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About Nelspruit

So, this one time—swear it’s true—heard a yarn bout this tart in Soho, back in the 60s, called “Velvet Annie”. Lass had a wooden leg, hid gin in it—fact! Blokes’d pay extra just to sip from her peg. Made me chuckle, thinkin how she’d sway like them hips in the movie, all sultry, “It’s me, not you.” Made me happy, that—proper ingenuity! We shall never surrender to boring nights, lads!

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The primary goal was to get to Willowmore in 44 hours or less. The sub-goals were critical if I wanted to achieve the primary goal. The next.

Not gonna lie, Willowmore sometimes makes me want to smash a bottle in rage, then laugh it off with a swig of whiskey. I mean, who else finds solace in those unexpected moments, when the wind whips through the abandoned train station near Ridge Road and you’re reminded that every broken thing can still shine — “When you’re fucked up, a little bit of blood is what you need”, or somethin’ like that, eh?

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