Having lived with Andre for so many years, thereby being privy to the telling of so many of his jokes, I should really have a vast warehouse full of them to choose from. Sadly, with me jokes go in one ear and straight out the other. So much as I'd love to be funny, I'll have to settle for an anecdote instead.
I remember an incident in January 1991, when he was still living in Stafford Court in Kensington and me in Brixton. He was excited about the snowy weather, not having had much experience of it in sunny South Africa. These were the days before I got cured of my arachnophobia.
I proudly told him over the phone about my battle with a monster spider in which I had come out victorious. It was a sweeter victory than merely stomping on the massive beast. I had managed to catch it under a glass and chuck it out onto the snow-covered balcony.
He came over a few hours later and we had a cup of coffee together in the kitchen. I was going through one of my no-smoking phases so he went out onto the balcony to smoke. Something out there caught his interest, that mischievous smile of his appeared and he called me over. The thick layer of snow had thinned considerably, more so in one particular spot. There was a shrivelled black dot in the centre of the circular thaw which Andre scooped up and held out towards me for closer inspection. A microscope would have helped identify it for sure but with the naked eye it looked suspiciously like the remains of a tiny eight-legged creature.
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