Things you shouldn't do in a lift

Pressed lift button and waited. Eyes followed progress of lifts from floors above. Lift door opens, man gets out and heads for turnstiles. Four of us rush into lift. We know doors close on you as you get in. Shock, horror! Man has left disgusting smell. Lift doors are closing. Shout through gap "We know you did it!" Fall about pretending to faint. Eyes watering. First stop, second floor. Can we hold our breath that long? Should we breathe? Laughing hysterically. Desperate to get out. Huge interaction between total strangers. Crying with laughter. Need to breathe.

Longest trip to second floor ever. Doors open. Three people fall out, shrieking and gasping. Unfortunate girl still in lift, going to sixth floor!

Cats, living and leaving

The neighbour's cat is leopard-crawling along the top of the vibracrete wall. It couldn't be more visible if it were a black panther in a snowfield. But still it stalks its prey, a small LBJ, which in twitcher language stands for little brown job, or, I couldn't identify it. It is of such enormous proportions (the cat) that his sides hang over the wall on either side of him - he is like a black Persian. Suddenly a redwing starling, who has been an onlooker from the balcony railing, comes to the LBJ's rescue, divebombing the cat over and over again and forcing him to halt his stalking and cower on the narrow wall. It must have occurred to him that he wasn't actually hidden from view, as he made a quick charge forward and disappeared among the branches of an overhanging tree, no doubt to contemplate his next move.

In the meantime, my old kitty, Fluffy, is living out his last days in a patch of sunshine in the lounge. He hasn't moved or had anything to eat or drink for the last few days and has definitely reached the end of his nine lives. In fact, they were exceeded many years ago, due to his remarkable ability to bounce back from disasters which would have been the end for a lesser kitty, but Fluffy is a true warrior among cats, a veritable lion with a heart that won't give up, and so we have allowed him the dignity of a quiet slipping away rather than the cold and stressful journey to the vet to have his last hours snatched without his permission. I hope his sun sets soon and he can be at peace.

A short stroll in the sunshine

It didn't take much to lure me away from my desk this morning. Early clouds have melted away and a few hours of sunshine have allowed the brilliant white daisies which crowd the open spaces of Kommetjie to spread their petals and turn their faces to the sun. Interspersed with the daisies are fresh yellow sorrel and early pink vygies. The orange daisies will follow after the white ones have turned to seed. A bokmakierie sits on a fence and double-collared sunbirds abound in the last of the aloes.

As I cross the boardwalk straddling the small vlei that has appeared after the winter rains, I can hear a new batch of frogs croaking among the reeds. The last lot were dinner for the sacred ibis. A black-headed heron stalks nearby, its characteristic stop-start gait too slow for me to stay and watch. Broaching the rise to the sea, I can see the snoek boats streaking across the water, heading back to unload their catch in the harbour. They throw up vast curtains of spray as they launch into the air from the top of a wave and crash into the next swell. Pity the fisherman who loses his footing on the way down - I'm sure many a bone has been broken that way. Larger ships rise and fall more sedately on the horizon, where I doubt that soup will be on the menu today.

Spiny lizards lounge lazily on the rocks. They know this is just a harbinger of spring and that there are many more storms to come. In the meantime, let's all do what lizards do!

Grappling with technology (aka cursing the cables)

I decided to move my computer from the office downstairs in the garage to my small work area upstairs, so that I can work at night without having to go outside. What a bad decision! The first mistake I made was not labelling the end of every single cable that I disconnected. A veritable spaghetti explosion of cabling was hiding behind the tools of my trade - from the phone to the ADSL filter to the router to the fax/printer to the computer to the monitor to the keyboard to the mouse to the power supply to the 5-section plug adaptor to the wall plug. Not to mention each piece of equipment's cord to that adaptor. I lugged this lot upstairs without having made proper arrangements such as drilling a hole for the cabling in the desk top so that they could be out of the way when plugged in again (when I decide to do something, I do it immediately, particularly if it involves moving furniture around). So I had to balance the printer/fax on a pile of old telephone books, and use a small coffee table for the computer box and put the ADSL modem and the phone on top. Then came the reconnecting part.

I don't know what the mathematical formula is to calculate the number of possible combinations for connecting 8 or so cables to various bits of equipment but I spent about three hours trying every conceivable sequence and at various times got the ADSL to work, the phone, the fax, and the internal fax modem, but never simultaneously. Something was always not part of the finished setup. I even consulted the diagram supplied with the ADSL router, but of course, their pictures didn't resemble mine! There was always one end  of a cable without a corresponding hole (you can see that I don't have much grip on computer terminology either). Defeated, extremely irritated, shouting at the dog and definitely not cooking supper, I was forced to call in an expert to reconnect my office. I am happy to say it took him rather a long time, too.

Relatively free from the sea

There has been a good snoek run off Kommetjie this winter. The boats have been out nearly every day for a while now and have returned with substantial catches, ensuring food on the table for the neediest segment of the community. Snoek is a peculiar fish. It can lose its texture within hours of being caught, being referred to as "pap" or soft. I then give it to the cats as it is not a pleasant eating experience. If you are lucky enough to get a good snoek, the best way to deal with it is to smoke it over coals that have oak shavings scattered over them, with a kettle braai lid to circulate the smoke and give the fish a golden colour. It should preferably have been wind-dried for a while on the washline before smoking, as a dryish texture is preferable.

