Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens

With the weather in Cape Town showing us its best side, I couldn't pass up the chance to spend a few hours wandering through the gardens of Kirstenbosch, which celebrates its centenary this year. It's a place that brings back memories of my youth, when I hunted tigers amongst the trunks and fronds of the giant wild strelitzias that grow in the middle of the sloping lawns near the big fish pond. It was a magical place for small children who were dwarfed by these immense tropical plants and you could play hide and seek in the little forest, all the time imagining jungle beasts lurking nearby. I'm sure the children today still play amongst the now much expanded 'forest', but nowadays I prefer to stroll up the skilfully cobbled paths leading up to the slopes where the proteas and ericas grow, and particularly the aloes, which are starting to come into bloom, promising an awe-inspiring display of orange against the bluest of skies in the next few months.

It's a good idea to go every few months at least, so that you can see the different species as they come into flower as each season progresses. Unfortunately the cost of enjoying these magnificent and world-famous gardens does not come cheap and I would imagine that the attraction for picnickers with large families will be on the wane, and that may not be a bad thing, as the best part of sitting on a bench in Kirstenbosch is being able to just take in the silence, interrupted only by the calling of birds as they forage for berries in the trees, or a darting squirrel as it swishes through the branches of ancient oaks.

There are many trees of impressive girth and soaring trunks which are marked with badges confirming their centenarian status, and of course there remains a portion of the almond hedge that was planted by Jan van Riebeek after he landed at the Tavern of the Seas in 1652. My mother, who is in her 80s, can remember seeing specific trees grow over the years from the time she was a little girl, as can my father, no doubt, for these gardens have been at the heart of Cape Town's horticultural history since inception.

The restorative properties of lying on the grass in the shade of ancient trees with gnarled and twisted trunks leading your eyes up to the canopy of multi-hued greenery is remarkable. I hope it will still be the same in another 100 years.

Bad hair days

Have you noticed how people with fine, straight hair always long for thick, preferably curly hair, and vice versa? That's the way of the world, I'm afraid, always thinking that having something else will make us happy. I'm of the fine, straight variety, which could be almost acceptable except for the two cow-licks - one from the centre of the forehead hairline towards the right and a corresponding one at the back in the nape of the neck, turning upwards. This means that one side sits smoothly and curled under, while the other side loops up in front, defying all attempts at a fringe, and curls outwards at the back.

No neat bob for me - I have to use a hairdryer if I want to coax the errant locks back into place - and anyone who sees me regularly will know that that seldom happens - I am more of the wash, quick comb and that's it kind of person. I generally look as though I have been pulled through a hedge backwards, as I never put comb to coif after the initial early morning run-through. It must be my aversion to mirrors.

The weather also plays a large part in the appearance of my hair - in a southeaster it is totally electric and cannot be combed at all, as it then lies flat on my head, giving the impression of a small head on a large body (not really an impression - a fact!). I am a hairdresser's worst nightmare. No matter how much they mousse, gel or blow-dry, within 5 minutes it's all hanging limply. When perms were fashionable, I had exactly what I wanted - soft curls and a head in proportion to my body, but they just won't do them anymore - I think it's damaging to the reputation or some such thing.

When travelling in Europe, where the water is different to ours, my hair takes on a whole new life - full (or as near as it can be!) and with body. Perhaps a move to Venice is called for? Now there's an idea...

Approaching 60

Isn't it funny how times have changed? Not so many years ago, people who were 60 were regarded as pensioners, but these days it seems as though a 60-year-old has barely left her teens! Not that I am 60 yet, but getting close enough to fall into that bracket. If you look at old black and white photographs of your granny when she was sixty, she would have had grey hair, permed, a real 'granny' type dress, stockings and sensible shoes. Today you need to see someone from the front to judge their age, as all ages wear the same clothes to some extent.

Your granny would have listened to classical music, while today we listen to everything, from classical to heavy metal, the result of being children of the 60s and 70s - you never lose your nostalgia for the music of that time, your teenage years - and we can dance the night away as well as, and probably even better than the kids of today. For my birthday I was given a set of Skullcandy earphones for my iPod and was thrilled to bits - now the quality of the music will ensure that I can hear every instrument used rather than just the loudest, and appreciate the talent of those whose music I follow as though I was in the same room.

We have our heroes of sport, TV and the silver screen and can indulge in our own particular fantasies as if we were teenagers again. Granny might have had a small photo of Errol Flynn or Cary Grant while we have almost limitless coverage in the media of anyone who takes our fancy. On a Sunday afternoon, Granny may have sat in a comfy chair, listening to a concert on the radio while knitting another pair of socks. And she would have been perfectly satisfied with that. We are bombarded with incessant 'entertainment' - sport, movies, live music at the local pub, this event, that event - that if we are left at a loose end one afternoon, we probably don't know what to do with ourselves and call ourselves 'bored'.

I wonder what grandchildren will be doing in 20 years' time? I hope I will be there to find out.

Birthday Blog

I do enjoy having a birthday. It's such a wonderful excuse for spending time with friends and family, having coffee or lunch or walking by the sea. Not that I want you to think I don't do that anyway, but having an excuse to do so somehow makes us all feel a little less guilty about enjoying our lives. And yet we should not feel guilty about it. A fair-sized portion of our lives should be devoted to enjoyment, and particularly our own. We spend far too little time taking care of our inner wellbeing. We should spend at least half an hour each day in quiet contemplation under a tree or just in a comfortable chair, without any outside noise - no radio, TV, music. Just silence. It can be very soothing to listen to silence, to hear the breeze rustle through the branches, or hear a lizard scuttling in the dry leaves - and then to notice the silence in between. Notice your breathing, and then notice the gap between the in breath and the out breath. Allow your thoughts to become silent, discarding each new thought as it appears in your mind. Silence your mind and enjoy the stillness.

Take a break from living and just BE.

Going green

Someone gave me a raw food cookbook the other day. No, wait, cookbook is not the right word! Perhaps manual or reference book would be correct. It is written by the couple who have introduced the superfoods to our health shops and what a convenient thing it is too. I have had a juicer on the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard for about a year now, and moved it down to the middle shelf after reading this book. I gave it some thought, then a week later, moved it out of the cupboard and plugged it in. I have started to make juice in the morning, as they suggest this is the best way to ease into a raw food diet. They don't recommend an overnight switch, nor giving up your current eating habits. Rather, ease into it gently so as not to upset your system and start off with juice then move on to smoothies and fruit and nuts, then experiment with making your non-dairy butters with various nuts. The book is filled with delicious recipes that are not at all unappetising, but it would certainly require quite a lifestyle adjustment, particularly if the whole family does not buy into health.

