Farewell to 2012

2012 was a year of note. Michael & Marina were married in Marbella, a marvellous excuse for an extended meander through Spain and a week in Paris. Robert & Sara were married under the lighthouse in a field of daisies next to the sea on a perfect Spring day.

My parents survived another year. Three cats have been laid to rest under the lemon tree.

I got to work from home. He Who Can Fix Anything fixed all kinds of things and became Fine Car Champion for the second year in a row. Our cars are all paid for. We have food in the cupboard and hot water in the shower.

We are all healthy and employed. We live in a house by the sea in one of the most beautiful locations in the world. Birds abound in the garden, together with baboons and porcupines and the odd snake.

The Mayan calendar ended and the next cycle began. Those who thought the world would end were surprised and those who knew it wouldn't have yet to discover what's changed.

The bad things that happened have been cast to the wind as a sign of their insignificance, allowing only the good to remain.

2013 will be good to all of us as we welcome the new dawn of a new age on Earth, a new chance to change the way we see ourselves and each other. Enjoy the journey!

Bicycles on the road

I find it strange that laws are being passed to allow people who practice their sport to do so on public roads to the detriment of the road taxpaying vehicle drivers. It has been decreed that you shall pass a cyclist at a minimum distance of  1.5metres to ensure that you don't knock him off his bicycle. For a start, does everyone know what 1.5metres is? Do we get to attach a 1.5 metre stick to our cars to ensure that the correct passing distance is adhered to? If we miscalculate and the stick knocks the cyclist, do we say, Ooops!?

By my reckoning, unless the cyclist is riding in the gutter, you will need to cross the white line to overtake, which will at times be illegal, and at most times, impossible due to oncoming traffic. As the cyclists seldom ride in the gutter, the conclusion is that motorists will now be obliged to bow to the superior claim to the road of cyclists. This is obviously untenable and, in a country where the rules of the road are understood only by a very small minority and adhered to by even less, and enforced to such an extent as to be practically unnoticeable, the likelihood of motorists caring less is exponentially proportionate. (And if any of you understand that, you'll be a better man than I!)

This all came about by the habit of cyclists to ride in convoys, two and sometimes even four abreast, with absolutely no regard for the traffic legally occupying the road. To hoot at a cyclist to politely indicate that he is holding you up will invite filthy language suitable only for bars and garages, lewd hand gestures and uncalled-for aggression at the next robot when they all catch up with you again. The insolence! The powers-that-be made much of the need for politeness and consideration for other road users, asking cyclists nicely to ensure that they never ride abreast, but this has fallen on deaf ears. But rather than make laws to enforce single-file cycling, they want to punish the motorist.

But the real point of the matter is: roads are for transport, not sport. If you want to cycle for sport, go to the velodrome. You do not belong on the road, despite your being erroneously led to think this. The average skateboarder, rollerblader or scooter rider has as much right to be on the road as a cyclist, and a reasonable man would agree that they would be endangering their lives to practice their sport in such a place. Today I witnessed a pair riding abreast and holding up a long line of traffic. The car tooted politely and the cyclist nearly dislocated his neck as he swung round to glare with absolute hatred at the poor lady driver and shouted invective for all to hear. He made no attempt whatsoever to pull into the gutter where he belonged.

If you are riding a bicycle that has no gears, no self-inflating tyres, mudguards, a little light in the front and you aren't wearing red lycra, it is safe to assume that you are using your bicycle as a mode of transport to get to work or some such admirable occupation. For you, sir, I will pass at 2 metres.

Not a beach day

It's almost wintry in Kommetjie today, with a blustery and cool northwester whipping vast manes of white spray off the wave crests. Perhaps the full moon has something to do with it, even though it is at its greatest distance from the Earth right now.

The ebbing tide has left the rocky shore draped in thick foam, like the leftover suds from a rather dirty load of laundry. No-one is crayfishing today, not even from the shore, as the sea conditions are too dangerous for small boats, and the shore break is too strong for diving. A group of men are making their way along the rocks under the lighthouse, but I doubt whether they will be taking anything home for the pot tonight.

After the heat of last week, the cooler weather is most welcome and we are at least able to keep the garden watered without it evaporating straight away.

As the afternoon high tide flows in, surfers are trying their luck on the lumpy waves, but no spectacular Outer Kom breaks are materialising and they will just have to make do with short rides. The wind will swing back to the south tomorrow and it will be even cooler for a while, but January and February are upon us and there will be many more days when the heat will prevent us from doing anything except lie under a tree and wait for the sun to set.

High tea at the Nellie again!

Another fun family gathering was held today at the Mount Nelson Hotel in Cape Town. M&M arrived from Zurich last night and to celebrate, we all went for high tea in colonial splendour at the pink palace. Whatever made them paint it that colour is beyond me. It's not even a pretty pink, and it appears that the colour matching changed in places, making it a little patchy overall. However, if you are inside, it's not so offensive, and the furnishings and ambience are perfect for the purpose of high tea. A lounge pianist tinkled the ivories in the background and old paintings of the Union-Castle liners brought back childhood memories of voyages to England and back in what were pretty basic ships compared to today's luxurious cruisers, but at the time were the most exciting adventure for us as children.

The tea menu is extensive, and my choice of Forest Fruits was so delicious I could stay off Ceylon forever. Multiple trips to the constantly replenished food table ensured that far too much was consumed and I fear that any weight I may have lost over the last week might have been reabsorbed into the body! But I was not the only one stuffing my face and bewailing the consequences - there were plates that warranted photographs at the table, and the super-slick service whisked away every empty dish so that the evidence was not there for all to see.

In the midst of all this feasting, a wedding was taking place with the ceremony in the gardens and celebratory drinks at the foot of the stairs from the terrace, and so we were treated to the sight of the beautiful bride wearing (according to Marina, who knows about these things!) Ellie Saab, a stunning dress, accompanied by two just as beautiful bridesmaids and about four other attendants ahead of her as she walked down to meet her husband-to-be, who turned out to be almost as beautiful as the bride. Rose petals by the bucketload were liberally scattered over the pair when they returned to the terrace and I took lots and lots of photos of a bunch of people I don't know because it seemed appropriate to record the happy occasion!

New clothes at Christmas

Looking at an old home movie of a Christmas in Clovelly, I see myself at the age of about 15 in an outfit consisting of a top with hotpants underneath (about 1973) and can still remember how much I enjoyed wearing it. At least I can show my children that I had a hot figure once! My son looked at the movie and I pointed myself out and said, That's me and he said, It's in colour! Nice.

The outfit was made by my mother, as were all our clothes when we were young. Those were the days when there were no clothing chains for everyday wear and your fancy clothes came from Garlicks or Stuttafords or perhaps even Cleghorns! Jerseys were hand-knitted or crocheted, and we often made our own.

We were guaranteed never to appear in the same dress as anyone else and always had a new outfit for Christmas. I remember favourite dresses with a fondness most people assign to their old Teddy.

Being 3 girls separated by 3 years didn't allow much opportunity for hand-me-downs and anyway, we all had our own colour code - my clothes were pink, red or purple and my sisters' were blue and green. I think it made the laundry easy to sort for Mother, although we probably like to think that we had stamped our mark on our colours in a statement of individuality early in life.

She must be a very talented seamstress, because I don't remember ever having a wardrobe malfunction. These days, you are lucky to get a shirt home from the shop before the first button falls off.

We all learned to sew and received smart Swiss sewing machines for our 21st birthdays, and have turned out our fair share of successes, but it's been many years since they've been used now and I'm ashamed to say I haven't taught either of my children how to use it. It seems a pity that such basic skills are not being passed on.

Idling along

Still laid low by Sunday's bug. Should never have eaten anything over the Christmas period. Am now living on Bulgarian yoghurt and fruit. I think my body is trying to tell me that meat is a thing of the past - the very thought of it makes me feel ill. Fancy weighing less after Christmas than before! Now there's a bonus.

It's a scorcher in Kommetjie today, with the promised westerly wind still awaited to cool us down. There is a pole on top of Slangkop mountain with a long pennant on it,which was put there many years ago (and renewed from time to time) by a local who likes to know the wind direction for hang-gliding and it's been very useful to us when there is any doubt on this subject. Today the pennant is hanging limp, a very unusual occurrence, and down here in my garden I keep pointing the hose to the sky and standing in the cool rain as gravity returns the jet of water to earth. Damp clothes certainly keep down the body heat as I potter around, pulling weeds and planting petunias. I don't know what it is that makes me garden in the heat of the day - perhaps the dryness of the soil enables me to pull weeds more easily!

Having a well and 4 separate well points has rejuvenated my garden beyond recognition - even the lawn is green, and the tough, indigenous buffalo grass is taking hold at last. The restios, which nearly all died in the drought last summer, are sprouting new shoots and looking as though they will return to their former glory, and the leucadendrons, proteas and serruria are apparently happy for the moment. If the water table can maintain itself to the end of March, we should be alright, and the first rains always arrive at Easter.

