All work and no play makes Jack an awfully dull boy, I'm afraid. I've spent the last two months slaving away, admittedly for gainful reward, which does make a change, but we have had such a perfect summer so far that I fear I have missed a great deal. The only consolation is that most people have been spending time with friends and children at this time of year and wouldn't have been available for exciting outings anyway. As I stand on the balcony looking at the back of Table Mountain, the sun is lowering itself towards the horizon at the end of a wind-free day over Cape Town, and I think to myself, what a wonderful world - no wait, that's Louis Armstrong - but the place that I should really be right now is on top of Table Mountain, perched like an eagle overlooking its hunting ground.
There can be few more spectacular sights than the far distant mountains stretching into the hinterland to the north east, and the gradually descending chain of peaks that wind down to Cape Point at the tip of the Peninsula before slipping beneath the waves. The beaches of the Atlantic seaboard, best viewed from on high at this time of year rather than at sea level, skirt the bays below, separated by the granite boulders that form the base of this appendix of Africa that is one of the most sought-after places to live among those who are well travelled.
If I had left my work and gone outside a little earlier, I have no doubt I would now be speeding along the freeway into town to join the no doubt hundreds of others with similar ideas. Perhaps next week, after the rain has cleaned the air and the visibility will be at its best.
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