For some years now I have been eating mainly raw foods anyway, and consuming as little dairy, wheat and sugar as possible, so for me this is not a huge step. I will just cut back on the cooked foods which I have always considered to be nutritionally deficient anyway. "Cooked" means too hot to touch, so there are things that can be heated and here I am also fortunate in liking my food more at room temperature than hot.

The important thing is not to leap into this and abandon your old way of life. That is the way to completely demotivate yourself, as the green juicing takes some getting used to if you have a sweet tooth and if you have too much, your body will rebel and put you off vegetables for life!

I went shopping for food for the weekend today, and was I impressed with what I brought home! Different lettuces, cucumber, pomegranates, Bulgarian yoghurt, radishes, oranges, bananas, apples, fresh coriander, parsley, avocados, Brussels sprouts, yellow peppers, broccoli and butternut. This isn't unusual or brought on by the raw food book, it's what I normally eat, with the addition of chicken, fish, eggs and occasionally red meat, but those are on the wane as I feel better and better on an easily digestible, non-acidifying diet. In the fridge I have a 2-litre jug of water with cucumber, lemon and mint leaves steeping overnight for a refreshing vitamin drink for tomorrow. So much tastier than plain water!

An interesting tip: if you want ice cream, freeze a few bananas, blend them and voila! Fancy that!

Getting your daily dose

With so many people turning to a healthy eating lifestyle to ease the symptoms of processed food, there is a proliferation of magazine articles giving you the lowdown in a nutshell. All this information can be confusing and misleading if you are not informed sufficiently. There comes a point where you wonder whether any of it makes sense. We are told that there is a Recommended Daily Allowance of various vitamins and minerals for optimum health. How did this become known? I have always wondered how the Inuits fit into this picture; they exist on blubber and meat, with nary a leafy green in sight. If they moved and became vegetarians, having become sick of all this slaughter and longing for a salad, how would their bodies react to this change of diet? Do they have different enzymes or liver functions? I would love to know.

I came across some examples of food sources to alleviate the symptoms caused by deficiency of certain vitamins and minerals which made for interesting reading:

Bloodshot eyes: Vitamin B: 400g tinned tuna (if the vitamin deficiency doesn't get you, the mercury will); 4 avocado pears (the fat will pile on before your very eyes); 45 walnuts (your wallet will be empty); 5 tablespoons Parmesan cheese (ditto). I would suggest an early night and less partying.
Muscle cramps: Magnesium: 9.5 tablespoons bran (don't venture too far away from the bathroom); 11 slices wholewheat bread (!); 9 bananas (you'll soon be swinging from the trees); 22 Brazil nuts (unfortunately you will suffer from a severe overdose of selenium). Note: if you eat dairy products or any other calcium-rich foods, the calcium will nullify the magnesium, so all your efforts will be for nought. Who ever tells you that?
Pins and needles: Potassium: 9 bananas (see above); 31 dried apricots (could lead to rumblin' tum); 3 baked potatoes (could cause bloating).
Cold hands and feet: Selenium: 2 Brazil nuts - highly recommended every day for healthy thyroid function and hence metabolism.
Lethargy: Iron: Apart from red meat, the following: 17 dried figs; 51 dried apricots; 12 boiled eggs. The figs will sort out the constipation from excess iron! Note: don't drink tea with this - the tannin inhibits iron absorption. Again, who would know that? And despite what Popeye has taught us, spinach is not the ideal source of iron as it is not in an easily metabolisable (?) form.

So as you can see, you need a great deal of nutritional knowledge to make informed choices. That is obviously why fast foods are so popular - no nutrition involved, so no decisions to be made!

Visitor from the Antarctic

The trouble with living in Kommetjie and working from home is that it is almost impossible to stay inside and work. The path by the sea beckons in all weathers, and you will never stroll along there without meeting somebody you know and then passing the time of day. Occasionally, just as you are finishing one catch-up conversation, another friend will hove into view and you start all over again. These can be wonderful interludes, punctuated by gasps at the gloriousness of the weather or good-natured grumbling about life in general. There are usually plenty of large dogs in tow, apart from my two little white yappers, and I am always thankful that it isn't necessary to exercise mine - they are just out for a sniff - as some of these dogs can be quite a handful.

Yesterday we stopped to chat to an old friend who was sitting by the side of the path with her two young grandsons. She pointed towards the shoreline and said that she was looking after a young seal that was lying on top of a flat rock. It was so well-camouflaged that we would have walked by, completely oblivious to its presence. It had beached itself the day before and appeared to be ill and she had called the animal rescue people to come and have a look - it was identified but the name escapes me! It had come up from the Antarctic, so must have been pretty tired!

The friend was guarding the seal to ensure that no dogs worried it, and I asked her why she had her grandsons with her - they are apparently home schooled, and I thought how lucky they were to be learning about nature on the rocks at Kommetjie rather than sitting in a boring classroom learning from a book. They were very bright and articulate young boys, taking their guard duty very seriously, and what impressed me most was that they had collected sticks and made an arrow trail all the way from the car park along the path so that the rescue team would know exactly where to go!

I hope the team appreciated it and let them know how helpful they had been!

Leaving the light on #2

It was another one of those nights! He Who Can Fix Anything woke up at midnight to see that the kitchen light was on. "Where's K?" he demands, nudging me out of the Land of Nod. "Up the road", I mumble. There followed a lengthy discussion on what time is appropriate for people to be in bed, how nobody phones after 9 at night and how nobody gets out of bed and goes out to the pub just because their friends have phoned them to join them. How quickly one forgets one's youth (and older) when that kind of activity was the order of the day and time was of no consequence.

"Phone her!" Sighing heavily, I do the dirty deed, knowing that she will not welcome a call, but there is no answer; in fact, there is a little black lock on my screen. Not knowing what that meant, I tried to go back to sleep and shut out the noise in my ear. But it carried on, so I got up to make tea and try again. In the meantime, he has phoned her and got no answer. I have no idea exactly what it is he is worried about, but I will give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he thinks she has been kidnapped. I personally feel that anyone foolish enough to do that will return her within 15 minutes after having suffered a tongue lashing of note.

The next thing, he is up and dressed and down in the garage getting the car out. I tried to phone again to warn her, but still no luck. Back to bed I go to do some light reading while the circus plays out under the waxing moon. It did occur to me that she might have gone down to Cape Point to look at the big fire that's been burning all day and night and that she might be out of range.