So it's a fairly restful day. The only thing that can disturb it would be the untimely arrival of baboons...

Christmas Eve

Well, another Christmas Eve dinner has passed. Good company, special food, a glass of fine red wine, sitting outside on the balcony under the stars and the waxing gibbous moon. After the last guest departed, the choir from King's College Cambridge provided an hour and a half's carol singing. Christmas wouldn't be the same without the carols, which serve to remind us of the birth of Jesus, who was to bring so many messages to mankind through his humble life, of the need to be kind and respectful to yourself and others, messages which are more relevant every day as senseless wars and in-fighting among citizens of the same countries continue unabated.

Earlier in the day, I went to the mall (forgot the ice-cream!) - what madness - traffic queues for miles, parking area full at Longbeach (never seen that ever before) - and yet, inside the mall, there was not a feeling of overcrowding or frenzied shopping. The coffee shop was full, but the Christmas spirit abounded, as I chatted to strangers and shared their table. No sooner had they left than an old gentleman asked if he could sit down with me as he was very tired. Imagine having to ask. Of course he was more than welcome, after all I had done the same thing to the previous occupants, and it wasn't long before the waitress had brought him a glass of water, with no expectation of him having to buy anything while he rested. Soon his granddaughter arrived with her daughter and then my son arrived - it was like musical chairs except there was no music.

All around, the neighbourhood was silent last night - not even the guineafowl were squawking and I can't remember when I last heard the hadedahs.

In the afternoon as I walked through the garden, I came upon a young robin, still with spotty feathers on its head, standing on the path in front of me. As I approached, it seemed deep in thought, and only when I was about a foot away did it fly up into the branches nearby. It's lucky I wasn't the cat.

It's 4.30am as I write this. I woke up at 2.30, as I often do - it seems I get an energy burst at that time and I feel like getting up and doing things, but it's not good for the body clock and I'll go back to bed now for another hour or so's sleep. It's getting light over Cape Town on this Christmas Day of 2012. Let's hope it's a peaceful one for everybody. I see there are a few presents under the tree, so it looks as though Father Christmas came down the chimney after all. I hope there's one for me!

Wasted day

I have nothing to report for yesterday.
Without going into gory details, a stomach bug hit in the middle of the night and for 24 hours I lay on my back, sipping water and electrolytes and mainly sleeping.

Today I woke up feeling much better and had an egg for breakfast to no ill effect. Tonight is Christmas Eve dinner, so it's a great relief that this all happened yesterday, otherwise it would have to have been cancelled.

How strange it was to have a day go by with nothing happening. The garden didn't get watered. I didn't cook for anybody. I didn't go for a walk, or do the washing. I didn't bother with Facebook or emails. Perhaps these incidents are sent to force you to take a break from life? It seems as though the world has continued to turn and it rained in the night to compensate for not watering the garden. And the family managed just fine without me.

I'd rather do without a break like that, though! Give me a week in Tuscany, rather.

Another cat laid to rest...

Buried Cat #3 this morning. Tigger was our crazy cat who lived on the fence after an altercation with what we can only assume was a cerval some years back, which made her psychology unbalanced and physically as well, as she fell off the fence regularly. She deteriorated over time through epileptic fits and her beautiful ginger chinchilla-like fur became matted like a Rasta's dreadlocks. We tried to stroke her and pay attention but although she would purr like a diesel engine and, on the odd occasion, come inside and sit on my lap for a short while, something in her brain would trigger a convulsion which caused her to sink her teeth into my hand. The bite was intensely painful and necessitated a tetanus shot from time to time as the blood would flow freely and looked like a snake bite for a few days. So we became too nervous to touch her much.

We made her a little hut on the fence and sometimes she would sleep inside, but otherwise she was impervious to winter's gales and slashing rain, proof that animals are made to survive all weathers despite our concerns for them. She had lately taken to sleeping on the top step at the front door, with a 3 metre drop to the bricks below, and we would often hear her roll down the stairs in the middle of the night.

When I went outside early this morning to do the perimeter fence recce for the porcupine, before letting the dogs out, I found Tiggy on the bricks below the top step and could see straight away that she wasn't just lying there. Her eyes were half closed and she was in a little damp patch. I felt her and she was still warm, but had definitely passed on. Rather than wake the children, I got the spade and dug a deep hole under the lemon tree, next to Fluffy and Mittens, who have been resting there for a few months now. I found a bright orange cloth, in recognition of her nickname 'Orange', and folded her tail neatly under her before closing it up and lowering her into her last resting place. I washed the bricks so no scent remained to be sniffed by the dogs and to wipe away the traces of her fall.

And so the end of another era in our cat history. RIP Tigger.

A stroll down Long Street

Took a break today and went to Cape Town and the Waterfront with the kids (hardly!). The main reason was Robert's appointment at UK Visa Agency to submit his documents for residence to join Sara (his new wife!) in London and start their life together at last. So hold thumbs there. While he was doing that, we waited in the car in Long Street.

It's been about 20 years since I walked in Long Street and so much water has flowed under the bridge in this country since I worked in town. I've completely lost touch with the city atmosphere, living in the relative obscurity of Kommetjie on the Atlantic seaboard, very far from the madding crowd, and only occasionally going through to the Waterfront, which is hardly the heart of the city. I took the opportunity to stroll a bit and chat to the people I came across, although that was something that just happened. In a bookstore, I managed to engage almost the entire staff in conversation, little of which had too much to do with the books in the shop and I was struck by the warmth and friendliness of the interaction.

A coffee shop promised cappuccino across the road, so I headed that way and placed my order. I was directed to a public toilet in the arcade and was surprised to see that you had to pay to access it, but then again, appreciated that there was at least controlled access. Even better was to find that it was spotless and fully equipped, always a sign of civilization. All cubicles were occupied and while waiting I mentioned to a smartly dressed lady that it was years since I had walked around town and how good it was to see how clean and acceptable it was, no sign of beggars - something that was rife 20 years ago, so it is probably better policing that's to thank for that. She told me that she and her husband loved to spend time in St Georges Mall, a street converted to a pedestrian walkway, with numerous restaurants and shops.

A young girl emerged clutching a pair of towering platform heels, and wearing flat sandals. I asked her whether she had had enough of the high heels and she said she hated them but had a job interview and wanted  her shoes to complement her outfit, not look as though she was on her way to the beach, so we had a good laugh about that. I wished her luck with the job and she thanked me and we parted like old friends.

Getting back to the coffee shop, the waiter had my cappuccino waiting with a prepacked seed bar. I asked if he had a knife to slit open the package which  seemed to me unfathomable and he obligingly pointed to the tiny slit - duh! - and joked about it in completely unaccented English. The shop was well patronised by people from all walks of life. After enjoying my snack and coffee and a brief glance at the Death column in the newspaper (the only part I find at all informative), I went back to the car, where my daughter was waiting. She had chosen to stay in the car. She thinks she will be mugged and everything is dirty.

Strange how people are different. It seems that life does after all bring you what you expect from it. Expect the best and go forth fearlessly.

Porcupines and Pickled Fish

It's been  bit of a day today. First of all, the porcupine climbed over the top of the fence I had rebuilt and then had to dig a massive hole to get out, so the dog had the freedom of Kommetjie at about 5.30 this morning.  I set off for the Kom a little later to see where he was and spotted him with my neighbour and her two little dogs walking round the Island. He always behaves perfectly with her and will walk quietly at her heel without a lead. Isn't that typical. So after a pleasant chat and stroll along the beachfront, we got home and I set about plugging the holes again. It wasn't long before I noticed that Monty wasn't anywhere to be found, and realised that somehow he had gone straight out through the fence again. I must have blinked. This time he was trailing a lead and it wasn't long before the phone rang - someone had picked him up because they saw the lead and knew that he had escaped! Clever people. So those name tags round the neck do work. When I went to fetch him about a block away, I saw that the same porcupine had tried to dig under their gate, but had be foiled by the round rocks that lie just below the surface all along this part of Kommetjie, a throwback from when it was the seabed no doubt. For some reason, our plot is pure sand about 8 feet down when it becomes a flat sheet, according to the water diviner who blew out our wellpoint. That's why the porcupine has such easy access. Of course he ate the last of the vegetables, so bang goes organic gardening again!

After threading bamboo through the fencing in another desperate attempt to thwart our nocturnal digger, it was back to work in the office and I didn't leave my desk for many hours. I forgot completely about the beetroot on the stove, and a chance visit to the kitchen for a glass of water alerted me to the smell of almost burning sugar. If you want to know how much natural sugar is in a beetroot, cook it dry. The thick sticky syrup in the bottom of the pot has to be seen to be believed. I caught them in the nick of time, and so I think they can now be classed as almost sugar-free!

