Everyone at some time or another eventually experiences the kind of stress that incapacitates, where the delightful curveballs that life throw at you evade the cricket regulation catches required to save the ball from crashing into your face. So I was no stranger to the numb effects that came as a direct result of Rudi, like Jack before him, behaving like a dull boy. But even the planning for a downtime necessary to remedy my dire situation would bounce off my cranium like a Brett Lee bouncer.
In steps long time friend and regular agony uncle, Greg, to sell me on a weekend fishing trip to his favourite haunt in Umtinzini. Three days and two nights on the KwaZulu-Natal north coast, just the two guys, free of anything resembling responsibility, decorum or meals that included all the major food groups. (more…)
