I walked into the editor’s office at the FM on a Monday in January 1997 and was stunned by its luxury. The walls were lined with bound copies of the magazine, lovingly packed on wraparound oak bookshelves behind the editor’s vast desk and hideously comfortable reclining leather desk chair.

There was a fridge with wine in it. A fourth-floor balcony with a fine view over Joburg’s northern and western suburbs. A big conference table. I’ve never felt as excited as I did when I sat in that chair...

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