From time to time, I treat the family to my peppered steak for dinner. It's not really mine, just my version of a very basic but mouthwatering recipe, if you are inclined towards eating large quantities of red meat and rich sauce over a pile of crispy chips. I sometimes just have the sauce part over some vegetables, as red meat and potatoes don't really feature high on my menu. Here it is:
Take a large rump steak, about 500g (enough for two) and roll it in crushed black pepper, not too fine. Heat a large pan (preferably quite deep as the sauce needs to boil) and drop in about 100g of butter (not margarine or oil). As soon as it is melted, throw the steak in and sear on one side for a few minutes, then turn over and do the other side. Cook until it is as you prefer it - best is medium-rare to ensure that the meat is not dried out and inedible. Before it is quite the way you like it, remove from the pan and put on a plate to rest (it will continue cooking, so be aware of that) under a lid or tinfoil.
Immediately throw 500ml of fresh cream into the pan, together with a good swig (1/2 cup) of medium cream sherry or brandy (or even port if you're desperate) and bring it all to the boil, stirring frequently and most importantly, draw down the sides as that part cooks the quickest. It will take about 5 minutes before the sauce is reduced to a thick brown glossiness, and it must not be left unattended, as there is a crucial point where the whole lot separates into two parts which are irretrievable and will have to be thrown away! The ideal point is where it just lightly coats the back of a spoon.
In the meantime, your magic wand has produced the crispiest chips and laid them, together with the steak, on warmed plates. The sauce produces a generous portion for 4 people and is guaranteed to become a favourite!
I'm off to make it now...
Wednesday, 31 October 2012
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
Windy times #1
The current superstorm over New York reminds me that we in Cape Town are no strangers to hurricanes ourselves. The Cape of Storms has lived up to its name on many occasions over the last 20 years, although we haven't had a really good blow for about 10 years now.
Although time goes by so fast I can't put a date to it, there was a particular hurricane about 20 years ago that left its mark on Kommetjie. The interesting part is that the worst weather is always at night and no-one is out there to observe the might of Nature in action. In fact, we slept right through this particular hurricane, despite being within spitting distance of the sea, and only knew about it when we looked at the devastation around us the next day.
The road along the beachfront next to the Kom tidal pool was knee deep in kelp, a tangled mass of bamboo and fronds that required a bulldozer to remove. The strength of the storm surge had torn the kelp beds from their rocky anchors and deposited tons in the carpark and streets, as well as breaking through the surrounding wall of the only home level with the sea at that point and filling the garden with free fertilizer.
The narrow tarred path along the top of the rocks leading from the Kom to the lighthouse was no more, fragments having been flung into the bushes or sucked away to form part of the jumble of rocks on the seabed. Large rocks were deposited on the lawns at the Kom with more kelp, an area which is usually about 6 feet above the high tide mark. Small boats that were anchored in the bay had either completely disappeared, or lay broken to bits high on the rocks. One was found round the corner a few kilometres away at Long Beach.
Most of the trees at the top of our garden were flattened by the wind, but apart from that we were very lucky as a stretch of ancient milkwood trees protects us from the north-west gales. We have had a few more hurricanes since then, which I will tell you about another time.
For the moment, we use sea lice as our gauge of how high the tide will come. If you see them climbing up the walls on the other side of the road, you know it is time to batten down the hatches!
Although time goes by so fast I can't put a date to it, there was a particular hurricane about 20 years ago that left its mark on Kommetjie. The interesting part is that the worst weather is always at night and no-one is out there to observe the might of Nature in action. In fact, we slept right through this particular hurricane, despite being within spitting distance of the sea, and only knew about it when we looked at the devastation around us the next day.
The road along the beachfront next to the Kom tidal pool was knee deep in kelp, a tangled mass of bamboo and fronds that required a bulldozer to remove. The strength of the storm surge had torn the kelp beds from their rocky anchors and deposited tons in the carpark and streets, as well as breaking through the surrounding wall of the only home level with the sea at that point and filling the garden with free fertilizer.
The narrow tarred path along the top of the rocks leading from the Kom to the lighthouse was no more, fragments having been flung into the bushes or sucked away to form part of the jumble of rocks on the seabed. Large rocks were deposited on the lawns at the Kom with more kelp, an area which is usually about 6 feet above the high tide mark. Small boats that were anchored in the bay had either completely disappeared, or lay broken to bits high on the rocks. One was found round the corner a few kilometres away at Long Beach.
Most of the trees at the top of our garden were flattened by the wind, but apart from that we were very lucky as a stretch of ancient milkwood trees protects us from the north-west gales. We have had a few more hurricanes since then, which I will tell you about another time.
