Roughly this time every year they have what’s known as an arts festival in Napier. Grace and I go down to have a look at the sculpture symposium, as well as the free jazz, and the City Gallery to boot.
Standing at the entrance to the jazz tent, having a smoke, is the fellow who’s organising the sale of the various sculptures surrounding the tent. We get talking. It turns out he knows Anthony, who I flatted with a million years ago in Hastings. Anthony’s living not so far away, farming as it happens. Anthony was one of those guys who knew what he wanted. It was while we were flatting together he decided to be a drummer. We were nineteen. I have no doubt he is now the coolest, best dressed, most proficient cow-herding free-jazz drummer in all the land. I got his number.