A car comes down the driveway. She is home! I tell her that Father is on the warpath and she says she never got my calls - I check my phone and it is faulty - it needs to be turned off and restarted! So then she gets the missed calls. They have been down at the beach looking for the Lyrid meteor shower. How far removed is that from whatever it was that's going through Father's brain?

He comes home and there is a lively discussion on whose car was parked where, etc., culminating in a demand to see her cellphone, at which point she did the right thing and went to bed, completely ending that conversation!

We have now come to an arrangement whereby she will check in with her location every time it changes and she is particularly looking forward to smsing us at various times in the wee hours of the morning! I suppose a parent's concern for his child never expires! I wonder who else has their parents roaming around trying to track them down?

Getting your money's worth

Every Monday after our Tai Chi class, I have coffee down at Fish Hoek beach with one of the elderly ladies from the class. She drives us down to the beach because she has a season ticket and then I don't have to pay R12 to drive over the railway line. We go to the Bistro where there are benches under the palm trees and spectacular views across False Bay and of the whole of Fish Hoek and Clovelly beaches. There we can watch those brave souls who are still swimming despite the water temperature dipping down to 11 degrees sometimes, while the air temperature is not all that warmer, but the sun is shining and the wind has abated.

This morning we were treated to a yoga display of the Sun Salutation by a lithe young woman in a bikini, standing slightly away from the edge of the water. Her grace and suppleness was an example to us all, not to mention her complete lack of inhibition that most people would feel about performing such an exercise in public. With that body and level of skill, she certainly had nothing to be ashamed of! She then lay down on the damp sand for about 10 minutes in some form of meditation, I was reliably informed by my companion, who revealed that in her younger days, she too could do the Sun Salutation.

She is a lady of quiet but determined demeanour and without making any noticeable noise about it, will display her displeasure at the drop of a hat when it comes to the quality of her coffee or the slice of anchovy toast she is so fond of. She will give strict instructions about exactly how thickly it should be spread, and woe betide the poor waitress who brings it to her cold. It will go straight back to the kitchen. Today she pressed me to share a pancake with her. They duly arrived, quite crisp and stone cold. After I had munched my way through most of mine, not really caring about the temperature or texture, she suddenly stood up, marched into the restaurant and came back a few minutes later to say that they would be bringing us new pancakes as she considered these to be old. And five minutes later they did, almost hot and not nearly so crisp!

They must tremble when we arrive there on a Monday, knowing that they are going to have to foot the bill for cold toast and cold pancakes. She is always adamant about not paying for the first one and I just hide behind my coffee cup, pretending not to be there. Of course she is perfectly correct to demand quality, as it is being paid for, but I would hate to be dining with her in a top-end restaurant, as she tells me that she always sends something back. The problem is, she won't accept the way the chef does it, apparently. The chef must do it the way she orders, even if it is just anchovy toast!

But to look at her, you wouldn't think she would say boo to a goose!

Down at the dump

I fear that He Who Can Fix Anything is turning into a dump scavenger. He recently started bringing home some strange things which needed a lot of cleaning and repainting - a large metal trunk, some ancient metal punches with letters and numbers on them (two incomplete sets), and who knows what other hidden treasures have been sneaked into his garage. I did venture to ask where they might have come from and why they needed to have a place in an already overcrowded garage, but got the usual silent treatment.

Last week he came home with a 2-man rubber duck which needs a little repair to the transom and had some badly patched areas. This poses no problem to a man of his skills. Out came the tools and the patching kit and after sticking and drying and grinding and polishing, it is like new and you can hardly see the patches. It is so light that we can easily carry it between us and he informs me that we will be taking it down to the beach in the boot of the Mini and a foot pump, a little Johnson 8hp engine and a bottle of fuel and we will go crayfishing next season. I can't wait, as you can well imagine!

He eventually confessed that he got all these things from the dump, which was rather alarming as I have been making some progress in getting him to take things to the dump, rather than bringing them home. You cannot believe how much stuff can be stored in an 8 car garage that's only got six in it. Today he said he was just going to dump the garden refuse from yesterday's clean-up, so I quickly put on my shoes and hopped into the van to make sure he didn't get lost on the way or go scavenging again at the sorting room.

We came back with half an office chair, the seat part. It is almost like new! The castors roll perfectly and it only needs to be spray painted black to be restored to its former glory. It's just what I've always wanted - a revolving seat to perch on, without a back, and when I saw it, I knew I had to have it!

It was only R20. What a bargain!

What a laugh!

Went to see Michael MacIntyre last night at Grand West Casino. In case there is anyone who doesn't know who he is, he is one of my favourite British comedians (are there any others?). He can make you laugh without resorting to smut and his comedy is based on everyday observations of life.

We booked only a few days before the show, so as usual were told only the expensive seats were left, but what is life for if it isn't for living, so we took the plunge. Not quite into the deep end, but I was told that the seats would be very good. When we got there, we were pointed in the direction of the roof - the bit where it joins the building, some 30 rows or so up a steep ascent akin to Everest. Although we had a marvellous view of the stage and the three giant screens (vital for those of us of advanced age and failing eyesight), it was still hard to understand how they could have been among the most expensive seats. However, perhaps they were the back row of the last expensive seats. There was one last row behind us, and judging by the comments, those spectators were also surprised at their situation. Further down towards the foothills, we noticed that some seats required the occupants to peer through metal barred guard rails - rather like a prison cell - to see the stage and so we felt somewhat better about our seats. Perhaps they were the cheap ones.

The show started with a supporting act of another British comedian who was also very good - unfortunately his accent was quite strong and you had to really strain to understand him. I would imagine that if we had been to see Billy Connolly we would have had to be in training with DVD for weeks beforehand to tune our ears in!

When MM finally took the stage, we were in no way disappointed. He started by telling us he had no idea  that anyone here even knew who he was and that he felt a bit like Rodriguez! He gave a short spiel about people searching for him, etc. and we really warmed up to him. I had a bit of difficulty at times with the accent although it's not bad, but he speaks incredibly fast. However, the facial expressions and hand and body movements are a treat all on their own and his skipping across the stage was a party trick of note!

Despite only having arrived here on Thursday, he has obviously picked up on a lot of the quirks of South Africa, such as taxis with 78 passengers and cars that don't appear to have those little red lights on the back at each side! His discussion of the contents of the 'man drawer' drew nods of agreement throughout the crowd as we all identified with the countless unidentified keys and old batteries.