For the moment, we use sea lice as our gauge of how high the tide will come. If you see them climbing up the walls on the other side of the road, you know it is time to batten down the hatches!
Sunday, 28 October 2012
Under Milkwood
When my children were young, about 3 and 6, we used to have family holidays in Knysna for two weeks in June every year. What fabulous times they were! Granny and Grandpa, my sister and I, her husband and all the grandchildren - we hired the front cottages at Under Milkwood on the Heads, right on the lagoon, It was a private paradise. The cottages back then were very simple, with tiled floors for practicality and no television or microwaves. Almost like luxury camping. We knew the owners so well because we booked the same cottages year after year, and my father's first task when we arrived would be to fix the toaster and the kettle. They really seemed to rely on him for that and it became a bit of a joke.
The weather was always perfect, as it is in the southern Cape in winter and twice a day, the tide would ebb and flow so that there would either be miles of sand exposed for us to walk across to Leisure Isle or wavelets lapping at the promenade in front of the cottages. Paddleskis were available for the energetic and plenty of fun was had pumping prawns for fishing down at the Heads. To get the prawns, you put an empty tin upside down over a prawn hole and push down hard with your foot. A prawn shoots out of another hole (you never know which one) and much hilarity ensues as everyone is splattered with the accompanying projectile of mud! I don't think we ever actually caught a fish. It was such a safe place for the children, ranging in age from 3 to 15, with the adults lounging in the sun outside the cottages while the kids played on the lagoon in front.
No holiday was complete without tea and scones at the Pink Umbrella on Leisure Isle and at least one walk right to the top of the Heads was compulsory every day. If we were lucky, we would spot the Knysna loerie in the canopy of trees, or a school of dolphins passing by on the sea side of the Heads. Walking has always been a feature of our holidays and coming from a family of keen birdwatchers, a lot of standing as well!
I doubt whether we will ever have those days again. The cottages have been upgraded now and a lot of the freedom to just be kids has disappeared along with the old jetty, but the ebb and flow of the tide and those long sunny days on the stoep can never be taken away. It is still a magical place to be.
The weather was always perfect, as it is in the southern Cape in winter and twice a day, the tide would ebb and flow so that there would either be miles of sand exposed for us to walk across to Leisure Isle or wavelets lapping at the promenade in front of the cottages. Paddleskis were available for the energetic and plenty of fun was had pumping prawns for fishing down at the Heads. To get the prawns, you put an empty tin upside down over a prawn hole and push down hard with your foot. A prawn shoots out of another hole (you never know which one) and much hilarity ensues as everyone is splattered with the accompanying projectile of mud! I don't think we ever actually caught a fish. It was such a safe place for the children, ranging in age from 3 to 15, with the adults lounging in the sun outside the cottages while the kids played on the lagoon in front.
No holiday was complete without tea and scones at the Pink Umbrella on Leisure Isle and at least one walk right to the top of the Heads was compulsory every day. If we were lucky, we would spot the Knysna loerie in the canopy of trees, or a school of dolphins passing by on the sea side of the Heads. Walking has always been a feature of our holidays and coming from a family of keen birdwatchers, a lot of standing as well!
I doubt whether we will ever have those days again. The cottages have been upgraded now and a lot of the freedom to just be kids has disappeared along with the old jetty, but the ebb and flow of the tide and those long sunny days on the stoep can never be taken away. It is still a magical place to be.
Wednesday, 24 October 2012
Looking out into the universe
It's one of those evenings when even half-hearted stargazers cannot resist turning their heads towards our universe. A balmy day has turned into a warm evening with no wind or cloud cover, perfect viewing conditions. Even the odd mosquito can't chase me indoors.
Mars has just set in the West, the Curiosity Rover doing its thing on the surface and hopefully taking pictures of our blue planet from a new angle. In the zenith, a waxing gibbous moon casts its shoon earthwards, surprisingly bright and causing shadows to loom across the lawn. Low down in the north you will see the beautiful star, Vega, sparkling red and green before it, too, slips from sight. The bright guiding stars of Achenar, Fomalhaut and Diphda stand out against the dark velvet canopy. Soon they will be joined by the thousands of stars which we mortals can see with our naked eye. Binoculars or a telescope will add millions to that figure, although we will see them as clusters and not individual stars.
To the north, below the four stars that form the great square of Pegasus, look out for the faint smudge of the Andromeda Galaxy and try to comprehend the awesome size of the most distant object which we can see with the naked eye. The light from Andromeda left nearly 2.5 million years ago to alight on the surface of your eye, so take some time to appreciate that!