Once the fish has cooked, immediately flake it while hot; it is almost impossible to de-bone when cold, and particularly if it has been refrigerated. So strike while the iron is hot, so to speak, and save yourself a lot of trouble. The real reason for all this hard work in preparing the fish is to make that delectable dish, smoorvis (braised fish is the only translation I can think of), which can only be made with smoked fish. This is how it's done:

Cut and dice 3 onions and 3 potatoes. Fry them gently in oil, in a large pan, until soft and golden. Add chopped chilli to taste, the hotter the better, and 2 chopped tomatoes. Meanwhile, cook enough white rice to make 3  or 4 cups. Add the flaked fish and cooked rice to the pan and mix together with salt and black pepper to taste and a handful of pre-soaked sultanas if you like. Mix all together thoroughly and serve with lots of chutney. Mmmm! A winter feast to satisfy a hungry tum! (Can also be made with any dry, smoked fish, if you have no access to snoek.)

And so begins a new chapter in my blog - sharing my favourite recipes. I hope you will try them.

Observations in nature

I was treated to an aerial display of note today. A black sparrowhawk was chasing a dove amongst the trees  just outside my window. The dove was flying for its life and the sparrowhawk was in hot pursuit, banking and veering like a fighter jet. The speed was amazing and the dove evaded its predator and disappeared into the bushes to live another day. The sparrowhawk hovered overhead, its legs hanging, claws extended,looking down at me as if to say, what are you looking at? It went back to its perch in the tree and sulked for a while before flying off on another hunting attempt.

The first bokbaai vygies have burst out of their buds, making a tiny splash of iridescent pink in the garden, and the heady scent of the freesias has started to waft through the air.

As I write this, there is an ominous thump on the roof and I know the baboons are here again. I look out of the window and the alpha male has just hopped over the wall from the neighbour, bearing half a loaf of bread which he is eating on the lawn. The rest of the troop can't be far behind. They gave a splendid display of agility the other day as they shinned up and down the drainpipes and swung from the gutters while the adults munched quietly on a few containers of birdseed filched from the garden next door. Looks like I won't be planting any vegetables again this year.

Old haunts

Took a drive down to Olifantsbos (Cape Point nature reserve) today, to see the gigantic seas on the reefs down there. Its years since we used to go down there every weekend to dive perlemoen, free from the sea. We would make a day of it, taking food and drink (that's how it was done in the old days) and plenty of warm clothing. The girls would huddle in the cars or lounge in the sun, depending on the weather, while the guys went diving for this delicacy. The shells still lie all over the garden in our modern midden. They would come out of the sea carrying heavy bags, within the legal limit of course, and spread their spoils on the road for us to admire (hunter bringing home the kill). I particularly remember an incident when a busload of Japanese tourists stopped and gawped at our casual disregard for what they consider gold of the sea. Lots of Nikons clicked that day!

Today we can only walk along the shore and remember those days of freedom, picking up jetsam from the jumbled kelp. Sea lice scatter before us; a rat scuttles under a rock. An ostrich pecks nearby and in the distance, a bontebok strolls along the beach toward a stream emptying into the sea, and beyond that a small troop of baboons forages peacefully without human interference.

An oystercatcher shares a rock with two gulls, beaks to the wind.

A little piece of paradise.

A breath of fresh air

Wow! The wind is blowing me off my feet as I make my way along the path towards the lighthouse. The photos don't show the wind so you'll just have to believe me when I say it was blowing my hair back! Just as the photos don't show the power of the waves or how big they really are. Amidst this mayhem, a lone oystercatcher pecks, unconcerned, at bits and pieces between the tumbled mass of kelp stems along the high tide mark. It's higher than usual - the recent full moon brought with it some monstrous seas that tore the kelp from its anchorage and dumped it on the rocks, continuing the cycle of renewal in the tidal zone. The sea lice feed on the rotting kelp and the ibises feed on the sea lice; the natural thinning of the kelp beds allows sunlight to filter down to promote regrowth of the algae that have been eaten by the shellfish, and so it goes on.

Up on top, no man ventures to sea today. It's a time to be an observer, not a participant. Wrap up warmly and go out into the wind, breathe in the ozone, stand on top of a rock close to the sea and just watch. Think of nothing. It will restore your soul.

A Clovelly childhood #4

I recently met up with a girl from my schooldays (I'm talking 40+ years here). She saw me on Fish Hoek beach and told me she recognized me instantly and I hadn't changed a bit. I suspect that shared memories of an idyllic childhood clouded her vision somewhat, but it was nevertheless true for her as well. We reminisced over those halcyon days at Clovelly Country Club when the pool was the domain of the local Clovelly children.

There were two routes to the Club. One was the road which wound along the contours of the mountain past my house, and the other was down through the valley along the quiet byways to a footpath leading onto the golf course. I well remember how we used to walk along the white line in the middle of the road because the tar was too hot to walk on - shoes were seldom worn in those days, apparently. If we went bundu-bashing as a shortcut, we soon found out where the patches of devil-thorns were!

We would spend the whole day at the pool, sustaining ourselves with cooldrinks and rolls of winegums or Chocolate Logs (remember those?) from the caddy shop. If we were lucky and had a bit of pocket money, we could sometimes coax a toasted sandwich from the kitchen at the clubhouse. We had to wear blue rubber wristbands to identify ourselves as club members and legally allowed to be on the property. These we got from the office at the beginning of summer and only handed them back in autumn when the days were cool and the pool was allowed to go green for winter.

The pool is no longer there, but the memories of our carefree youth will permeate the area forever.