Mark Barnes Columnist

I was dawdling through the traffic towards the Glenhove Road on-ramp to the M1 — a weekday torture I endure to get to my office in Pretoria. Throw in a couple of dead traffic lights on the way to the highway and you’ll get the mood we were all in. The next minute this guy, my age (old, and suffering, as I do, from early-onset grumpiness), comes up really close behind me and hoots! I went to a government school and we used to start fights for lesser reasons than being hooted at in traffic. Sometimes we started a fight just because we (both sides) needed to have one. A boy can only go for so long without a bit of fisticuffs. Some of my better friendships had their genesis in a bit of playground bad behaviour. A bloody nose here, a swollen lip there — there’s no better foundation for a solid friendship. Our schoolboy fights never lasted long enough for anyone to get really hurt before one of the teachers arrived to spoil the fun. Back to Glenhove Road. It’s almost compulsory to raise t...

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