At the end of the day, my son decided that I needed to be treated to dinner at The Pickled Fish at Imhoff Farm. What a treat! I had the most fabulous Keralan (!?) Tiger Prawn Curry. A culinary delight, delicate yet full of flavour, not hot yet spicy, substantial but not too much. I can recommend it to everyone. We have eaten at the Pickled Fish many times and have yet to be disappointed.

So in the end it was a good day, and I've left a bowl of water and some fruit under the hedge for the porcupine to let him know there are no hard feelings. But if he keeps coming back, I'll trap him and relocate him to a mountain far, far away!

More ramblings...

Having spent the last week glued to my computer, I am ready to take a day off to do a little food shopping for Christmas. I didn't go outside before 4 o'clock yesterday, which was one of the hottest days ever. As I stepped through the door, a gust of galeforce southeaster assaulted me and tree branches bent and shook, scattering leaves as if it were autumn. It continued to blow as I took a short walk along the beachfront to get the circulation going again, and as I returned home, the wind died down again and faded to nothing.

This morning we are blanketed in a kind of mist which is keeping us cool, but will probably drive beachgoers to the mall where I will have to join the happy throng. Not my favourite time to shop! Mind you, no time is ever my favourite - I'm just not a shopper. The worst kind of shopping is clothes shopping. Those mirrors expose every lump and bump and reveal that you should spend a little more time in the sunshine if you don't want to look that slightly blue colour. With my new no-ironing plan, I will be looking for clothes that are supposed to look creased all the time, which usually turn out to be long dresses and skirts made in India, which are very attractive, but not what I am used to wearing. Then again, you can stay as you are for the rest of your life, or you can change to....... (fill in appropriate word - I can guess what came to mind first, all you Saffers!)

It seems as though the New Year will lead to all sorts of new things and I for one am looking forward to it!

The most useless occupation in the world

Top of my list of things that life is too short to do is without a doubt, ironing. I think it all began when a simple straight up and down shift-type garment, which was the most suitable form of clothing, being a one-size-fits-all, no need to worry about whether your bum looked big in it, began to be eschewed by those who wished to show off their women in public. At first, a lovely silk ribbon was used to nip and tuck the flowing garments of the Greeks and Italians, but once a more permanent fastening was invented, there was no end to the variety of pleats, folds and blousons that could enhance women's attire. This later spread to multiple ruffles  and gathers for both men and women.

Surely none of this can have been invented with ironing in mind? The way I see it, the idea that sending your man off to work wearing a creased shirt is not something that should attract sneers and derision at your lack of pride in his appearance, but rather be a statement that you have something better to do with your life. After all, within half an hour of putting it on, his body heat will have smoothed the creases anyway.

I have always found that after I have ironed something, the end result is more defined creases, rather than a smooth finish, which totally defeats the whole purpose. Only someone who has never ironed anything in their life could have designed cargo pants, or pockets that have pleats and have little sides added so that you can carry a cellphone, R500 in R10 notes and five credit cards over your heart. Not to mention the proliferation of elasticised T-shirt type tops that gather a metre of material into a 30cm length.

Unless wearing clothes that haven't been ironed becomes a life-threatening situation, I am happy to advise that I have hung up my iron and from now on will be wearing clothes with almost as many wrinkles as my skin (so I'll still be looking quite smooth anyway - you can read that as either wrinkle-free or smoooooth!)
As for the rest of the family, the choice is theirs.

Early riser

Woke up at 2am when various family members came home, as they had forgotten their keys. So I was up and about in the garden under the magnificent sweep of  stars from the constellations of Taurus with Jupiter in its midst, across Orion and the Gemini twins and further on to Sirius. With no moon, it was a magnificent time for stargazing, but I had been woken up after only 3 hours of sleep and couldn't do more than put a few cars in the garage before stumbling back to bed. Where of course I lay wide awake, thinking of all the things I have to do this week and trying to quieten the mind, but having no success. Eventually at 4.30 it started to get light, so I gave up and got up.

Into the kitchen, kettle on, piece of toast. I did a little bit of writing - a list of emails I must do, the odd bit of grocery items that came to mind. Then out onto the balcony to enjoy the extremely chirpy dawn chorus coming from the old gum tree next door and enjoying the perfect solitude as the sky lightened in the east. When I went back inside, it was only 5am and for some strange reason, I found myself wanting to do some dusting and pack the dishwasher. That wouldn't have gone down well with the rest of the snoring household, but if I were alone, I would have got the vacuum cleaner out. I realised that this must be why I never feel like housework in the day - I'm an early-hours-of-the-morning person. I should be going to bed at 9 and getting up at 4! What a pity I have to fit in with the rest of the household.

I thought of defrosting the fridge - after all, how much noise can melting ice make? But that meant I would have had to go down to the garage again for the cooler boxes and that was too much trouble. So I went back to bed, but by 5.30 I was up again, in the shower and outside to water the garden.

I did defrost the fridge today, and spent 4 hours at my desk, despite it being one of the most magnificent days of the year here in Kommetjie. Such dedication. I'm sitting outside again as I write this. A flock of night herons have left their day time roost in the milkwood trees and passed by the lighthouse on their nocturnal business and a sliver of moon hangs in the dusky sky. The birds are twittering their last messages for the day and I smell crayfish cooking in a pot next door. The lights of the upper cableway station twinkle on top of Table Mountain - it must have been magic up there today.

I am reminded of a song from the 60s as I look up at the moon and I know many of you will hear it as if it were yesterday:

When the moon is in the Seventh House
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the starsThis is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius...

The song was from the then scandalous musical Hair and sung by The Fifth Dimension.

Who would have thought that time would come? Here we are on the cusp of the Age of Aquarius - 21/12/12 - when human consciousness will have the opportunity to enter the Fifth Dimension.

Interesting times...

Imagine

Imagine.

How many people understand the significance of that word? John Lennon did, and he left us a message that continues to be rated as one of the most loved songs in the world.

Everything that exists in the material world began as a thought which manifested from quantum reality into material reality through impulses of energy and information. This is an accepted fact and a little deep thought will confirm it. We create what we imagine - think of art, or books. I am imagining these words that I am writing and they are appearing before you. Our thoughts create our view of life. We can see it as good or bad, depending on how we view ourselves in relation to the rest of the world - Einstein showed us that it's all about relativity - our relationship to everything else - a clever man who maintained that his greatest discoveries came from moments of introspection. Surely that shows that our greatest power comes from within and cannot be given to us from an external source?

Imagine a world with no weapons.

Weapons were invented by those who want to have more than they need - to gain control over the things that others have, use or live on. And they developed from hand-to-hand combat weapons to a long-distance means of getting what they wanted without endangering their own lives - the basis of their fears, that they might not have enough, get enough or be important enough. Such cowards.

John Lennon left a message for the world.. When you are ready, you will hear it. In the meantime, I leave you with an excerpt for reflection:


Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people living life in peace

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people sharing all the world


You, you may say
I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will be as one

More heat, digging in the garden, thorny issues

This is getting a bit much now! The heat is like Durban. Robert spent the day clearing up the leaves and branches strewn around the garden by the wind of the last week and moved a huge pile of planks to clean up around and underneath, despite his fear of spiders. After we had packed 8 garden refuse bags full of the debris, he then re-stacked the planks, some of them 6m long and some scaffolding planks, then trimmed the odd branch off the trees and cut those up. All in 30 degree plus heat. What a hero! Tomorrow will be more of the same.

The worst part of picking up the branches is that most are from a huge bougainvillea, and if you have ever stood on one of those twigs with bare feet, or a pair of Crocs (which provide absolutely no resistance to thorns!), you will know what I mean. The thorns of the bougainvillea are matched only by those of the lemon tree, on which you could skewer a chop for a barbecue. Coupled with those hazards are two long-dead rose bushes which I chucked down the side of the house last winter, waiting to be burnt on the barbecue and long forgotten under their blanket of leaf detritus. So all round, a pretty dangerous day.

He filled in the mineshaft dug by the porcupine with a pile of broken concrete bits and pieces and threw out two large tree stumps that were quietly mouldering in a corner. The bamboo growing along the neighbouring fence has been chopped back, revealing a further metre or so of garden we didn't know we had and he weedeatered round the shrubs, successfully ringbarking the raphiolepus which was one of the more successful plantings I have had. I hope it survives his enthusiasm.

In return for a month of working in the garden, he gets to pay no board and lodging this month, and it's worth every cent.

More heatwave, wind, astronomy.

So who's enjoying the weather in Cape Town now? Galeforce south easter slamming doors and pulling curtains through windows. Gates banging and dirt flying everywhere. Paintings are all crooked on the walls as house on pillars rocks and rolls, and one even fell off and knocked over the small telescope which now needs to be realigned, if that is possible! In between gusts, the humidity is suffocating and we are all looking as though we have just had an hour's workout at the gym, but without the benefit of having burned off the calories. The only good thing is that we are drinking lots of water.

