We hear the sound of a moving coal train. The sound goes on for at least 30 seconds. The screen shows the words spoken by bloke in the paragraph below, accompanied by his voice.

BLOKE: The train entered and puffed its way out of Mafikeng, and South Africa and everything I had known, loved and hated remained behind me. I was out of South Africa. But it was no victory or solution, the compulsive agony was still with me, the problem was still with me; only its immediacy was removed, like an orgasm in bed, the tension was released but the filth slimed down my thigh dripping on to the sheet. My physical life in South Africa had ended.

BLOKE: Dear Mr Hughes,

Thank you very much for the copy of An African Treasury and for sending me the cuttings. The notices were very encouraging. I have also received a cheque for $25 from Crown publishers. The money has been very helpful to the displaced and struggling artist that is I.

I believe the definition for a struggling artist is: a man, creative artist by repute, who lives on the advance of the next work. I drift from job to job, working my guts out by day and writing by night. I’m 36 and like ‘Simple’, that witty character in your popular columns, I haven't worked my way through to the first alimony, but I’m told there's hope yet, except that ‘hope’ and I have been buddies for a long, long time – that we get on famously together.