We're clinging on for dear life here at the edge of the sea, as the southeaster rages across the South Peninsula, hell bent on blowing us all away, and who would blame it? At least it's keeping the cyclists off the road; even cars are battling to keep a straight line, November is traditionally the month for persistent gale-force southeasters and while we look forward to the herald of summer, it only takes about an hour and we start to bitterly complain about dust in the houses, billowing curtains, slamming doors, knots in our hair, skirts around our ears, but most of all, the havoc wreaked in the gardens.
No sooner have the tender buds of spring burst forth and new growth appeared on twigs than the scorching wind dessicates and blackens them, setting back growth by a few weeks, and in many cases, completely snapping young branches - my tomato plants, which only two days ago were looking like prize specimens, are hanging limply over the side of the container, reminiscent of seasick passengers on the SS Vomiting Venus.
It's a Cape Town thing - complaining about the wind. It's a great conversation filler and we all feel a sense of togetherness as we cower from the swirling gusts and spit grit. A few years ago there was a famous 10-day blow, which put everyone in a state of extreme aggression - well, imagine living for 10 days with a galeforce wind - it brings out the worst in us.
But like the pangs of childbirth, the instant the wind drops, we have a marvellous capacity for forgetfulness and sunny smiles soon break through. I'm looking forward to it.
No comments:
Post a Comment