The silver rain and tinsel on the Christmas tree is looking pretty as it waves in the breeze passing through the house.

I'm going to try and look for the Geminid meteor shower tonight (I think about 11 or maybe 3?), but there are some high clouds which might obscure it. I saw a brief preview on Sunday night with a few shooting stars and a very bright object that shot across the sky and was definitely not a meteor; possibly a very low satellite. On Monday night I was out visiting a friend and came home at 10 o'clock, only to see the next day that at 9pm a UFO was spotted above us and friends in Knysna also saw it. Just my luck, if I had been at home I might have seen it. Tried last night, but no luck. Very interesting that the photo posted later matched the description given by the friend. Time will tell on that subject.

No porcupine last night, which is good news, although I see that half of my vegetables have been eaten. Could have been a giant worm, or a guinea fowl or suchlike. We have a lot of wildlife here!

Time to put my head in the oven and see if supper's ready!

Heatwave

What a day in Cape Town! A summer scorcher, the kind of day when you should be lying under a tree looking at the sky through the leaves. But no, after this morning's exploits in the garden with the porcupine, it was out with the spade and some large pieces of wire fencing, concrete blocks, wooden poles, metal grid sheets and anything else handy to build a barricade. A wire mesh fence is nothing to a porcupine - he just unravels it after biting through a single strand. So that was what I call a sweatiferous bit of work, although Robert did help.

He of course was exhausted, having gone off to buy a Christmas tree, which reaches the ceiling and protrudes about a metre and a half into the room. We love a big tree, and he and Katherine then had to decorate it while I slaved away at the computer earning my daily bread.

All the windows and doors had to be closed or only open a crack, because of the return of Bobby and Jane,   with Billy-Sue in tow (don't know if it's a he or a she, so that name will have to do). For the non-Afrikaans speakers among you, a baboon is a bobbejaan, hence my generic names for whoever passes through my kitchen. I feel we should be on first-name terms - after all, they are helping themselves to the food from my table and I don't want to be an ungracious hostess.

But now, as the evening draws to a close, a cool breeze is drifting off the sea and into the now open windows (B, J and B-S have headed for the crags to their sleeping place) and a heavy shore break thunders its message across the airwaves - news of a storm in the South Atlantic, but we won't be seeing it. Feathery ice clouds await the setting of the sun, to capture the last colours of the spectrum as we head into another peaceful night on the edge of the ocean.

More nocturnal visitors

The porcupine is back. At four o'clock this morning the dogs jumped off the bed and ran outside and Monty took a long time to come back in, which should have been a warning. As it was still dark, he eventually returned to his place at my feet and we dozed a little until it got light at about 4.45, when they again ran outside and Monty once again stayed out, occasionally giving one of those enquiring woofs to let me know that he was interested in something.

So up I get and trundle out into the garden only to find that the excavations have begun again and there is a two-foot deep hole against the fence where we filled it in with concrete blocks and wire netting last time the porcupine destroyed my garden. He couldn't get out there and tried at various other places, eventually forcing his way through the wire mesh. 

I got a spade and started filling in the ditch while Monty continued his sniffing up and down the fence. At that stage I didn't know where the new hole was and did a recce round the garden to see if it was still inside. In the meantime, Monty had found the hole and before you could blink, had escaped across the spare plot next door and headed off for the beachfront.

Into the shower - got to go after the dog, otherwise he will be gone for hours and I always worry that someone will take him home even though he has a tag, or even worse, get knocked over. Luckily for me, my daughter got up to investigate what I was doing and went off in the car to look for him. She found him down at the Kom, happily running with two dogs and a couple of cyclists, and between the three of them, she managed to recapture the escapee and bring him back home.

Once again the porcupine has punctured the irrigation system, which now has more joins that piping, so it's out with the duct-tape until I can get that sorted out. I put another concrete block in front of the hole, but today my son will have to devote himself to scheming up a plan to keep the porcupine out. I think we will have to leave food on the other side of the fence, and water in case that is all he is looking for.

Hey ho. The joys of living on the perimeter of a national park with its accompanying wildlife. Could be worse, I suppose.

Kitchen raid

Robert and I were in the kitchen this afternoon; he is learning to cook before he leaves to join his wife in London. Better late than never. I have tried to ensure that he understands that it is not a woman's job to do the domestic chores and he had better get used to helping. Of course, this philosophy has never worked in my household, as everyone is more than happy for me to do everything, and whining doesn't help - they just tune out. But their day will come!

So there we were, making spaghetti bolognaise, and something made me turn around. Aaarrrgghhh! A really huge baboon was helping himself to the only banana in the fruit bowl. His wife and kid were still outside on the balcony and he didn't take anything else, so I don't know what they got for dinner. But the dogs, as always when I am around, felt brave and decided to attack, much to Robert's consternation. I couldn't think of anything to say to this baboon, who seemed to have gone straight for the fruit bowl and has probably been a guest before. So I alternated between Get out of here! and Monty! Come here!

The baboon jumped onto the couch and looked at Monty and Susie, rather disdainfully, as if to say, Hey, my teeth are much bigger than yours, yappers! and then decided to exit through the door onto the balcony, collecting wife and kid on the way and shinning down the tree (as if he couldn't have just jumped down).

The dogs zoomed out of the front door and made off after them as they scaled the wall to the neighbour to see what was on offer there.

It's been so long since we saw baboons we have stopped closing doors and windows in this lovely summer weather, but as I planted neat rows of  vegetables on the weekend, I did wonder if I was perhaps tempting fate...

Sunday fun in the garage

We had a 'garage' day today. One of the cars suddenly developed a hole in its exhaust, as these things tend to, and as usual, He Who Can Fix Anything decided to fix it himself. And again, as these things tend to, the more he investigated the problem, the more he exposed the shocking workmanship we are subject to these days. The person who had installed the exhaust had used about 6 gaskets to fill the gap rather than fitting the thing correctly and had stripped a couple of bolts at the same time, and consequently the job expanded beyond all expectation.. The air was blue with expletives, sometimes reaching full sentences, and I tried to stay out of the way, but unfortunately had to pass spanners, copper welding rods, brazing tools and a bucket of hot, soapy water for intermittent removal of grime and grease from face and hands. It transpires that the job would probably have cost about R85 at a garage, and if I had known that, under no circumstances would I have allowed the planks to be removed from the pit.

Some 4 hours later, the job was done and I thought we could have a Sunday afternoon doze on the bricks under the trees, as we usually do on hot days. But no, for a little light relief (and after I had cooked dinner, I might tell you!), we installed the front and back windscreens in the Mini he is restoring. I don't know how many of you have done this, but I think we have installed about 4 over the years, and it isn't the easiest thing, particularly if you don't have the right tools and have to rely on brute strength (I'm not a brute and I don't have strength) and a long piece of string. The brute jimmies the rubber into position and I pull the string out so that the rubber sits on both sides of the metal rim, which is much more difficult than it sounds, and my fingers were definitely not suitable for a handcream advert after we were finished.

But finish we did, and successfully so. Another Sunday sweating in the garage, while elsewhere in the world, people relax, entertain, eat out and generally have a good time. I suppose I will have to look on the positive side as having added another string to my bow. But if you want a windscreen fitted, don't call me...

An accumulation of clouds

Aren't clouds marvellous things? They have so many uses! They show us the wind direction. Shelter us from the sun. Bring rain (sometimes heavy, sometimes light). They shower us with snowflakes. They cause huge lightning bolts to shoot either up or down and sometimes just horizontally.

Cloud formations as they sweep over mountains are, for me, the most fascinating. Table Mountain has its own special way of dealing with the clouds which come on the south-east wind. They run along the top and fall over the edge towards the city, disappearing about halfway down and giving the mountain its famous 'tablecloth'. When the mountain which looms over Fish Hoek is covered in cloud, you know it is a Black Southeaster and the beach won't be worth going to that day. And the cloud which forms over Chapman's Peak in the same conditions looks like an upturned saucer, so you get a pretty good idea of the weather from clouds over the Peninsula mountain chain.

The shapes formed by clouds provide an endless source of interest and entertainment. When I was young, I remember sitting on a garden wall with my friend, Jo, watching a bank of clouds on the horizon at sunset, and we saw the whole of the Battle of Jericho (imaginatively assisted by the fact that we were both singing the song about that at the school concert) unfolding as the clouds gathered and dissipated. If she reads this, I am sure she will remember!

And of course, their main purpose is to enable us to enjoy the passing of day into night to the greatest degree possible. I can't imagine anyone not being awed by the incredible sunsets that we experience down here at the bottom of Africa.

Below is a small selection of some of my favourite cloud pictures. Enjoy!

Christmas eve with fishing friends

On Christmas Eve, we have our single friends around for dinner, a relaxed and informal affair for relaxed and informal people. They are our fishing friends, meaning they don't do much else, but are well-read, well-travelled and raconteurs of note, interested in everything life has to offer as long as it doesn't involve getting into a car and going to an office.