He entertained us so well that my face was starting to get rather tired, and then he launched into the tale of the removal of his wisdom teeth. Well, I can only say that was the most hilarious story I have ever heard and I had to take out the tissues to wipe away the tears and mop the mascara! I would never have worn it if I had known I would be crying with laughter! My cheeks were so sore I had to hold my face between my hands.

He was only here for two days but I am sure he could do a week next time. You will do yourself and your health a big favour if you go to see him. After all, laughter is the best medicine!

Idyllic interlude

What a day! Light south-easter, not a cloud in sight, no sign of the storm that passed by over the last few days. I was right - three days and it's almost back to shorts and slip-slops. The early sunlight as dawn broke over the valley reflecting off the surf at the Outer Kom was irresistible and I went out for an early walk with the Bungypump poles to take in the ozone down at the rocks. A few early walkers had the same idea - it would be a crime to miss this natural splendour by sitting at home and checking your Facebook and Twitter accounts.

The air temperature was perfect, neither warm nor cool, the waves a deep aquamarine frothing into the whitest white, their crashing silenced by the offshore breeze. The oystercatchers, now boosted to 15 in number, were all over the rocks, presumably looking for mussels (no oysters here!) or whatever other shellfish form their diet, and a couple of incongruous Egyptian geese paddled in the puddles under the lighthouse. A seabird flew overhead, squawking as it did so as if to warn of descending missiles, and sacred ibis flew randomly overhead, singly rather than in their usual orderly V-formation. It looked like being a relaxed and rather lazy day by the seaside for all.

Not so the human inhabitants, who were soon out in force, jogging, dog-walking, cycling, organised aerobics on the beach - all thoughts of winter already long forgotten. Now that we don't have to water our gardens for a few days, we seem to have so much spare time.

The sultry summer heat is now definitely a thing of the past, and we can settle down into sunny, mild stretches for a while, interspersed with short,sharp wintry days.

What a marvellous place to live!

Winter puddings

He Who Can Fix Anything has a sweet tooth of note. Some years ago, he went for a routine blood test and the doctor was horrified at the results, told him he was a borderline diabetic and prescribed tablets which he now takes every day to keep diabetes at bay. Some time later, he confessed that he had eaten a whole packet of fudge just before the blood test. You would think that he would have had a follow-up test done, after some serious no-fudge fasting, but no, that’s never going to happen. He’s a man.

I have suggested that if he followed my eating plan, which is basically a diabetic diet even though I’m not diabetic, he could dispense (!) with the prescription drugs, but no, that’s never going to happen. He’s a man.

His favourite food is hot puddings. If I would make them all through summer, he would eat them every night. But I refuse to go to all that trouble in the heat, and so, at the first sign of rain, his parting shot in the morning will be: So it’s apple crumble tonight?

I get the blender out of the cupboard and put all the pieces together, not having used it since last winter. I duly throw in the flour, oats, sugar and butter and give it a whizz. Nothing happens. Curses! The butter must be too high up, I poke it down with a spatula and give it another whizz. Still nothing. Poke it down again. But then I notice that something is not right. Ah ha! I haven’t put in the blade. Really out of practice with this bit of kitchen machinery.

Eventually get the whizzing under way and in no time have a congealed blob which is so way past a crumble as to be a rock bun. So I throw in more oats, more flour and off we go again. By the time I get the consistency right, I have enough for three apple crumbles, which is good news in the long run. I stow the balance of the crumble in a container in the fridge where it will keep for weeks and slice apples, sultanas, cinnamon and cloves into a baking dish followed by a good layer of crumble and pop it in the oven.

That will keep him going for two nights, as long as the rest of us don’t tuck in too!

Calling back the past

Browsing through The Argus, Friday November 7 1986. On the front page is a photograph of planet Earth taken from a satellite – front page news! Aside from the other articles which don’t seem to change too much from decade to decade – PW Botha warning business to stay out of politics, Canada stopping visas for South Africans, hitch-hiker murders motorist, ANC establishes office in Moscow – the really interesting things relate to food, car and house prices and other domestic advertising.

An automatic washing machine cost R799, a VHS video cassette recorder (with 1 free tape!) would set you back R1 599, and a 4-piece lounge suite R699. A portable computer with a 256 kb (!) hard drive cost R3 000. Technology was obviously new in South Africa and costing us an arm and a leg! Carrots were 9 cents a bunch, onions R1.99 for 10kg and live crayfish were R12.65 a kg. A house sold in Bishopscourt for R500 000.

On the political front, only names have changed – the game remains the same. Labour relations were pretty much as they are now and people are still riding over traffic cops.

Alex Ferguson was named Manchester United’s new manager (still in office) and Larry Holmes announced his retirement for the second time. The BOC single-handed round the world yacht race was hosted in the Mother City, at Royal Cape Yacht Club.

On the Letters to the Editor page, a concerned citizen asks when the first shark attack will take place in False Bay (related to sightings of large populations of seals along the shoreline), and another even more concerned citizen demands to know why inflation has reached 18.7%!

David Biggs’ column, The Wanderer at the Tavern of the Seas, was in its usual place and is still running today, an incredible run for a daily column. Well done, David Biggs!

On TV we could watch MacGyver and Papillon, with M-Net only broadcasting in Johannesburg! Television hours were 3.30pm to 12.35am!!

The entertainment section looks almost the same as today: mostly the same restaurants, movie houses, opera house. The only things missing are the drive-ins and Dairy Den!

A cursory glance through the Hatched, Matched and Despatched provided a strange coincidence – a death notice inserted by our neighbours, with all their names. How odd to find that in this particular newspaper.

On the down side, the paper had as many spelling mistakes as they have today!

Having called back the past, it has become clear that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Our basic lives remain the same and it is just the players around us that change. Something to be thankful for, I suppose!

Storm warning

The sea is whipped up into a frenzy of white horses and the sky is lowering, heavy grey clouds moving in from the west. Fishing boats are chugging harbour-ward as fast as their propellers can take them, vast plumes of spray sweeping their decks from bow to stern. Radio warnings of possible flooding are being broadcast.

At the moment the wind is strong and rising, the gumtrees bending before it and the leaves shushing in sympathy. The last of the flowers will be stripped from the gums by the end of the day and the roads will be littered with the debris associated with the gales and heavy rain that are forecast for tonight. It's time to batten down the hatches, even if you aren't on a boat! Our garden will have a river running through it and the delicate plants will shrivel and wilt in the salt air. It's a rather dispiriting time for gardeners, who have just put in their autumn plantings and will have to start all over again after the first real storm of winter.

