Saturday morning felt like the early days of post-isolation rugby. An early Springbok kickoff demanded an early wake-up, an early walk to the pub that had opened early for an early-morning coffee and beer.

It wasn’t quite the eye-rubbing, predawn yawning raids of the ’80s and ’90s, but it had that same sense of occasion and expectation. I took a stroll to the Jolly Roger, a traipse from Parkview to Parkhurst at around 6.45am. The sun was warm and new, the pavements worn and few. It seems everyone in the Parks of Joburg is determined to build their own mini-forests on those pavements outside their high walls...

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