M used to own a commercial fishing boat and has long been a legend in the area as one of the most skilled anglers, spotting a fish from the ledges at Rooikrantz down at Cape Point and casting in front of it, somehow always hooking it for a fry. His deep-freeze is stuffed to the gunwales with whole yellowtail and tuna, just gutted and wrapped for a rainy day or a gift to a friend. He cleaned it out the other day and found a leg of lamb at the bottom, too old to eat and white with freezer burn. Now that's a dedicated fish eater for you.

W works for nature conservation, which pretty much means spend your day on the beach, throw in a line and make sure no-one is catching an endangered or undersized fish. We only see him at Christmas and look forward to his hilarious anecdotes on his daily adventures out in the wilderness. One of his favourite ways of relaxing is to sit in front of a pot of melting lead over a gas burner, making sinkers. I think he must lose an awful lot in the rocks of the Wild Coast.

J goes to sea as an observer on Chinese fishing boats, huge raiders of the seas, way down in the South Atlantic, as an observer to make notes and report back to whoever about what they are doing. Can't be the most popular man aboard, and has to speak Chinese, too. The stories he can tell are quite something, and it seems as though the shipboard diet consists mainly of cabbage. When he is back at home, it is little wonder that he applies himself to pickling, preserving and smoking whatever foods he can lay hands on - I think he takes as much aboard as he can.

So Christmas Eve dinner is always something to look forward to, in the company of good friends who lead fairly solitary lives, by choice, but are by no means lonely.

Contrasts

It's a gentle day in Kommetjie today. The slightest zephyr drifts in from the sea, bringing a welcome coolness to relieve the fierce heat of the sun. In the bay, a boat rises and falls at its mooring as the tide ebbs and flows.
Arctic terns alternate between high-flying random flocking and smooth sweeping flight about a foot above the water. Gulls abound on the rocky shoreline, and a pair of oystercatchers stand guard a distance away.

On the lawns, a group of local schoolchildren play games, a joy to see in these technological times, and all is serenely beautiful.

This contrasts somewhat with the frantic scenes playing out at home, where the outlet pipe for the dishwasher has come adrift under the kitchen sink, causing flooding in the cupboard and filling the dirtbin and every other receptacle except the kitchen sink. As luck would have it, my son went into the kitchen looking for sustenance and noticed the water pouring out onto the floor and, yes, yelled for me to get some towels while he continued to watch the waterfall. Having just washed the dog, we now have a surfeit of wet towels in the house. At least the weather is good and they will dry in no time.

But outside, it continues to be another magnificent day in our little piece of paradise.

Priorities

Today the emergency medical response vehicles pulled up on the corner of our road to attend to a young skateboarder who had come hurtling down the hill and fallen off his skateboard, knocking himself out. As I watched him being loaded into the ambulance, it reminded me of an incident when my children were very young.

I have always been lucky enough to have day mothers who only looked after their own children and mine while I worked. At the time, I had a great job with property developers in Cape Town and was always happy that my children were able to enjoy the relative freedom of Kommetjie, rather than a creche in the suburbs. Then a colleague got the bad news that her younger brother, who also lived in Kommetjie, had been skateboarding down a hill and been hit by a car as he swooped across the road without looking. The child suffered permanent disability and brain damage, and it was brought home to me that it was far more important at that stage of my children's lives to be at home with them and know what they were doing at all times. So within days I had resigned from a job that paid well, had working hours that enabled me to miss all the traffic and bosses who were a pleasure to work with.

I started working from home, doing everything from selling beauty products to typing (no computers in those days!) and was able to be flexible enough to do all the things I had to do for the children. Ever since then, I have managed to work close to home, from home and sometimes not at all, with the assistance of a really good network of friends and family.

I can quite safely say that I have always been there for my children, which I believe has played a large part in them not giving me a moment's trouble or any serious concerns. I consider myself to be one of the lucky ones and am always grateful for those who helped in the past. You know who you are.

Getting back to the real Christmas

Christmas time looms again. The shops are full of decorations and exhortations for you to spend your hard-earned money. While it is fine for the landed gentry, I always feel sorry for those who are unable to splash out at this time. Do they feel they are missing out or are inferior in some way if they don't buy fancy foods and glittering Christmas tree decorations, or perhaps failing as parents if they can't afford to give their children the latest cellphone or game or other electronic device? You will never see an advert urging you to go without presents at Christmas.

Then, as soon as you have maxed your credit to buy these goods, the messages start to come in about how much it is going to cost you for school uniforms and school fees and paying your December bills in January, so it doesn't look like a Happy New Year.

While I have nothing against celebrating what is, after all, a Christian religious holiday and should be of no interest to anyone not of that persuasion, consumerism has stepped in to strip it of any religious significance whatsoever. Perhaps it would be better to transfer the commercial aspect to New Year, which would at least serve a purpose as a party to say farewell to the old and welcome a new phase of our lives. The current New Year celebrations are pretty much a damp squib coming so soon after Christmas. And those presents could be saved for birthdays when it is easier to splash out on one special person at a time.

Maybe a special day spent with loved ones (not just family, but anyone who could do with a little caring) would bring back some meaning to the celebration of the birth of Jesus, whose message was peace, hope, love, humility and charity. I think it would be infinitely preferable to the frenzied commercialism we are subjected to for two months of the year.

Our family has been doing this for a few years now and we have found a low-key Christmas and New Year party really work well.

Some good news in this sometimes harsh world

In the chaos of the galeforce wind last week, He Who Can Fix Anything lost his cellphone when it fell out of the car as he chased papers. Major irritation with lost contacts, etc. So he gets a new phone and today it is stolen out of his car while he is in a shop in Woodstock. He should have known better, but we won't go there. He immediately phoned me to tell me to block the phone so it would be useless to the thief.

I phoned the cellphone company who wanted to know the number and I had to look it up on my phone - I haven't figured out "hold" yet! And then I thought, why don't I just phone the number and see who answers? So I did, and a young boy answered. I asked him where he got that phone and he said he saw a man fiddling in a white van and asked him what he was doing and the man said he worked for the person who owned the car. Anyway, it was a little difficult to get the full story due to the Capie accent, but it appeared that this little boy and his two friends and dog (who barked incessantly in the background) had disturbed the thief who dropped everything (cellphone, other keys that were in the car and wallet with credit cards and driver's licence) somehow and they had picked them up and thrown the keys back through the open door and had then carried on walking with the cellphone and purse. I presume as they were young boys they hadn't made any sort of decision on what to do next. He said he would go back to the shop where the van had been parked, a block or so away. I then phoned the number on my cellphone (thank goodness for caller ID!) and got the owner of the shop where HWCFA had been and asked him to go outside and look for the three boys and a dog, which he willingly did.

Ten minutes later, I called the shopowner again and he confirmed that he had the goods and three little hopeful faces, so I asked him to reward them suitably and we would be back tomorrow to collect the valuables.

Well, HWCFA didn't believe me when I told him I had sorted it all out. O ye of little faith, cried I! If you try to only think the best of people, rather than anticipating what they will do wrong, you might end up being quite surprised. I certainly hope he has learned something.

Life has many paths, and which one you take depends entirely on your thoughts. So make them the right ones - it worked today. It can work again tomorrow.

A little bit of fun

The wind howled bleakly through the trees
And cast a nest out on the breeze
The pigeon pair fell to the ground
And lay there looking all around
A sparrowhawk that flew on high
Espied them with his beady eye
With folded wings and beak to prey
He swooped like lightning as they lay
About to snatch with outstretched claws
A sudden movement gave him pause
A cat beneath the hedge did lie
Awaiting dinner from the sky
But none of them would eat today
Behind the cat a snake did sway
Observing all the goings on
I shrieked and 'poof!' they all moved on.

High jinks in high winds

In between some serious work, I spent quite a time today looking at all the hilarious videos and photos that people have been posting of Capetonians coping with the galeforce wind we are having here. The funny thing about the wind is, when it is just blowing hard day after day, everyone moans and is bad tempered, but when it blows galeforce for days, and you have to hang on the poles just to stay upright, it seems that our sense of humour prevails and everybody laughs together as they blow this way and that like a bunch of inebriates.

It brings to mind the time a double-decker bus was blown over on the Foreshore, the most notorious wind tunnel in Cape Town, together with several light trucks such as those that deliver potato chips and have no substance to hold them down.

I once crossed Adderley Street in some rather high platform heels and was toppled like a tree. I just lay there in the middle of the road, laughing until somebody picked me up. I never wore those shoes again, needless to say.

A wind speed of 164km/hr was recorded on top of Table Mountain in the last 24 hours - that is quite impressive and surely another good reason for it to be one of the new Wonders of the World!

