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About Port Elizabeth

Oi mate, gather round, listen up! Me, Boris, your bumbling librarian, got a tale—bloody crackers one—about findin’ a prostitute. Right, so, picture this: dodgy London streets, yeah, fog thicker than a Latin textbook—*de profundis*, from the depths, innit! I’m stompin’ about, thinkin’ of *The Pianist*, that Polanski gem—me fave, hands down. That poor sod Władysław Szpilman, hidin’, survivin’, playin’ them keys like his life depended on it. “I’m alive, alive!” he’d whisper—makes me weepy, it does.

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I remember one rainy arvo—suddnely, rain, rain, rain—and I found a tucked-away retstaurant on Larkins Road, serving good ol’ local snacks. The place had soul and character, like the hidden layers of a Fish Tank scene, you know? Such liveliness makes me happy, and sometimes mad. It’s maddening how others ignore these magic spots.

New Kroonstad school set to accommodate farm school learners