In three days' time, we will doubtless be bathed in sunshine again, back in sleeveless shirts and slip-slops. I said you needed a big cupboard in Cape Town.

Lack of communication

It’s been five days since I lost my ADSL connection and Telkom have still not come to fix it, despite three phone calls and accosting a Telkom employee who I came across at one of their roadside boxes. All those I spoke to assured me that they worked on weekends, understood that I had no contact with the outside world, needed access to my bank accounts, conducted a business via email and internet, had urgent business accounts to send via email and just generally wanted to see what was happening on Facebook. To no avail.

I have got so used to sending out this daily blog that not being able to do so is akin to shutting down a newspaper – not that I consider what I send out as news, but at least I feel that I am notifying everyone I know that I am alive and kicking and that I still have something to say.

Sometimes I feel that perhaps what I am saying is not very clear and misunderstood. Take for instance the local estate agent who advertised that he would do a free valuation for the Rates objection procedure. I immediately responded to the advert and he duly took down my details, making an appointment for the next week. I made it quite clear to him that, should he need to contact me, he should use my cell phone number and not the land line, as we keep that phone in the garage and don’t answer it much, mainly because anyone we know uses our cell phones and the other calls are likely to be from cold calling telesales staff stationed in India, or a Nigerian lottery operator wanting to pay a fortune into your bank account. Anyway, the appointment came and went and an hour and a half later, I phoned his office, only to be told that he had tried and they had tried to contact me on the land line which I didn’t hear, it being in the garage. I told the lady that I had specifically asked them to use my cell phone and asked if they were trying to save money on phone calls (a rather snide comment, which she fortunately chose to ignore). Eventually we sorted the times out and he turned up and spent a pleasant half hour looking around.

Today he phones my cell phone and says, I’ve been trying to contact you on your land line but it just rings. So obviously my initial instruction was so badly worded and the information so poorly understood that he was totally confused. Again, he missed our next appointment and another hour and a half later, he phoned. This time I actually was in the garage and answered the land line, only to hear that he had been there (the dogs didn’t bark and I can only think I had my head in the deep freeze or some other soundproof place) and he had gone back to the office to get my number. Aaarrgghhh! Maybe it isn’t me, maybe it’s just him who is the scatty one.

The point of this story, believe it or not, is that I cannot abide it when people don’t stick to their appointments. But if you didn’t catch that, perhaps it is me who has the communication problem.

Lying in later

We must be getting old. No longer do we leap out of bed at 6 o’clock on a Sunday to take the dogs for a walk as the sun comes up. Maybe it’s because the days are getting shorter and the sun is rising later, but I don’t really think so. I think it’s just nice to have a bit of a lie-in!

He Who Can Fix Anything has always lived by the ‘get up with the sun and go to bed with the sun’ maxim, and in some ways that is a good path to follow. There is no doubt that the best part of the day is the hour with sunrise in the middle, particularly if you are out walking and you are entirely without other human presence in nature. Then you can stand and listen to the silence – a great restorative in a time of constant noise pollution.

This morning the wind is from the north-east, a sure sign of a change in the weather and the early glassy sea has already turned into a slight chop, no white horses as the wind is negligible. The next few days will bring another taste of winter and a respite from watering the garden, and before we know it, we will be planting spring bulbs in pots on the balcony (to fool the porcupine) and eagerly watching for the first green shoot to appear.

Winter is a fleeting season in the Cape, preceded by a long autumn which extends to the end of June. July can still be good, but August is expected to be wet and windy, and then suddenly the spring flowers are out and it’s September. Spring is probably the coldest season, with icy southerly winds coming up from the Antarctic, but the sun shines as long as you haven’t planned an outdoor event (even in mid-summer you should always have a Plan B in Cape Town!) and thoughts soon turn to lazy days at the beach.

Those who live in Johannesburg are always stumped on what to wear in a Cape autumn. In Joeys, they can pack away their winter clothes on 1 September but here we need to start off with layers that can be peeled off as the day progresses and then put them back on again as the afternoon shadows lengthen. You need big cupboards here!

Stranger things...

Life is full of strange synchronicities. How often do you find that as you read a word in a book, you hear someone saying that very same word on the radio or TV or in conversation nearby? It happens to me all the time.

Yesterday I was making notes in my notebook (!) – as thoughts materialise, I need to write them down otherwise they will disappear into the mists of time and I will forget my writing cues. Today I was having my customary cappuccino under the milkwood tree where a group of friends gather randomly. One lady stubbed her toe on the uneven paving and hopped around in agony, as she had seriously damaged the same toe recently and it had not yet healed. Someone said she should wear safety boots. I opened my notebook and said: ‘Listen to this; I wrote this down yesterday. Safety boots, always kicking toes.’ A breeze eddied through the trees and everyone shivered.

Autumn has arrived.

The other night I was very wakeful for no particular reason and I looked at the time on my cell phone three times – they were: 3:33, 4:44 and 5:55. I got up at that stage, there being no point in waiting for 6:66.

I don’t know if these incidents are holding any special messages for me, but perhaps the general message is that we should always be listening and aware of signs, even if their meaning is not instantly apparent. We are all born with intuition, an inner knowing, and its efficacy is only limited by the extent to which we acknowledge it.  Practice using it by acting on the first thought that comes to mind in a situation. Life is like the TV game show, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? – filled with multiple choice questions. When faced with a question you don’t know the answer to, your first choice is usually the right one. If you start to think about it, you begin to doubt yourself and search your memory. You try to justify various answers and eventually pick the wrong one and lose all the money you have just won.

Today is a beautiful autumn day in Cape Town and it is Saturday. The choices are: stay at home and work in the garden; go shopping (there’s always something missing in the store cupboard) and have brunch with Mom and Dad; wash the dogs; go down to Cape Point Reserve and sit on an isolated shoreline with nothing in sight but a herd of bontebok. He Who Can Fix Anything chose number 4 without hesitation. His intuition always tells him to get away from it all, whereas mine still wants to get something useful done at the same time!

It will have to be number 2!

Shirley Valentine

"I have allowed myself to live this little life, when inside me there is so much more..." - Shirley Valentine.

Yesterday there was a question on a Facebook page - what film inspired you the most? - and it didn't take a moment for me to comment: "Shirley Valentine". And tonight I turned on the TV and flicked through the channels to see what was on and there she was - Shirley Valentine.

Watching her talk to the wall and being expected to make steak and chips on a Thursday struck a chord with me and I knew it was time to break out and be me.

