When an email arrived from the editor, the first words my brain saw were ‘Mozambique’, ‘2M’ and ‘peri-peri chicken’. I let out a cry, poured beer over my head and danced an Irish jig right there in my undies.
At last! After writing this column for 10 straight years, the Zag is finally sending me on a surf trip.
Later, when I’d washed the Windhoek out of my eyes, the harsh reality became apparent. Mozambique was to be the theme of this edition, with “some history, anecdotes and interesting tangents” thrown in. Plus the usual unrealistic deadline.
Well, I’ve written about my surf trips to Mozambique on this very page, and I have nothing more to say on the subject. However, I went there with my ex-wife once, so let me rather tell you about that. Incidentally, there’s no surfing in
