Wits Rag

Someone with a better memory must clear up the haze. I remember pretending to help build a ‘float’, acting silly, laughing a lot, drinking a little, and reading Wits Wits. There has to be more detail than that?

Someone probly spiked my beer . . . What happens, when those paper flowers fall into your beer? Have they run tests?

Note the dreaded collection tins! We had to shake them to raise funds for our optometric clinics in Riverlea, Alexandra and Doories!

One year I diligently shook my tin on Jeppe Street outside the big old post office till I received an omen from above that said clearly to me, Goeth Thou Home Now: A pigeon shat on my ear and shoulder. It was a sign.

~~oo0oo~~