can enters the stage from upstage left. As he walks, he staggers a bit. His tie is slightly skewed and loose, and he is holding a bottle of whisky in one hand. His fedora hat is askew. He is visibly drunk.

CAN: Verwoerd, the architect of apartheid, can drive you to the brink of insanity. I found myself hanging out with Stompie. Can you believe it? Me sharing a drink with Stompie? Anyway, I love him. He's quite an entertaining little fellow when you need some distraction.

He's allergic to intellectual debate, of course. He says my intellectual talk makes him sober and gives him a headache. But hey, put him on the dance floor and Stompie will show you magic. He's my height when I’m kneeling!

Never call him short. Just say he's got the same height as Napoleon Bonaparte and you are safe from his wrath.

He says to me I should not talk because before I met my beautiful wife, I didn't care what kind of woman I fancied. Of course, I did not discriminate. I used to take the high, the middle and the low. So I tell him to voetsek. Who am I to question what the gods give? I have dated women from different classes and racial backgrounds: black, white, Indian, coloured, you name them.

And then he says if the same gods would bless him with a white woman, he’ll slaughter a spotless white goat in gratitude. I tell him that that mentality is what entrenches white supremacy. We are all human beings.

The only thing that could be correct in what Stompie was saying is that Annie changed my life. My life was never the same after I met her. I’m a lucky man, I know. I read her poems and sing to her, even though I’m not the most vocally gifted man.