If a book burns at Fahrenheit 451 (thanks Ray), that’s 233′ Celsius east of the Atlantic and west of the Pacific, and let’s round it off to 100,000 books on fire, would this mean the temperature was 23 300 000′ Celsius in the University of Cape Town’s library the day someone burnt it down? That is Hotazhell. The humungous steel roof structure melted into an art piece on the floor with shapes that would have been the envy of Dali’s moustache.

The astute will note I said someone burnt the library down. I know this because an expert pointed out where the match was lit. I know I know, I really do: I too get hives when I hear the term expert; so much time and many bank balances have been expended by experts calling themselves experts. But one didn’t need to be one to see the state of the once grand library that day; the inside resembled a giant piece of burnt toast, while the outside, in comparison, was a fresh slice of white bread. And I know the fire didn’t walk through the front door alone. Am I an expert now?

Another thing burning that day was my arse. I did not attend this once great bastion of higher learning on the slopes of Devils Peak, but I had a good friend who did. When I wasn’t at sea, I bummed suppers with her at the female res before the evening’s main event: the pub a block away. A place where everyone in Cape Town, with functioning arms, hung out. Swinging from the iron chandelier as the evenings progressed was a wonderful thing.

It’s the place where I did a test just outside the main entrance. My good friend, who fed me on Friday nights, doubled as a model on Sunday mornings. Those were the heady days of cluelessness and nil budgets: 1 roll of 12 exposures. It’s also the day I noticed my camera counted beyond 36 exposures. When it read 39 on a 12 roll, something was amiss. Place the film in the camera before exposure: so obviously obvious I know that tidbit wasn’t in the manual.
And so walking through the destruction and reminiscing the good ‘ol days did burn my arse.

I recorded the mess, and ash was collected and magically turned into ink, which was given to a handful of celeb authors to write new books. A small token for all the books burnt.