My favourite constellation, Scorpius, with its giant red star, Antares (rival of Mars) dives into the sea later this evening. Use binoculars to observe the fantastic array of globular clusters in this constellation, and then proceed to those that lie amongst the stars of Sagittarius, between us and the centre of our Milky Way, the galaxy we call 'home'. You will not be disappointed!
If you look long enough, you are sure to see some shooting stars, and definitely many satellites, as our world is virtually encased in a veil of satellites which track our every move, as well as providing us with the means to communicate as easily as we do. Take the time to note how many different types of satellite you can spot!
I'm going back out there now. Keep looking upwards and outwards!
Mars has just set in the West, the Curiosity Rover doing its thing on the surface and hopefully taking pictures of our blue planet from a new angle. In the zenith, a waxing gibbous moon casts its shoon earthwards, surprisingly bright and causing shadows to loom across the lawn. Low down in the north you will see the beautiful star, Vega, sparkling red and green before it, too, slips from sight. The bright guiding stars of Achenar, Fomalhaut and Diphda stand out against the dark velvet canopy. Soon they will be joined by the thousands of stars which we mortals can see with our naked eye. Binoculars or a telescope will add millions to that figure, although we will see them as clusters and not individual stars.
To the north, below the four stars that form the great square of Pegasus, look out for the faint smudge of the Andromeda Galaxy and try to comprehend the awesome size of the most distant object which we can see with the naked eye. The light from Andromeda left nearly 2.5 million years ago to alight on the surface of your eye, so take some time to appreciate that!
My favourite constellation, Scorpius, with its giant red star, Antares (rival of Mars) dives into the sea later this evening. Use binoculars to observe the fantastic array of globular clusters in this constellation, and then proceed to those that lie amongst the stars of Sagittarius, between us and the centre of our Milky Way, the galaxy we call 'home'. You will not be disappointed!
If you look long enough, you are sure to see some shooting stars, and definitely many satellites, as our world is virtually encased in a veil of satellites which track our every move, as well as providing us with the means to communicate as easily as we do. Take the time to note how many different types of satellite you can spot!
I'm going back out there now. Keep looking upwards and outwards!
Monday, 22 October 2012
The old days
I have reached the time of my life where the days of my youth are officially referred to as 'the old days'. They used to apply to the time of my parents' childhood, but regrettably the younger generation of the family don't know what it was like to have sand roads in the Fish Hoek valley and no beachfront developments in Hout Bay and can't even imagine the dairy farm which is now Sun Valley.
When I was about 5 years old, in 1961, I remember staying with my aunt and uncle in Empire Avenue, Hout Bay. I don't think the road was tarred and I don't recall seeing many other houses in the area. Today it is impossible to identify the house, possibly because of all the high security walls and high-density housing, but I can remember it being set far back from the road.
There are two things that have stayed in my memory. One is that my cousin, Neil, had a toy gun that shot darts with rubber suckers on the end at a target on the wall and I spent a lot of time playing with that. The other is that on the Sunday, I went to the tiny church of St Peter the Fisherman, on the way to Chapman's Peak, with my other cousin, Jean. We had bus fare as it was quite a long walk for someone as young as me, but we spent the money on Star sweets rather than catch the bus. I wonder if Jean remembers that?
Strange what the mind chooses to retain.
When I was about 5 years old, in 1961, I remember staying with my aunt and uncle in Empire Avenue, Hout Bay. I don't think the road was tarred and I don't recall seeing many other houses in the area. Today it is impossible to identify the house, possibly because of all the high security walls and high-density housing, but I can remember it being set far back from the road.
Strange what the mind chooses to retain.
Saturday, 20 October 2012
A Clovelly Childhood #5 - Old friends
I was lucky enough this week to be visited, separately, by two childhood friends whom I have not seen for 20 and 40 years respectively. The years simply fell away and it was as though no time had passed since we had last shared a moment in time. Inevitably talk turned to reminiscence and the people who played a part in our lives as we grew up in Clovelly.
Serena moved to Australia, the land of her birth, many years ago and the instant I saw her, the memory of her mother at a similar age flashed before me. I remember her with great fondness, but most of all for the incident with the beetroot. She was cooking a batch of fresh beetroot in the pressure cooker and as I recall, left the kitchen to attend to another household chore and when she came back, the lid had blown off the pressure cooker and purple beetroot juice adorned the ceiling and walls! I have had a phobia about cooking beetroot in pressure cookers ever since and will never, ever combine the two.
