We dived deep into others intellects and passionately, breathlessly realised we were (please, please pardon the pun) on the same page. We had been in telephonic contact for a while, but the physical meeting was a baked-in-the-African-sun teeming termite-heap of one 100-million ideas, thoughts, incomplete questions and jumbled, random answers.
Our incomplete business will see me return next week.
It's 27 years since I was first drawn to the fantastically colourful 'grey area' intellectualism of Newtown and the Market Theatre precinct; you'll be glad to know it still oozes out of the cracks between the paving stones.
It still teems with the ghosts of Kippies and the Yard of Ale, the characters from the countless protest theatre productions that fought apartheid on the stage: it's here that I met John Kani, Athol Fugard, Evita Besuidenhout and Pieter Dirk Uys to mention but a few.
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