Thursday. The Croc and I are well pleased. We’re about an hour’s drive from one of the grooviest places on earth. Back to my phone. There’s this message saying, in essence, that we may have to call PSJ off. The Commander in Chief has screwed me again. Badly. An idyllic couple of days at the Lodge on the Beach on Second Beach waiting for somebody to get eaten by a shark has been kicked in the head. The CiC’s done the unthinkable. The Big Lahnee’s had Thulas Nxesi, Blade’s lunchtime drinking partner from the PMB high court days, release the Nkandla report. One minute we’re fantasising about looted crayfish and mussels on Second. The next were contemplating a return to the big city and worse, another haul to Nxamalala.