We sweltered, we melted. The pied crows yawned. At ten AM in the Swartland, it's 38*C in the shade. An hour later, 43*C. The aircon in the minibus goes on the blink. The world is parched.
Cryptic notes from our recce:
spiderwebs on bike. (hidden)
60% black shade.
kill rose garden.
daylight bright as poss.
wreck between big tree and lollipop.
My assistant sends me a photo of a heap of red sand. The Director claps his hands.