Since I first saw this movie, I have regained my Self, done most of the things I want to do (still more to come!), followed my interests, discovered what my interests are, and learned that I can be anything I want to be. I may not have been to Greece yet (and strangely, I have no wish to go there), but the essence of the movie, the re-establishment of herself as a distinct personality with dreams to fulfil and adventures to follow, inspired me to not be satisfied with a life less lived.

If there is anything I wish for women who have so much potential but are never brave enough to break out of the rut,  it is that they watch this movie and realise that they can also be Shirley Valentine. I haven't entirely abandoned my responsibilities, although I do take off for Europe from time to time - and what it has taught me is that it has benefited everyone.

If you respect yourself as an individual and remain true to yourself, you are more likely to gain the respect of others and not be taken for granted. There is infinitely more that I still need to do, and any time I waver, I think of Shirley Valentine.

You can make it happen!

A burning question

We were woken in the middle of the night by our daughter, saying: "There's a house on fire up the road!" We immediately demanded to know where, whose house, etc. and she couldn't remember, just said, "Why are you shouting at me?" Anyway, everyone leapt out of bed and went to the bathroom window to see the source of the drama and confusion. It was a friend's house - they live in another one just behind it - and so the first feeling was one of relief, knowing that they weren't in it. The second feeling was one of dismay - there were no flashing red lights to indicate that a fire engine was on the scene yet.

There is something surreal about the sound of a house burning - roof sheeting exploding and the acrid smell of electrical wiring burning, the crackling sounds of different textured furniture, ceilings and rafters as the flames ignite and consume them - sinister in the extreme. It's not like any other fire you hear. The barbecue fire is tame and friendly, promising good food later on; a bush fire is swift and moves on as fast as the wind will take it, leaving silence in its wake. But a burning house remains where it is, the fire intensifying as it consumes everything its greedy fingers can reach, sucking windows in to feed its need for oxygen and billowing the sounds of its feeding frenzy out into the air with plumes of orange smoke.

It's not a sound you relish - it's the sound of the destruction of the things that someone has collected and cherished over a lifetime, of a place where children have been raised and taken their first steps, milestones celebrated and life has been lived. In just a few hours, nothing is left of that place or its memories.

At last the fire engine arrived, followed by two more a little later, and we went back to bed, secure in the knowledge that someone else was going to take care of things for us. How little we appreciate our emergency services. It was later established that they had been sent to an address in Fish Hoek and not Kommetjie, which I suppose can be ascribed to predictive text and human error in not reading to the end of the address. At least we are not maligning the poor firemen for inefficiency.

Nobody was hurt in this incident, for which everyone is thankful. But it leaves lots of questions to be answered, not least of which is: What would you consider to be the most important thing to save in such a situation?

Room and a view

Our property valuation for Rates purposes increased by 30% despite the world having been in a prolonged recession and no improvements having been made to the property since 2008, when we put up a small wooden fence and a large sliding gate. I got out my little map with the erf numbers for Kommetjie and set about snooping into the valuations of all the neighbours' properties - the council website holds no secrets and you may look up the information on any erf you wish. So now I know whose names they are registered in, the street addresses and the latest valuations. The problem is that our street address is wrong. We have moved around the corner into one of the side streets, according to someone with finger trouble at the council. I don't think I'll even bother to pursue it - it's rather like Telkom - an employee is allowed access to our accounts and is able to make changes to our addresses, apparently. Over the last few years, I have had no fewer than three changes of gender, postal address and street address on our phone accounts, all without request or notification. It's a miracle we ever get the accounts, as currently the business phone is situated in Scarborough (according to Telkom), although the building is in Hout Bay. The mind boggles. However, back to the Rates valuation...

Having seen that the neighbours' valuations are some R300 000 less than ours, and one in fact R1 000 000 less (!), I thought it was time to exercise our voice in this country and lodge an objection. The next day, a local flyer was stuck through the gate and there on the front page was an offer by a local estate agent to do a free valuation and fill in the form! With nothing to lose, I immediately made an appointment for them to come over.

We started off in the garage, where the agent duly admired the ample space for 8 cars, extensive shelving for tools, large equipment, bar area and office, together with large window and sliding doors leading out onto a patio. (Well, that didn't go too well - it all looked rather desirable.) Then out into the garden, where we paced up and down the 175 feet from one end to the other, pointing out the numerous taps, space for water tanks, 4 wellpoints and well with pump, supplying adequate free water throughout the year. (Hmmm.)

I indicated that, as it was a wooden house, it needed lots of maintenance and at present was in a rather sad state, needing a complete sand down and revarnishing. (He knows someone who will make it look like new for R2 000.) I then pulled out my trump card - an asbestos roof! I heard the other day that an asbestos roof can devalue your property by R300 000 or the cost of a new roof, and I though we were onto something, but the agent said he hadn't heard that it would need replacing if we sold the house and the thick layer of lichen that covers it was keeping it under control. (I personally feel that we are in no danger as long as we don't go up there and grind it.) So that blew that one out of the water.

We then discussed the spacious back yard where it would be very easy to build a small second dwelling. It was starting to sound as if we were putting together a brochure for a For Sale advert and all we could find was good points.

Proceeding upstairs to view the accommodation offered, my relatively small house was bathed in sunshine, giving it a warm, cottagey feel inside. The spacious balcony afforded a limited but more than adequate view of the sea, with crashing waves and passing ships. The only downside was the unfinished bathroom (he knows someone who can fix that for R1 000).

All in all, we succeeded in convincing ourselves that there wouldn't be a more ideal place to live and that the current valuation was probably a bargain, considering that the erf is 50% bigger than our neighbours' land.

I have only one card left to play - when it rains, a river runs through it.

Switching seasons

Today the maximum daytime temperature dipped to 17 degrees C, although it didn't really feel like it. But there is an undeniable chill in the air and I doubt whether we will regain the intense heat of summer before winter really sets in. For the moment we will enjoy the balmy autumn air here in the Cape Peninsula. The sea in False Bay is smooth as glass and just as green, but here on the Atlantic side we are being treated to heaving swells and crashing breakers as they fold over on themselves, forming perfect pipelines across the bay (hence the name Baby Pipes, I suppose).

An overnight drizzle melted away with the sunrise, although high clouds have kept the sun from our faces and the washing hangs limply on the line, with no chance of drying in the stillness. Without direct sun, a good blow is needed to sort that out and the only thing I really dislike about winter is lines of damp washing on the balcony. It's where I have my writing desk and painting studio area, and to duck between towels and t-shirts is somewhat disturbing to an orderly mind. Not that I'm claiming to have one of those, but I do try!

