It’s day one of the Franschhoek literary festival and we started with a trip to Drakenstein prison. This is where Mandela had spent the last 18 months of his captivity.

We met some of the inmates who had taken part in the Franschhoek literary outreach program run by Margie Orford. Unfortunately due to some reason we were never appraised of, they didn’t get to read their own poems or stories. However Margie spoke on their behalf. They were all members of the notorious Cape Flats Numbers gangs, the 26s, 27s and 28s. Everything was quite civilized and sedate, we had a man singing about an aardvak and bees that started ‘I love honey,’ I’ll leave the rest to your imagination. Needless to say I couldn’t adequately express my thoughts because I was sitting next to his wife. They had a spread for after the readings and I can now say I’ve partaken in jail food. ☺

I’m trying to remember what else I’ve done. The brain is all muddled, each day, each reading and each panel has merged and I’m still trying to pry them apart. There was another panel, something about writing style. What I learnt from the experience is that I’m not the only writer who’s uncomfortable doing speaking engagements. We were given 10mins to speak, I managed to cover all my points in 3. If you’re thinking it, you’re right. Lastminute.com is me.

Strange things seem to happen to me, at some point I managed to get myself locked in a house and couldn’t find my way out. When I finally did, I ran into someone who needed a bit of therapy and ended up doing most of the talking myself.

I’ve gate crashed Nicky’s dinner so gotta dash. Laters. Sx