Robin lives in Pretoria and we only recently reconnected through FB, and he popped by this afternoon for a walk along the beachfront. He reminded me of the incident of the bushman painting. As kids, we all played on the mountain behind our houses, where there are large outcrops of rock with caves and sheltered overhangs, not to mention puffadders, cobras, dassies, etc. My sister and his sister decided to do some 'bushman paintings' on a very suitable rock and used ordinary kids' watercolours and not inconsiderable artistic talent. The problem was that not long after, our 60+ neighbour, who was a keen walker and Mountain Club member, happened upon this elegant artwork and for some reason better known to himself, rushed home in a froth of excitement to call the museum experts on bushman paintings!
They duly arrived and agreed that it was possibly done by the early inhabitants of the valley who lived in a large cave on the dunes not far away. What a to-do! And how embarrassing for the poor man when Alison and Jill had to confess to being the artists before the fiasco could develop any further! Neighbourly relations were a trifle tense for a while after that, but as you can imagine, we have laughed for years.
Robin lives in Pretoria and we only recently reconnected through FB, and he popped by this afternoon for a walk along the beachfront. He reminded me of the incident of the bushman painting. As kids, we all played on the mountain behind our houses, where there are large outcrops of rock with caves and sheltered overhangs, not to mention puffadders, cobras, dassies, etc. My sister and his sister decided to do some 'bushman paintings' on a very suitable rock and used ordinary kids' watercolours and not inconsiderable artistic talent. The problem was that not long after, our 60+ neighbour, who was a keen walker and Mountain Club member, happened upon this elegant artwork and for some reason better known to himself, rushed home in a froth of excitement to call the museum experts on bushman paintings!
They duly arrived and agreed that it was possibly done by the early inhabitants of the valley who lived in a large cave on the dunes not far away. What a to-do! And how embarrassing for the poor man when Alison and Jill had to confess to being the artists before the fiasco could develop any further! Neighbourly relations were a trifle tense for a while after that, but as you can imagine, we have laughed for years.
Thursday, 18 October 2012
V&A Waterfront, Cape Town
Had a business meeting at the Waterfront - what a wonderful excuse to spend a few hours in the sunshine on the dockside, watching the boats come and go. The Peninsula is still being blasted by the southeaster and Table Mountain is all but obscured from view with its tablecloth falling as if cast carelessly by Van Hunks from his perch on Devil's Peak.
The roadstead (fascinating word for a relatively sheltered place near a shore where ships anchor) is full, vessels straining at anchor as grey-green seas lash their bows. It's easy to understand how so many of the comparatively tiny wooden vessels that once populated this roadstead succumbed to these summer gales. The wrecks literally litter the seabed of Table Bay.
The contrasting stillness as I step through the huge revolving door into the Wharf is a relief as I scratch in my bag for a comb to try and repair the damage done to what passes as a hairstyle - the wreck of the Hesperus is apt, given the surrounding maritime history. The Wharf is bright and airy and nautical, with sweeping staircases reminiscent of bygone days when travel was by sea and white railings and highly polished wood were the order of the day. The vast array of shops provide the ultimate shopping experience for those so inclined and for the rest of us the pleasure of browsing amongst items of beauty that can be enjoyed without feeling the need to buy.
Outside, the flags are shredding in the wind, but tourists and locals alike are braving the elements to soak up the ambience of a working harbour combined with the resort feel of what could best be described as a pearl cradled in the embrace of one of the newest Wonders of the World, our much loved Table Mountain. No surprise that the cable car is safely tucked inside today!
But enough of that. I must hie me down to the dockside, where a pirate ship awaits...
The roadstead (fascinating word for a relatively sheltered place near a shore where ships anchor) is full, vessels straining at anchor as grey-green seas lash their bows. It's easy to understand how so many of the comparatively tiny wooden vessels that once populated this roadstead succumbed to these summer gales. The wrecks literally litter the seabed of Table Bay.
The contrasting stillness as I step through the huge revolving door into the Wharf is a relief as I scratch in my bag for a comb to try and repair the damage done to what passes as a hairstyle - the wreck of the Hesperus is apt, given the surrounding maritime history. The Wharf is bright and airy and nautical, with sweeping staircases reminiscent of bygone days when travel was by sea and white railings and highly polished wood were the order of the day. The vast array of shops provide the ultimate shopping experience for those so inclined and for the rest of us the pleasure of browsing amongst items of beauty that can be enjoyed without feeling the need to buy.
Outside, the flags are shredding in the wind, but tourists and locals alike are braving the elements to soak up the ambience of a working harbour combined with the resort feel of what could best be described as a pearl cradled in the embrace of one of the newest Wonders of the World, our much loved Table Mountain. No surprise that the cable car is safely tucked inside today!
But enough of that. I must hie me down to the dockside, where a pirate ship awaits...