The cooler temperature means we can start eating more spicy food again - tonight I'm trying a new green Thai curry recipe - never made one of these before and I must say it sounds delicious. I'll let you know how it works out. Incredibly, I have all the ingredients in the pantry (actually cheated a bit and read the recipe last week) including the exotic fish sauce. This turns out to be extracted from anchovies which I have in a jar anyway. I throw this into lamb stews and the results have been extremely tasty. I've been watching the Food channel since Robert left (no more UEFA and Premier League) and it's inspired me to be more adventurous in the seasoning of our food - He Who Can Fix Anything says he is not particularly interested in the baked chicken and lightly steamed vegetables which I favour - but old habits die hard, especially when 1/2 a teaspoon of salt and some herbs are what I usually use.

I think a compromise will have to be reached - 3 days of highly flavoursome delectable dishes and 4 days of chicken and salads. Seems fair to me.

The long and the short of it...

Is it only me or do you also have trouble with the length of the arms of your clothing? For some reason, the clothing manufacturers think that your arms grow proportionally longer as your girth grows wider. The result is orang-utan arms attached to a somewhat tight size XL, when you aren't actually fat. You see, XL doesn't mean extra large; it means extra long. The body length is always out of proportion as well. People in general, and women especially, are usually less than 6 feet tall, but larger sized clothes tend to extend closer to the knee than the hip. So it would appear that clothing designers assume that 'fat' people are 7 feet tall.

I don't envy them their task. Apparently the model they use for the original design is a 6' 2" borderline anorexic, flat-chested and tight-bummed. You will realise immediately that there aren't many people in the real world that fit this description and that is where the problem starts.

Instead of taking a dumpy 5' 2", short-waisted size 38 as your basic model (hence allowing me to buy my clothing off the rail!), we get these adaptations of a design that don't look at all flattering when stretched in different directions. I have never yet found a pair of pants or jeans that don't need to be rolled up at least three times if I don't wear 6" heels. I can't tell you how many I have cut off too short and had no space for a hem. Capri pants reach halfway down my calf, and 3/4 pants hover at my ankle, neither fashionably short, nor fashionably long.

Low cut jeans reach my navel, and normal jeans come up to my armpits and have to be rolled down. So I end up with pants that are rolled up at both ends. It's mystifying what the rest of the world is doing. Perhaps, under those flowing tops, they're also rolled down, and tucked into boots to hide the rolling up? Whatever the case, the only way I can find jeans that are the correct length both ways is if I buy 2 sizes too small and make sure it's stretch fabric.

It certainly prevents overeating, I can tell you!

Memory triggers

Just saw I had a blog view from Georgia (Caucasus). It immediately brought to mind that beautiful song, Rainy Night in Georgia, then just plain Georgia, then Georgia on my Mind and finally Why Georgia. And I thought, why is it that I just love all songs about Georgia? Is it because they all have such haunting tunes, or memorable and meaningful lyrics? Perhaps they relate to particularly happy times in my life - although nothing springs to mind, just a feeling of total relaxation as I melt into the melody. This is not the Caucasian Georgia, it's the American state, which I've never been to and know nothing about, but somehow something just resonates for me. Perhaps I will go there someday.

Usually a song is a trigger for a flashback to a very particular event in my life, but smells have the same effect.

Today I went to Ellie's Deli at Cape Dutch Gardens in Noordhoek to meet the family for brunch, and as I stepped through the doorway I was instantly transported 50 years back in time to the holiday farm we used to stay at in Baden, near Montagu. It was as though I had walked into the dining room where everyone sat for breakfast, lunch and supper (full board in those days!) and was seated at the table, with the young girl serving us our food, dishing directly onto the plates in front of us. The only actual food I remember was the vegetables and the plastic 3-sectioned serving dish - I suppose because it was very close to my face, being only 5 or 6 years old. But it was the smell of that room that I smelled as I walked into the restaurant this morning.

The mind is an amazing thing, keeping in its memory (for me, anyway) the very best moments of life and the sounds, scents and sights associated with them, enabling me to relive them with instant recall at a trigger. If there is nothing else that proves that there is no time but Now, these moments are so vivid that I feel, if I closed my eyes, it would have just happened.

Don't you get that feeling sometimes?

Blowing in the wind

A large group of old motorbikes with sidecars passed me on the road to Kommetjie this morning. They made for an incongruous sight, sandwiched between huge trucks and oversized 4x4s, and I can't say I would have enjoyed being in their position. They looked very fragile and vulnerable on their thin wheels, with the sidecar providing little protection in the event of an accident. This mode of transport was made for a gentler way of life and the travellers were brave indeed to venture out in the traffic. Perhaps there was safety in numbers.

In spite of the traffic hazards, there is no doubt that the weather came to the party, and one couldn't have wished for a more ideal day for adventuring in a sidecar. Once they turned off the main road towards Scarborough and Cape Point, the open road and the wind in their faces would have blown away the exhaust fumes and they would have been able to appreciate their proximity to nature.

It is on days like this that we fling the cover off the Cobra, give it a bit of a shine and head for Olifantsbos down in Cape Point Reserve. The honeyed scent of the fynbos, the twittering of the sugarbirds in the protea bushes and the rejuvenating, ozone-laden sea air along the coastal road can only be fully appreciated from the seat of an open-top car (I prefer to call it 'without a lid') and more than enough to compensate for the tangle of knots I get in my hair (no fancy aerodynamics in a Cobra, I'm afraid).  The sensory pleasures are lost to us when we travel in our air-conditioned, tinted-windowed bubbles. They are fine for a wet and windy day, but an open car will always be my first choice for a drive away from the madding crowd.

Pet peeves

Something has been bothering me for a long time now. At what stage in the evolution of Mankind was it decided that women would clean up? This was surely decided by a conclave of the clan - males only - as what woman would have willingly signed up for a lifetime of subservience? I can picture the scene:

Man builds shelter from branches. Leaves fall off branches onto floor inside shelter. Man gives woman fresh branch and tells her to move fallen leaves to outside of shelter. Branch makes sswweeeepp sound as she pushes the leaves outside. First broom is invented and man observes pleasant area to sit and think, free of leaves. Woman sees more leaves fall and knows this will have to be done every day. And so housework is invented. But man should have made shelter without falling leaves. Well, that's my point of view.

