Looking for Love

You have to wonder what chance there is of meeting a Southern Man of the Renaissance persuasion, said to be the finest on Earth. Someone like All Black Anton Oliver or poet Brian Turner — the rugged but gentle, smart yet humble, intellectual though still practical, type. They’re as rare as the takahe.
Instead, you’ll find another sort of Southern Man here. He’s not a Renaissance Antonian, or a Crump, or even an Ellis. He looks askance at the Man Herd. He has pink cheeks, hair like a freshly shorn sheep — “Won’t find me using that faggy mousse, mate” — and he wears his Hallensteins chambray tucked in. He’s dependable and decent enough — he never forgets Mother’s Day — but he’s deathly dull. Sometimes still rivers are simply stagnant.