LETTER FROM Knysna
know I must be a sight: a bedraggled woman wearing I Mr Price men’s underpants and a faded rash vest, creeping around in the shallows like a retired crocodile. I know I am often a disappointing sight, surfacing to the sound of squealing kids and pointing parents on the quay who are hoping they’ve spotted a rare dugong, or a raggie, or a seal. “,” they mutter, before wandering off to coffee and cake, or whatever