Tuesday, 16 October 2012
Curry in a hurry
My family love curry, the hotter the better. I really excelled myself tonight. We were all reduced to runny noses, burning throats and watering eyes, and the bravest among us were reaching for the milk. Avocado is excellent for reducing the burn, but my son helped himself to the whole one and left nothing for anyone else, thinking there was more (well, that's his excuse and he's sticking to it!).
The easiest way to make curry and rice is to just make it in one pot. I brown the onions and then throw in about 2 tablespoons of good curry powder, garlic and mace, and a bay leaf or two. Tonight I added 1 tablespoon, rather rashly, of real Durban curry that Robert brought back from Umhlanga recently. I think it is pretty much minced chilli judging by its colour, consistency and the number of pips. You can't tell how hot it will be until you eat it. At least now I know that 1/2 a tablespoon will do next time. Anyway, back to the method.
Cook the spices for a minute or so and then throw in the chicken pieces with as much fat and skin removed as possible. Toss about so that it is well coated and then add a small amount of water, just to prevent burning. Put on the lid and simmer gently for 20 minutes. Add a layer of rice, basmati is good, and a layer of diced potatoes and throw over the requisite amount of water in ratio to the rice. Cook gently until rice is cooked and no liquid remains, stirring occasionally.
Guaranteed to go down well, even if the toilet paper has to be kept in the deep freeze!
The easiest way to make curry and rice is to just make it in one pot. I brown the onions and then throw in about 2 tablespoons of good curry powder, garlic and mace, and a bay leaf or two. Tonight I added 1 tablespoon, rather rashly, of real Durban curry that Robert brought back from Umhlanga recently. I think it is pretty much minced chilli judging by its colour, consistency and the number of pips. You can't tell how hot it will be until you eat it. At least now I know that 1/2 a tablespoon will do next time. Anyway, back to the method.
Cook the spices for a minute or so and then throw in the chicken pieces with as much fat and skin removed as possible. Toss about so that it is well coated and then add a small amount of water, just to prevent burning. Put on the lid and simmer gently for 20 minutes. Add a layer of rice, basmati is good, and a layer of diced potatoes and throw over the requisite amount of water in ratio to the rice. Cook gently until rice is cooked and no liquid remains, stirring occasionally.
Guaranteed to go down well, even if the toilet paper has to be kept in the deep freeze!
Sunday, 14 October 2012
Live music from Freshlyground
I went to a live performance by Freshlyground last night. I won't call it a concert because it was fairly short and was a charity performance by them for the Save Our Seas festival which took place this week. The venue was a large warehouse on the East Pier at the V&A Waterfront in Cape Town, and despite a raging Southeaster blasting through the city, there was not a breath of wind down next to the sea. The SA Agulhas II, our recently launched Antarctic research ship, was moored alongside, and a busy team prepared (not on the endangered list) fish and chips for the enthusiastic crowd.
When the band took to the stage, we were sitting at a table unfortunately close to a large bank of speakers, and the sound control team were comfortably seated far from the stage. As usual, they had no idea of the real effect of these speakers, which drowned out the voices to a large extent and overamplified the guitars. It never ceases to amaze me how out of touch the sound management seems to be. However, that being said, don't think I wasn't still enjoying it! The solution to the speaker problem was to join the throng in front of the stage and boy, was that the place to be!
It's impossible not to get caught up in the rhythm and exuberance of this band and it wasn't long before the crowd was rocking to the beat and singing along. There is no doubt that the lead singer, Zolani, has great stage personality and really connects with her audience. It seemed as if she was singing to each one personally and they loved it! The other members of the band were all given their chance to shine and show off some energetic moves. If the show had been a little longer, I'm sure I would have joined in the chorus too. There's nothing quite like the anonymity of being in a dancing crowd. It makes you think you are 18 again.
And there's nothing like a live music performance, whether classical or rock. It all comes to life and you can appreciate the courage of the performers to expose their souls to the world.
When the band took to the stage, we were sitting at a table unfortunately close to a large bank of speakers, and the sound control team were comfortably seated far from the stage. As usual, they had no idea of the real effect of these speakers, which drowned out the voices to a large extent and overamplified the guitars. It never ceases to amaze me how out of touch the sound management seems to be. However, that being said, don't think I wasn't still enjoying it! The solution to the speaker problem was to join the throng in front of the stage and boy, was that the place to be!
And there's nothing like a live music performance, whether classical or rock. It all comes to life and you can appreciate the courage of the performers to expose their souls to the world.
Friday, 12 October 2012
Cafe writing
A common sight in coffee shops is the proliferation of people working on laptops while enjoying brunch and a cappuccino. I never lean over to see what they are doing, but I like to imagine that I am sitting next to the next Ernest Hemingway or Stephenie Meyer and that some of their creativity will disperse in my direction.