Daybreak ditherings

Woke up this morning at 4 o'clock with the wind bashing the branches of a tree against the house. It's a wooden house on stilts, so being hit by the soft upper branches creates quite a racket as they scrape and whip against the gutters and window. Leaves have blown in through the open windows, even though it's just a couple of inches and in the light of day I will find the garden littered with twigs and leaves for raking up. I think it's time to get the men of the household up a ladder and cut back the trees that are growing too close to the house.

Can't get back to sleep, as the sky is getting light already and believe it or not, a hadedah is squawking outside, so even the birds are up and about.

Two days ago, a pair of rock pigeon fledglings lost their nest to the wind and have taken up residence on the lintel above my front door - you can only imagine what a mess that is making. They are not at all frightened of our comings and goings and just sit there all day. The mother flies in from time to time and feeds them, although they can fly and are fully feathered. It seems a bit odd, but maybe they are traumatised by the loss of their home. If they don't go soon I will have to put down a litter tray for them. If it's not the cats (RIP), it's birds. It seems that the animal kingdom rules at this house.

A third day of galeforce winds is now here - this weekend is the inauguration of Table Mountain as one of the new Wonders of the World. It seems unlikely that the cable car will be running so that could put a damper on things and as it will be covered with its famous tablecloth, we may not even be able to see it on its special day! Never mind, we've always regarded it as a wonder of the world anyway. What's in a name?

If it weren't for the clouds, the sun would be nearly up. After all this brain exercise, I think I might take 40 winks after all.

Gale tale

Who would have believed the wind would get stronger today? It has adjusted itself by a critical degree or so which means that our house is now in the path of the gusts that swoosh down from the mountain. You can hear the roar as it approaches and then all the doors slam and the curtains billow out of the windows as the wind tries to turn the house inside out! Being on stilts means that we rock and roll quite considerably and the pictures all have to be straightened once the wind has settled down.

We've survived for 30 years so I don't anticipate tipping over any time soon, but a few years ago, we were woken up in the night of a fearsome gale by the sound of metallic banging. As we don't have any metal in our construction, we thought it must be a sheet on the roof of the wendyhouse, but when we went outside onto the balcony to look, horrors! it was our neighbour two doors away! They have a flat roof and the entire structure had lifted at the edge and was folding itself up with each new blast. Corrugated iron sheeting must be one of the most dangerous things in a high wind and I could imagine being sliced in half if hit by one. The noise was horrendous and the poor neighbour, who was obviously beside herself, could be seen running up and down inside with a torch as the electricity had failed as well.

Although it was a terrible thing, it had an element of comedy about it, for us as spectators anyway, especially since the wind was blowing away from us and we weren't the ones in any danger. I suppose there is something about prospective disasters and extreme elements that attract people, a sense of being near danger and getting the adrenalin rush without suffering injury - probably why crowds gather at accidents, to gawk and agree with other bystanders that it was lucky it wasn't them.

Fortunately the neighbours suffered no injury themselves except for nearly having heart attacks and it was a story to dine out on for a long time!

Small mumblings...

A true November southeaster is howling across the Peninsula, sandblasting the legs of beachgoers and cars travelling along Baden Powell Drive on the northern shore of False Bay. I am always amazed that the little strip of tar which runs along the beach from Muizenberg to almost Somerset West has survived all these years. In places it is barely 50 metres to the sea with just a gentle sloping down from the road. After a good blow, the road is completely covered in sand and closed to traffic, and then the wind changes and shifts it all back onto the beach. It is the scene of many car adverts, as those who are familiar with the area will testify - the Peninsula seems to be a favourite destination for car adverts and film shoots, both local and international, and it never fails to give me a thrill to recognise 'home' on the TV.

Off Kommetjie, the waves are blowing out to sea, struggling to make it ashore even though the full moon has brought a high tide this afternoon, and a tiny yacht is motoring by, not even attempting to put up a sail. The moon is at apogee at present (meaning furthest distance away from the earth - use the word afar to remember the a in apogee) and so is having a slightly lesser effect on the tide than normal. It is also the smallest full moon we will see, but don't worry, you won't notice - it is meaningless in the greater scale of the universe.

Tonight (or rather at 3.30 tomorrow morning 29 November), there will be an occultation of Jupiter by the moon, whereby the moon will pass in front of Jupiter in a form of eclipse. If you are up at that time, go outside and have a look. Hold a pencil over the moon otherwise you won't see it!

The wind is set to blow like this for about 4 days - the Cape Doctor is going to cure us of all the germs and smog that are hanging about after a long winter. The sea on the Atlantic side will become crystal clear and turn the colour of a quiet Mediterranean bay.

Isn't nature wonderful - so much to observe and all for free.

Another gallivant with Granny!

In a previous post about my late Granny, I mentioned that a number of family members had inherited her traits, and my sister immediately assumed that I meant her and her tendency to be unwavering in her opinions. However, what I really meant was that I seem to have inherited her tendency to turn things on and then forget about them.

Another memorable memory lapse (she would today call it multi-tasking) was the time she was ironing. In those days, a blanket would cover the kitchen table and an old sheet would provide the smooth surface to iron on. She put the iron down and went to hang up the dress and never returned to the kitchen. She went down the road to the shop.

On her return, she found the blanket smouldering, and took it outside and propped it against the windowsill. It continued to smoulder and eventually the window frame caught alight, which was only noticed when my mother and her sisters, who were playing a game, came into the kitchen and found it was filled with smoke! Great excitement ensued and the neighbour was duly called to come and put the fire out! Imagine if she had burned the house down.

I'm sure she would have been forgiven - Grandpa must have been a very understanding man.

Appreciation

I went outside to hang out the washing and as I put peg to clothing, I stared up at the sky and saw it was blue and white puffy clouds drifted idly by. Birds twittered in the trees and a butterfly fluttered by, looking for a place to lay its eggs for the next caterpillar onslaught on my garden. In the vegetable patch, trusses of ripening cherry tomatoes are waiting for my next salad and the lemon tree, which I thought had seen its last season, is a mass of green again.

The wellpoint is delivering unlimited water from a basin in the rocks underneath the lawn, and a small fountain tinkles behind me, where the birds bath every evening. Fifty metres away, the waves are tumbling into the bay, the only sound that is carrying on the breeze.

A tenacious bokbaai vygie is clinging to life, having flowered since August, determined to outdo itself this year. The cactus is in bloom with two flowers at once and a third opening as I watch.

Inside the house, I have gas for the stove, electricity for the lights and food in the fridge. On my computer, I have work which allows me to earn a living from home. A blank canvas waits in my studio for the time when inspiration strikes, and two books are well on the way. And I really appreciate that so many people around the world seem to enjoy my writing, which is its whole purpose.

How lucky I am!

The champ

He Who Can Fix Anything was officially crowned Fine Cars Champion for 2012 last night, the second year in a row. Not bad for someone who has just turned 60 and is racing against much younger men and more powerful cars. He does all his own mechanical work and surprisingly enough, acknowledged that I was his number one gearbox lifter, to the amusement of the crowd, who all employ mechanics to do their dirty work. We now have about 50 trophies and it's getting hard to find a place to put them - not in the house, thank goodness, in his bar area downstairs. The best part of all these trophies is they aren't silver any more and so there is no polishing involved!

Although he intends to defend his title for a third year, I did suggest that he should retire while he is on top, rather than make an embarrassing comeback like Schumacher, but he didn't bite. I just hope the gearboxes last better next year.

The suffering of others

Isn't it just Murphy's Law! Tomorrow there is an all-day outdoor festival in Kommetjie with stalls and demonstrations on the lawns at the Kom, bands playing at various pubs and restaurants, an expected crowd of thousands, and it's going to rain. Not today or Sunday - tomorrow. Let's hope all those who have put so much time and effort into making the festival a success won't be disappointed and find that the public are made of strong stuff. We're not very used to going out in rainy weather here. We have the luxury of not having to do it if we don't want to, because it seldom lasts for more than a day, or even half a day.

Unlike the United Kingdom, famously known as that soggy little island. After the wettest summer in 100 years, the winter rains have nowhere to go - the land is sodden and can't absorb any more water, which has to run off to each side of the water courses, making for severe flooding over vast tracts of land. Residents near rivers have been told to move all valuables upstairs if they have one. What a dreadful situation, particularly with the low winter temperatures, and widespread electricity failure. How miserable it must be.

It seems churlish to worry about having our festival spoiled with a little rain when so many around the world are subject to the vagaries of the weather and we live in one of the most equitable climates in the world. Every day when I wake up I say thank you for my warm bed and hot running water in my shower. I've had plenty of times when the electricity has failed and it's been a cold shower before work, and I am eternally grateful that that is the greatest hardship I have been subjected to in my life. It is no small mercy.

Things got better as the day went on...

