if Woodstock would stock wood?” 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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