The phenomenon is a progression from the days when writers scribbled and pondered in cafes and bars - Dickens wrote in a London pub, Hemingway in a Parisienne cafe. Without the distraction of a companion, the animated buzz around you seems to stimulate the thought process without your having to formulate a reply or pay attention to what someone is saying. You are merely an observer. Writing in longhand rather than tapping keys draws the words from inside, down your arm and through the pen and afterwards you can barely remember having written them.
I myself have put pen to paper in Paris, at the Cafe de la Comedie next to the Louvre. The experience was everything I hoped it would be. Tiny tables, 30cm of space in between, elbow to elbow, dark mahogany, huge mirrors and chandeliers, massive bar counter, tiny winding stairway to the top floor with the usual disgusting toilet facilities. About 6 months before, I had written a scene in a Paris cafe and the characters were dancing to a particular song that I named in my book, and the singer. The most remarkable thing about the experience was that while I sat there, that very song by that very singer played over the sound system.
Synchronicity. Magic.
The phenomenon is a progression from the days when writers scribbled and pondered in cafes and bars - Dickens wrote in a London pub, Hemingway in a Parisienne cafe. Without the distraction of a companion, the animated buzz around you seems to stimulate the thought process without your having to formulate a reply or pay attention to what someone is saying. You are merely an observer. Writing in longhand rather than tapping keys draws the words from inside, down your arm and through the pen and afterwards you can barely remember having written them.
I myself have put pen to paper in Paris, at the Cafe de la Comedie next to the Louvre. The experience was everything I hoped it would be. Tiny tables, 30cm of space in between, elbow to elbow, dark mahogany, huge mirrors and chandeliers, massive bar counter, tiny winding stairway to the top floor with the usual disgusting toilet facilities. About 6 months before, I had written a scene in a Paris cafe and the characters were dancing to a particular song that I named in my book, and the singer. The most remarkable thing about the experience was that while I sat there, that very song by that very singer played over the sound system.
Synchronicity. Magic.
Wednesday, 10 October 2012
Halcyon days
The southeaster is back, bringing with it a change in the light and a chill in the air even when the sun is shining. It takes me straight back to Fish Hoek beach, September 1973. It was our matric year and it seems that, back in those distant days, September school holidays meant beach and bikinis.
We would lounge on the lawn behind the colourful bathing boxes, where we could avoid being blasted by sand blown by the southeaster and having it stick to our carefully oiled bodies, and not get our hair tangled into rat's tails. It was the perfect vantage point to see who was arriving at the beach (read that as, only looking for specific cars). Most of the girls had hot bodies (an honourable mention must go to Mandy Lawson) and there was never a lack of male company. They were interesting times and no further names will be mentioned, but they were without doubt some of the greatest times of our lives, fairly innocent and definitely not dangerous.
We studied for matric on those lawns, books used as sunshades and headrests, and we all passed.
It seems that I'm not the only one who hankers after those halcyon days, judging by the daily posts to Facebook on various Fish Hoek pages. They will never come back, but we'll carry the memories forever.
We would lounge on the lawn behind the colourful bathing boxes, where we could avoid being blasted by sand blown by the southeaster and having it stick to our carefully oiled bodies, and not get our hair tangled into rat's tails. It was the perfect vantage point to see who was arriving at the beach (read that as, only looking for specific cars). Most of the girls had hot bodies (an honourable mention must go to Mandy Lawson) and there was never a lack of male company. They were interesting times and no further names will be mentioned, but they were without doubt some of the greatest times of our lives, fairly innocent and definitely not dangerous.
We studied for matric on those lawns, books used as sunshades and headrests, and we all passed.
It seems that I'm not the only one who hankers after those halcyon days, judging by the daily posts to Facebook on various Fish Hoek pages. They will never come back, but we'll carry the memories forever.
Sunday, 7 October 2012
Hotel comforts at home
I have become incompatible with my family. Or to put it another way, their lifestyle no longer fits in with mine. When my children were children, I was happy to do everything for them. After all, you only have one childhood and when you are an adult, life becomes one long list of responsibilities. So let them play while they can. However, this was based on the premise that once they left school they would also leave home. Foolish dreams! We are in an era of boomerang kids, where after a short foray into the world, they realise how good it was at home and boomerang back into their rooms, which of course were not converted into my own space while they were gone. No, it was simply a matter of plugging in the hairdryer and the lava lamps and everything was back to normal.
And who would want to move out of a 6-star hotel with incredible service and unbelievably affordable rates?