I didn't get off to a very good start this morning. With a list of to-dos involving five different places (and I really hate getting in and out of the car five times - I haven't figured out what kind of phobia that is - perhaps 'thiscaristoolowonthegroundphobia'), I set out early on my mission. The first stop was the post office to see if an important document had arrived from London for my son - after a bit of searching, they found it - and then he wanted me to go back home and fetch a file and take it to him at work. I was on my way to the mall anyway, but this was an extra in-and-out-of-the-car. Always being eager to please my offspring, I duly delivered the goods and set off again on my mission.

As I browsed through summer tops at the cut-price clothing store, wondering why there was nothing in between S and XXL, my phone rang. No, it wasn't someone inviting me to lunch under a shady tree. It was my daughter, laughing hysterically because she was locked in the little space between the front door and the security gate, and her key was inside. She was trapped in the blazing sun at my mercy, because she could only get out if I drove all the way back home (10km round trip) to let her out. If it hadn't been for the sun and the fact that she needed to be at work, I would have left her there as a lesson not to be neurotic and lock every gate and door! So I abandoned my search for the right size and did some more in-and-out-of-the-carring. As soon as the monkey was out of the cage, I set off again on my mission.

I crossed the Peninsula and duly queued for the car licence then went further afield and did my hunter-gatherer thing so that the offspring would get dinner, cunningly passing by a delightful coffee shop and detouring for a cappuccino and salad. Things were looking up!

And when I got home, it was as though the city council had read yesterday's blog. The workers were out in full force, armed with weedeaters and wearing full health and safety armour, converting my front garden into a veritable paradise of neatly trimmed lawn and edges, no more thorns. A heartwarming sight indeed. As soon as they had departed, bearing black bags full of my unwanted cuttings, I set out the sprinklers, turned on the wellpoint pump and settled myself on the balcony with a nice cup of tea and a sea view.

A better end than the beginning!

Keeping me on my toes

It's such a long time since the council cut the grass verges that the wild grasses are shoulder high and waving in my face as I cut a swathe through Africa (Rolux Magnummmm!). Most of you are probably too young to remember that advert for lawnmowers. This grass needs to be cut with a scythe now - I have started at the edge, pulling out handfuls, and have surprisingly made good inroads. The worst part is that hidden under all the grass are thousands of thorn plants which grew unchecked throughout winter and have already dropped their seeds, the infamous 'dubbeltjies' which cling tenaciously to the dogs' coats and have to be cut out. This leaves the dogs looking moth-eaten unless they also have a lawnmower cut and are shaved completely.

When I was much younger, I used to pull the thorns out as soon as I saw the new ones shooting and this kept them under control for years; the main reason for my hard labour was because they were the 'duiweldoring' - devil thorns - which have three unbelievably vicious spikes. Anyone who used to wear those soft rubber flipflops in the 60s can attest to how easily they go right through the soles - it was the worst thing ever to get one in your heel - it felt as though a bone had been penetrated. And every time anyone went out on a bicycle, it was instant punctures all round.

So the 'duiweldoring' is gone, but my mission for the next few seasons will be to eradicate the 'dubbeltjie'. The porcupine is digging up the pesky onion weed, so between the two of us, there should be a vast stretch of park-like area in front of the house in a year or so! Of course, that might encourage picnic parties, as happens further along the road, so a few well-placed bougainvilleas might need to be introduced, or a bank of aloes.

Now there's an idea - a 90ft stretch of aloes and proteas sounds like a much better option than a lawn, and it won't need watering. Better get my spade out now!

Summer rain

It rained in Kommetjie today. Not the sharp needles of biting cold that slash us in winter, when you dash from doorway to car and car to doorway if you really have to go out in it. No, this is the gentle rain of a summer's day that has forgotten that the wind blows hard over the Peninsula and just drifts in from the west, bringing moisture from the ocean to give you a break from watering the garden. It's the gentle rain that you can lift your face up to and receive as a blessing from the heavens, bathing you in pure water that hasn't had chlorine added to it. I bet the pH balance is just right too.

I recall summer school holidays when it rained like this and we would splash along barefoot in the puddles, the road warm from the sun and the water the same temperature as the air. There is a certain smell that accompanies warm rain and if I could, I would describe it. But words haven't been invented for the taste of warm rain or the way it feels as it touches your bare skin. It's purely sensory, and if you haven't experienced it, go outside and receive a free hydration therapy from nature. Don't worry about your hair curling or going straight. It will also enjoy the bath.

Comprehension, or the lack of it.

Have you ever noticed how everybody has a different way of interpreting things? A number of people at a morning class I attend received the same email from the teacher regarding the state of her health and describing the treatment she was undergoing.

I understood that she had to take some powerful antibiotics for a lung infection that she would have preferred not to take, and was to stay in bed for a week.

Another person told me in great distress that our poor teacher had emailed her to say she was seriously ill and was having something similar to chemotherapy and didn't know when we would see her again. I said she must have got a different email to me and went off to ask another member what he had heard. His take was entirely different, as he understood she would be back soon and was well on the way to recovery.

This shows how easily rumours spread and stories become distorted by each telling. The danger is that, if you repeat it, you could be party to passing on a falsehood which will be damaging to someone's reputation and yours. Once you become known for always getting it wrong, not only will your audience diminish, but you will find conversations tailing off in your presence. By all means, listen to what people want to tell you if you have the time and inclination, but digest it, form your own opinion and then keep it to yourself. That way they will have got the gossip off their chest, and you will have stopped it in its tracks.

Here endeth the lesson...

More porcupine tales

The porcupine continues his nightly ramble down our road, foraging for bulbs under the lawn and leaving craters for the unwary to twist an ankle in. For those who have no fences around their properties, the compost heap is the best place to detract him from your bulbs, and as long as you are not actually wanting to use the compost, is the ideal way to dispose of most kitchen scraps.

Porcupines eat a wide variety of foods, even bread, and you will soon learn what they don't like - carrot tops, onions, pineapple leaves. I've taken to throwing our scraps under the hedge, far from our boundary, as I have had enough bad porcupine experiences to last a lifetime, as regular readers of this blog will know.  I reckon as long as he is in the area, I may as well occupy him at a safe distance.

He recently dug up a little patch of wild freesias that I had planted 30 years ago and only flowered this spring for the first and now last time.

My parents live up on the mountainside in Clovelly and have had tremendous problems with porcupines over the years. A raiding pair developed a taste for bark and systematically stripped the lower trunk of an enormous syringa tree in the middle of the garden, progressing to the root system and chewing off the tender root bark, scattering soil far and wide. Eventually the tree just gave up and died. Undeterred, the porcupines simply moved on to the fig tree, which succumbed shortly thereafter.

Despite resorting to feeding them with crates of leaves from the local supermarkets, they still make a detour to the bougainvillea from time to time and all bulbs have to be kept in containers on tables. Doubtless they will soon learn to climb.

Although they cause widespread destruction in our gardens, I'm sure we would miss them if they disappeared - they are, after all, part of the ecosystem and have as much right to be here as we do.

Leaving a message

I phoned a friend for her birthday and got a voice asking me to leave a message. That caught me on the back foot - I hadn't prepared for such an eventuality. Should I be a coward and just end the call? But then she might wonder who had called and it's always annoying to go through the palaver of retrieving your messages, only to find the coward hadn't left one!

The beep sounded and I wracked my brains for an appropriate, meaningful and heartwarming birthday message, but all I could come up with was a few ums, ahs and a totally insincere-sounding platitude. I felt so embarrassed to have it associated with me that I almost called back to apologise.

I'm not usually stuck for something to say, but there's something about a robotic voice that throws me off balance. Maybe it's because I don't like interacting with machines. I think I should prepare myself in future and keep a list of suitable messages and greetings stuck on the wall of my workspace so that I can snap one off at a moment's notice and appear cool and calm at all times.

Then again, that just wouldn't be me.

The Beemer #3

Thinking about the fun I had with this car! One of the things I loved about it was the size of the engine. It was massive and completely filled the engine compartment. You could barely fit your hand between the bits and pieces (you can tell I don't know what to call them!). One day a friend brought his car around so that He Who Can Fix Anything could fix something in it. I look at his engine, flung open the bonnet of the Beemer and said, "That's not an engine! This is an engine!" It really was very impressive. Of course, this remark emanated from my favourite movie at the time, Crocodile Dundee, where Mick is being mugged in New York and he says to the mugger, "That's not a knife! This is a knife!" as he pulls out his crocodile-killing knife  from the back of his pants. Never failed to laugh at that and was thrilled to be able to use the line.

Another favourite trick was to drive into the parking lot at work, where the staff would be relaxing between shifts, and swing into my parking space without slowing down, stopping one inch from the wall to get everyone's heart beating for the day ahead. Somehow, luck was always on my side and I never made a fool of myself by misjudging the distance.

Ah, those reckless days of youth!

Food from the sea and other musings

There's a massive shorebreak along the coastline at Kommetjie today. It's the first day of the crayfish season and this is the sea's defence against its plunder, ensuring that no boats can put to sea. Even the divers are scratching around in the shallows.