Anyway, you know how the situation deteriorated to the point where even the most vile mess is left to women to clean up. The excuse is, "Oh no! I'll vomit if I have to touch that!" and so we just do what has to be done. Nappies come to mind here. And dog poop.

I returned home the other morning after a strenuous workout at Tai Chi and went straight to check my emails for work. The dogs had been locked in the house for some reason and rushed out when I came in. In the background I could hear Monty, the doggie, rolling energetically on the carpet as he is wont to do. But he seemed to go on for rather a long time and then came to do some more rolling on the rug in the passage near where I was working and I noticed that the carpet was covered in brown streaks. Even worse, so was he! I leapt up to investigate and to my horror, it was the worst - poop!

Without hesitation, I scooped him up and marched straight to the bathroom where I turned the taps on full blast and held him under to wash the worst off. Needless to say, he wasn't too enchanted with that. Still clutching the now dripping dog, I spotted a large lump tangled in the long hair of his nether regions. I dropped him into the bath and headed off for scissors and kitchen paper to do the dirty deed. No time for niceties - just clean the dog up. He was soon in a slightly more respectable state and I filled the bath with hot water and slathered him with shampoo. No gloves. By the time I had rinsed off the last of the soap and done some final trimming, I was pooped myself. It's very exhausting to bend over the bath for an extended period and I was working at high speed to limit the damage.

Having put Monty out in the sunshine to dry off, it was time to inspect the damage to the house - four smeared rugs and a large pile in the lounge - poor dog obviously needed to get out but couldn't. Having wooden floors and poor eyesight, I threw the rugs in the washing machine and got out the hot water and domestos - a thorough scrubbing twice throughout the house, just in case! That was enough exercise for a week. A final inspection carried out by sniffing each room individually resulted not only in hyperventilation, but an all clear siren!

Now if it had been He Who Can Fix Anything who had arrived home to find that chaos, I can guarantee that he would have been on the phone to me instantly, barking out orders to report home immediately, while he retreated to the safety of his garage until order had been restored. How do I know that? It's happened before. But that's another blog, another time.

Getting a grip on ourselves at Tai Chi

Today Tai Chi was a bit of a riotous assembly! Everyone had the giggles. There were five new students who really didn't know what to expect - two of them had seen a Chinese man and 40 people doing the Tai Chi Short Form in Trafalgar Square and thought it looked so good they wanted to learn how to do it. I didn't want to disillusion them by suggesting that those who did it in public probably had 15 years' training first! Anyway, as long as the spirit is willing...

Three of the 'students' are in their 80's (one is 89) and they have been there the longest so work together in a group. Then comes S and me who are fairly new and finally the five new students. There are others who come to class sporadically and attend the night sessions. So there we are, all spread out in lines and we get on with our Short Form according to experience.

If you know the music video, I Can't Dance, with Phil Collins and Co., you will be able to picture what the seniors looked like. I collapsed laughing, together with S, who infinitely prefers a good giggle to working on her Short Form (I suspect she may not last the course), which was all very inappropriate considering that Tai Chi is very dignified and slow and a form of moving meditation. I couldn't resist walking like an Egyptian (I'm sure you'll know that one, too) and Shirje called out, "Not like an Egyptian, Pamela, like a Chinese!" Fortunately very good humoured.

So it was back to the Short Form, with serious intent to make progress in fine-tuning the nuances. I felt quite tired afterwards and had a really good cardiovascular workout. It's very deceptive, those slow movements. It's all to do with the legs, and as you become more proficient, you will find that your balance and posture improve markedly. Add to this the many breathing exercises that stimulate the workings of the body, and you will find that this is an all-encompassing form of exercise, suitable for all ages, and beneficial for  mind, body and soul.

And of course, once you are a Master, you won't have to fear walking in a dark alley!

Dinner at the Deli

Just got back from early dinner at the Olympia Cafe in Kalk Bay - a legendary eatery, where everyone knows the rules: no split bills, no self-discipline, a drama free waiting area where you write your name on the board and wait your turn and definitely no low fat, low calorie or light mentioned on the menu! Everybody from every walk of life is welcome; bohemian locals to Jo'burg kugels - as long as you can pay the bill, you can join the waiting list.

We got there just after sunset on a perfect, calm evening, the twilight colours of pink, purple and rosy grey fading softly into the distant mountains and reflecting on the waters of False Bay, which only two days before was crashing through windows and over the roof of the harbour restaurant and now had only a hint of swell at the Kalk Bay reef. A super-keen surfer ran by with his surfboard to catch the last waves before darkness engulfed the break. Lights sailing serenely past in the darkness later signalled the return of a fishing boat,  lurching and  rolling as it turned into the harbour mouth and catching an eddy before sliding into its berth, safely home after a long day at sea.

We were there to celebrate a few family birthdays from this week: my two sisters and my niece. March and April are busy months for birthdays in our family and then the rest of the year is pretty quiet. The combined age of the 7 of us at the table was 443 years, which probably made us the oldest table at the Deli. We've been going there regularly since it opened so many years ago that I can't remember when that was - but we've earned our stripes and probably shares in the business, having eaten so much excellent food there!

The take-it-or-leave-it approach to everything: decor, bookings, hygiene, renovation - is what makes this place what it is. It will never have a facelift or new tables and chairs or cushions or new paint on the walls or even, heaven forbid, a hearty scrub. The food is the focus and it's never let us down yet. Judging by the people waiting to get in, it's a winning recipe!

The power of the sea

As expected, the weather turned at Easter, with a galeforce southeaster followed by a very strong northwester and accompanying rain. Fortunately I stayed at home - when you live in Kommetjie, it's pointless to go on holiday for a change of scenery; you wonder, when you get home, why you had left! I pity those poor travellers on the roads joining the kilometres of traffic jams as everyone heads back home, all meeting up at one set of robots as you approach Cape Town - and particularly in our first real taste of winter.

The windows of the restaurants along the sea front at Kalk Bay once again had their windows smashed by the heavy seas, which then washed through, taking tables and chairs and all the customary accoutrements in its wake. There's no stopping the sea and this is part of the attraction of these venues - proximity to some spectacular wave action and occasional participation by the guests. It's rather like the people who build their holiday homes on stilts on the beaches of the Eastern seaboard of the USA - from time to time the sea reclaims its shoreline.

A witness to these seas said that one wave actually washed over the roof of the building - scary stuff! These pictures were taken by a Melville Harding who captured these incredible shots which are worthy of any National Geographic magazine! Enjoy them - I am sure you will feel a sense of the awesome power of the sea and how we should all have the greatest respect for this element of nature.