Laundry that is left in a heap on the floor miraculously appears washed, ironed and folded with 3 days at the most. Opening the fridge leads you into a world of sumptuous snacking. Dirty dishes left in the kitchen are whisked into the dishwasher by the kitchen fairy and reappear, neatly stacked in the cupboards ready for the next restaurant quality meal which has come to be expected, and with dessert please, hot in winter and maybe a little fancy cheese and biscuits for variety.
Downstairs in the garage, He Who Can Fix Anything potters away at gearboxes and other assorted machinery. When a friend turns up in the normal course of a Sunday, a simple knock on the ceiling will indicate to me that coffee is required, preferably accompanied by scones which I will have all the ingredients for, waiting in the cupboard. And if it's near lunchtime, of course there will always be enough to feed extras, without any consultation with the chef.
I'm seriously thinking of a sabbatical - perhaps a year in Provence? Or two in Tuscany
And who would want to move out of a 6-star hotel with incredible service and unbelievably affordable rates?
Laundry that is left in a heap on the floor miraculously appears washed, ironed and folded with 3 days at the most. Opening the fridge leads you into a world of sumptuous snacking. Dirty dishes left in the kitchen are whisked into the dishwasher by the kitchen fairy and reappear, neatly stacked in the cupboards ready for the next restaurant quality meal which has come to be expected, and with dessert please, hot in winter and maybe a little fancy cheese and biscuits for variety.
Downstairs in the garage, He Who Can Fix Anything potters away at gearboxes and other assorted machinery. When a friend turns up in the normal course of a Sunday, a simple knock on the ceiling will indicate to me that coffee is required, preferably accompanied by scones which I will have all the ingredients for, waiting in the cupboard. And if it's near lunchtime, of course there will always be enough to feed extras, without any consultation with the chef.
I'm seriously thinking of a sabbatical - perhaps a year in Provence? Or two in Tuscany
Friday, 5 October 2012
Cycle of life
Yesterday it was winter again; today is back to spring. How the plants adapt is amazing. Delicate new shoots appear on the branches of the brunfelsia, the leaves fully developed within days, only to be burned by a sudden icy westerly blowing in from the sea. Back to square one. The plant sulks for a few days, then starts all over again, gathering sap from its roots, pushing it up towards the sunlight in another attempt to sprout its new season's leaves and flowers in an endless cycle conceived by nature to ensure the survival of life. Success this time, and we walk through a curtain of fragrance as we climb the stairs to the front door.
A juvenile black sparrowhawk has just fledged - it landed in the old gum tree today. White fluffy feathers still clung to its breast, with patches of new black feathers showing like a cummerbund across its middle, and the flecked orangey feathers which are the mark of a juvenile evident on the head and neck. But the wings are smooth and black, ready for him to explore his exciting new world. He must have hatched while winter was upon us - perhaps his parents were confused by a brief warm spell. It's good to see that he has survived the harshest winter in years.
When I looked again, the bird had flown, but a short while later one of the parent birds alighted on the branch. I suppose she was keeping a hawk-eye on her offspring, or showing him where to find the fattest doves.
I'll be looking out for him.
A juvenile black sparrowhawk has just fledged - it landed in the old gum tree today. White fluffy feathers still clung to its breast, with patches of new black feathers showing like a cummerbund across its middle, and the flecked orangey feathers which are the mark of a juvenile evident on the head and neck. But the wings are smooth and black, ready for him to explore his exciting new world. He must have hatched while winter was upon us - perhaps his parents were confused by a brief warm spell. It's good to see that he has survived the harshest winter in years.
When I looked again, the bird had flown, but a short while later one of the parent birds alighted on the branch. I suppose she was keeping a hawk-eye on her offspring, or showing him where to find the fattest doves.
I'll be looking out for him.
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
Hobnobbing with the rich but not famous
I went to an auction last night. Not any old auction; an auction of fine and decorative art, all very upper crust and so on. The venue was the very beautiful Alphen boutique hotel in Constantia, one of the original homesteads in the Cape.
The purpose of going was to see if my friend's exquisite Van Wouw statuette sold, but I also wanted to see what these events were like in real life, having watched many on the TV (Cash in the Attic). A very interesting collection of people were there. Some were obviously moneyed and liked to show it. The tan was evidence of many weeks spent sunning oneself on the deck of the yacht in the Med, the hat strategically placed below one eye, the scarf it was apricot - no wait! That's "You're so vain!" - but I'm sure you get the picture. Very dashing - and that was just her. He had a light blue probably silk suit with some fancy white shoes that were definitely not Nike. They sat, heads bowed and eyes on the catalogue and from time to time the number would be casually waved. Neither lifted their head or gave any indication that they were participating in the auction, even when the bid was successful. Eventually they just closed the catalogues and left to pay and probably go out for a celebratory dinner.