The most successful fishermen today are the birds. A cormorant just popped up in the bay with a fat fish in its beak - in the struggle to position it to swallow, the fish escaped and the cormorant was instantly in hot pursuit; I could see its wake as it darted hither and thither, eventually emerging triumphant with its prey and allowing no margin for error this time as it tossed the meal down its gullet.

It's very low tide right now, yet the breakers are sweeping in at 10ft and more. At high tide the Outer Kom will be bespeckled with brave waveriders. Just saw one catching a superb ride - I'll raise that height to 15ft as the surfer is dwarfed against the surging grey-green wall of raw power heading relentlessly towards the rocky ledges.

If you're in the area, swing by. It'll be worth it.

Meeting place through the years

As I went through my Tai Chi breathing exercises this morning, it occurred to me that the little community hall where the class was taking place, aptly named the Minor Hall, had played a large part in my life over the years, right from the age of about 5. This means I have been using that hall for some 50 years, along with much of the Fish Hoek community.

I remember church fetes, such happy events with willing and enthusiastic helpers, with so many stalls that they spilled out into the sunny courtyard where you might even find a pony ride if you were very lucky. The local Dramatic Company staged excellent and very professional plays in the main hall of the Civic Centre, and I participated in piano eisteddfods there in my primary school days.

And how could I ever forget the first wedding I was allowed to attend? I still remember Bernard and Rose dancing the first dance - I was probably 6 at the time and I thought her dress was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

The years passed and our teenage years were a time of Friday night discos in the Minor Hall. As I practiced the steps of the Short Form, I could picture DJ Pygmy in the corner with his strobe lights and mirror ball and Radar Love by Golden Earring vibrating through my bones, even though this morning's meditational music was a far cry from that exciting rhythm.

More years passed, and now I sometimes make speeches in that room, at the Astronomy Club meetings where we discuss the wonders of the universe and share our experiences of practical astronomy. On a different evening the venue is transformed into a formal setting with clothed tables for the Toastmasters club which is yet another activity I will soon be participating in.

As I thought back over all the different times I have been in that place, perhaps standing on that very spot, it was as though my life passed before me. It is said that the only time is Now, and it certainly seemed as though a substantial portion of my existence had passed through that very room in the twinkling of an eye.

The Beemer #2

I was thinking about my old BMW I used to drive - mechanics are wont to call them BM trouble yous - and mine certainly had its idiosyncrasies. A favourite one was to cut out while I was driving. There I would be, cruising along on the school run, five kids in the car (it was a 7-series and very spacious), and suddenly the engine would die. The first time this happened, I waited at the side of the road until I could eventually get it to start again. But here is the value of idle chit chat with girlfriends. I mentioned to a general group that this had happened and one girl said, "Oh that happens all the time to me. I hit the air filter with the heel of my shoe and then it goes again for ages!"

Well, imagine telling that to a mechanic - he would mentally tell himself that you were mental and then dismantle the entire engine and look for faulty wiring or spark plugs. After all, what do women know about cars? So the very next time this happened, I pulled over from the line of slow moving traffic, raised the bonnet and hit the air filter sharply with a spanner which was handy in the toolkit that comes with the car in a neat compartment under the boot lid. Closed everything up, back in the car and off we went again. So obviously that theory was correct.

I did this many times over the years, frequently endeavouring to impart my knowledge to various mechanics who just wouldn't take me seriously. One even had the gall to suggest I might have run out of petrol (that was the one time that the spanner didn't work!) and we never did get to the root of the problem. Too many other things eventually went wrong and I traded it in for a Toyota Tazz which still goes without any trouble 10 years later.

Style, comfort and class are no substitute for reliability!

Thunderstorm

We're having a spot of thunder and lightning over Cape Town at the moment. Those who live in Johannesburg or Durban will scoff at those words. Our storms bear little resemblance to the massive electrical displays over the Highveld and the Drakensberg, but nevertheless they can still be impressive when directly overhead.

The day started with scattered clouds and a gentle south east mist climbing over the mountains of the Peninsula. By mid-afternoon, purple-black sheets covered the sky from north to south and stretched out over the Atlantic Ocean. A distant rumbling gave the first lightning bolt away, and my little dog began to tremble. I rushed for the rescue remedy and dribbled a drop or two onto her inner ear to calm her nerves and she scuttled away to weather the storm under a cupboard.

The lightning is quite infrequent but definitely coming closer. At first I counted 50 seconds between the flash and the thunder, but as I write, a flash appeared in my peripheral vision and the count was only 10 seconds. Weird and wonderful shapes and colours are developing in the sky above us and as I take these pictures, a flash bursts across the sky, too quick to capture, and a strong wind blows my way as if the air has been pushed away by the lightning. The sun has dipped below the edge of the cloud, casting a surreal golden light across the landscape, and a flash suddenly seems to be outside the window! Should I be typing on my notebook? Another flash, they are coming closer and more frequently. I'll be mad as a snake if I get zapped!

Definitely getting closer, the last one shook the house. I'll switch off now and go outside and enjoy it!

Birthday celebration

Today I attended the 1st birthday celebration of my great-nephew, Alexander. He was born on 11 November 2011, believed to be a most auspicious day in the cosmic evolution. I like to think that he is going to turn out to be a remarkable person who will leave a worthy legacy for generations to come.

In the meantime, he is a very sturdy child, contented and easygoing and a very good traveller. He has already been to Spain and been the youngest guest at his uncle's wedding in Marbella, and I can tell you from personal experience that he took it all in his stride, or rather the length of his pram. His mother handled all the details with aplomb, and there was nowhere that Alexander wasn't to be seen; even the pram is in the beach pictures. How marvellous to have the conveniences of today that enable you to travel with small children - imagine how difficult it must have been before the age of disposable nappies - dragging a sterinappi bucket with you?!

He has the darkest eyelashes I have ever seen (looks like mascara) and the deepest blue eyes any boy could wish for, and I believe there is an awful lot of wisdom in that young head - he is one of the new generation of children who are going to change the world for the better. This is something I just know. Look at this photo and see what you think.

Gallivanting with Granny

My grandmother was a remarkable woman. Devoted to her four daughters to the exclusion of all others, she was not an easy granny, and it is unfortunate that, although she died when she was 86, it was only afterwards that we began to become more tolerant of her personality and understand that everyone must be allowed to be themselves without having to conform to what you expect they should be - especially when the family traits began to show in other members of the family! If I had known she had so many stories to tell, I would have taken the time to ask her about them, but fortunately my mother has imparted many of them, which should surely be recorded for posterity.

She was a talented artist, pianist and card-player, and doubtless her artistic bent can be used to explain away   her apparent forgetfulness in the course of daily life. The following story I found particularly delightful:

Living in Kalk Bay at the time, Granny decided to visit her sister-in-law, who lived in Clifton. She got into her little car (we are talking about 72 years ago), taking her youngest daughter with her (the others were at school) and set off along the primitive road that crossed the Fish Hoek valley and wound over Chapman's Peak, through Hout Bay, up over to Llandudno, along the coast to Camps Bay and at last Clifton. This was no small journey.

No sooner had she arrived than she remembered she had left a pot of soup on the stove, and immediately got back in the car and drove straight back home! What a marvellous way to live!

Sandy story

Well, as I predicted in my blog the other day, nature was inhaling during the brief respite we had from the wind, and now she is exhaling like a student at a Qi Gong breathing class. Sand is blowing from the beaches of the Peninsula to form new beaches in places no one ever thought the beach would reach.

Before the advent of settlements in the Fish Hoek valley, where the natural to and fro movement of the dunes according to the prevailing seasons was unhindered, a strandloper gathering shellfish might have been irritated by the stinging sand on his legs, but would have accepted it for what it was. Now that we have built railway lines and roads across the broad expanse of shifting sand, we have altered the free flow forever. It is not unknown for sand to reach as far as the Main Road through Fish Hoek or for the railway line to be completely covered after a good blow.

In Hout Bay, the dunes are reclaiming buildings which have been erected too close to the beach and even the round around the harbour would be reclaimed in only a few years if the sand wasn't regularly taken back to the beach in a truck. This beach supplied the sand for the dunes which stretched up the mountainside and over to Sandy Bay, returning with the north west gales of winter. All of this has been covered in townhouses and high density housing. Those unfortunate enough to live in this natural path of dune formation must spit grit most of the time and wonder why they are living there!

A visit to the local museum of the history of the valley will show cars being pushed through deep drift sands in the early 20th century before roads were built or 4x4s invented. How ironic that we needed the 4x4s before the roads existed, and now that we have smooth tarred roads, we should be driving the little thin-tyred cars of those early days, but 4x4s predominate, most of which have never seen a dirt track, let alone been bogged down in drift sand. We seem to have got it all the wrong way round.