From day break, an air of peculiarity descended on the kingdom, hanging thick like mist on Table Mountain. I remember it clearly, as if it was yesterday (in reality it was probably a month ago).
Behind glass doors the Generals conspired, speculated and strategised.
Deflecting from his austere commitment to punctuality, Caesar had not made his appearance yet.
Whispers started permeating the hallways.
Then the workmen came. Piece by piece they disassembled Caesar’s portrait that for decades kept a watchful eye over the court. From where I was sitting I could see gold birds, roaring lions and other gilded statues being carried from the thrown room – destined for the same brown box as the regal portrait.
The whispers got louder.
At the hour of 4, the court assembled to hear the news: Caesar was not coming in today; Caesar was not coming in any day.
From the ranks a warrior rose, brave and true. She would lead the kingdom into the battle that lay ahead.
As bizarre as the day seemed, people who have lived in the realm of advertising eons longer than I have, still maintain that stranger things have happened.