A Pierneef came up and it certainly was nothing to write home about, but the bidding was enthusiastic although not over the top. The lady whose bid was successful was so excited she was running on the spot and pumping the air with her fist - it was a delight to see such emotion, although maybe the excitement waned when she actually took possession of the painting and saw that the next Pierneef was so much better. However, there is no accounting for taste.
A hideous cheap-looking cupboard which had had its doors painted with dollar signs by Andy Warhol in the 60s was against the wall next to me and it was amazing that someone actually bid about R160 000 for it. I would have chopped it up for firewood.
There were some really beautiful artworks which didn't sell and some which did, ranging from R40 000 to R450 000, so there was no lack of funds in the room. It was surprising what didn't sell, but I suppose that is the risk of an auction. The right person just has to be there.
I will definitely go again, even if just for the people-watching. I think there were an awful lot who were there for the same purpose!
The purpose of going was to see if my friend's exquisite Van Wouw statuette sold, but I also wanted to see what these events were like in real life, having watched many on the TV (Cash in the Attic). A very interesting collection of people were there. Some were obviously moneyed and liked to show it. The tan was evidence of many weeks spent sunning oneself on the deck of the yacht in the Med, the hat strategically placed below one eye, the scarf it was apricot - no wait! That's "You're so vain!" - but I'm sure you get the picture. Very dashing - and that was just her. He had a light blue probably silk suit with some fancy white shoes that were definitely not Nike. They sat, heads bowed and eyes on the catalogue and from time to time the number would be casually waved. Neither lifted their head or gave any indication that they were participating in the auction, even when the bid was successful. Eventually they just closed the catalogues and left to pay and probably go out for a celebratory dinner.
A Pierneef came up and it certainly was nothing to write home about, but the bidding was enthusiastic although not over the top. The lady whose bid was successful was so excited she was running on the spot and pumping the air with her fist - it was a delight to see such emotion, although maybe the excitement waned when she actually took possession of the painting and saw that the next Pierneef was so much better. However, there is no accounting for taste.
A hideous cheap-looking cupboard which had had its doors painted with dollar signs by Andy Warhol in the 60s was against the wall next to me and it was amazing that someone actually bid about R160 000 for it. I would have chopped it up for firewood.
There were some really beautiful artworks which didn't sell and some which did, ranging from R40 000 to R450 000, so there was no lack of funds in the room. It was surprising what didn't sell, but I suppose that is the risk of an auction. The right person just has to be there.
I will definitely go again, even if just for the people-watching. I think there were an awful lot who were there for the same purpose!
Monday, 1 October 2012
My zen garden
In a quiet corner of my garden is a milkwood tree. It was given to me when we first moved to Kommetjie by someone who had kept it in a tin for 10 years. At that stage it was about 6 inches high, poor tree! He said it was a slow grower. That was 30 years ago and today it forms the focal point of my quiet corner where only I go to sit in quiet contemplation. I made a bench from an old railway sleeper and put down some terracotta tiles to cover the sand under the tree and then scattered pine bark over the rest. The shrubs are indigenous in the main and the shade is illuminated by the fantastic and varied blooms of bromeliads, miniature agapanthus and my absolute favourites, clivia miniata.
Rampant ivy hides the vibracrete wall and provides a home for a number of small birds, as well as more spiders than I care to think about. A large hibiscus separates the area from the rest of the garden, providing a safe place for the sunbirds to drink nectar from its flowers and enjoy a bath when I turn the hose skywards for them. What bliss to watch them bathing under a man-made rainbow! They are usually joined by a flock of cheerful white eyes who feast on the aphids which seem to plague the hibiscus. A fiddlewood, with its ever-changing leaf colours ranging from pale leaf-green to burnt orange, interspersed with plumes of fragrant tiny white flowers, completes the barrier, and somehow keeps out all sound.
It really is a refuge for the soul, a place for solitude.
Rampant ivy hides the vibracrete wall and provides a home for a number of small birds, as well as more spiders than I care to think about. A large hibiscus separates the area from the rest of the garden, providing a safe place for the sunbirds to drink nectar from its flowers and enjoy a bath when I turn the hose skywards for them. What bliss to watch them bathing under a man-made rainbow! They are usually joined by a flock of cheerful white eyes who feast on the aphids which seem to plague the hibiscus. A fiddlewood, with its ever-changing leaf colours ranging from pale leaf-green to burnt orange, interspersed with plumes of fragrant tiny white flowers, completes the barrier, and somehow keeps out all sound.
It really is a refuge for the soul, a place for solitude.
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