Making compost tea

A few years ago, the concept of earthworm farms took hold here in the valley. They consist of layers of 'sieves' with earthworms in them, to which you add your kitchen scraps and the earthworms transform them into a tea of earthworm poop which you can then distribute around the garden. The drawback of this system is that it can be rather easily dismantled by a baboon, who is after the vegetables inside.

My neighbour went away on holiday and I went to water her garden one afternoon to find that the worm farm had been tipped over and the back yard was literally covered in thousands of wriggling, transparent earthworms, possibly the only thing in the world that I find totally repulsive. Using all kinds of implements, from cabbage leaves to newspaper, I gingerly scooped up the worms who were wriggling in all directions in the hope of finding their way back underground into real soil and returned them to their duties in their plastic palace. I placed a paving slab on top to deter any more baboon raids, not that it would have stopped them, but I really was not going to get involved with earthworms again. Fortunately she returned the next day and did a proper job of securing the contraption with large rubber bands.

For those, like me, who wanted an easy way of making compost without an open heap, there is the alternative of a special bucket with a tap, into which you put all your scraps, including bones, leftover meat, dairy products and paper, believe it or not, and then sprinkle compost accelerator on top, then put on the lid. You add more every day and press it down with a paper plate and after a week or two you will get a compost 'tea' when you turn the tap at the bottom. After about 6 weeks it will stop yielding tea and you can then tip the remains into the compost heap at the bottom of the garden, where it will very soon turn into the most amazing black soil. The tea is mixed 1:100 and poured over the garden plants, which thrive on this pure juice. The most amazing thing is that although the organisms which break down the matter are alive, you will never see any mould or maggots in the bucket. I have recently opened two which were filled more than a year ago and then left in a corner.  Here they are:

What you see in the buckets are the eggshells, some squash skins which do not degrade easily being of the calabash family, and a few layers of newspaper. The buckets were filled to the top and everything has degraded into moisture, leaving the shells and skins as fresh as the day they were put in. There was no smell whatsoever. It really is the perfect way of recycling organic matter, particularly for flat dwellers, as it can be kept in your kitchen with no ill effects.

And that's my punt for compost tea and organic gardening! Oh, and although my lawn looks somewhat dead in the picture, it's actually quite green at the moment!

What lurks in yonder ivy?

My friend, Mark, lives in a small cottage surrounded by ancient milkwoods, which provide shelter from the winds and refuge for francolins and guineafowl from night time predation by wild cats which live on the mountains above us. He has no walls or fences around the property and snakes pass through from time to time. One hot summer's day, he noticed a movement near his garage, which is covered by decades-old ivy that extends about 40cm from the wall. He went outside to look and saw a large puffadder making its way up into the ivy, no doubt to find a nice spot for a snooze! Being the man he is, he just shrugged and left it to coexist in his space.

It was years before he told me about it, and at least once a week I would duck under the ivy to get past the car when I went there for tea and a chat about what fish he had been catching and what the latest skinder (gossip) was on the ledge down at Rooikrantz in Cape Point Nature Reserve where die-hard fishermen went to catch yellowtail. I'm sure I would have steered clear if I'd known about the puffadder sooner, but so long had passed since he saw it go up the ivy that I figured it would be long gone.

Last week, he needed to fix a few leaks in the garage roof and sent the gardener up the ladder to do so. The gardener needed to cut back a little of the ivy to access the sheeting, and the leaks were duly plugged. A couple of days later, a fierce southeaster blew across the Peninsula, wreaking havoc in the gardens, and apparently a crucial anchor point in the ivy had been severed, as the entire creeper peeled away from the wall and fell to the ground, looking for all the world like a rolled up carpet, so tightly interwoven were the stalks!

A long-hidden window saw the light of day, and fortunately no snakes were found on the scene of the horticultural disaster. But it took the gardener a whole day to chop it into neat squares and two trips to the dump to dispose of it!

Another muttering

I had so many good ideas for blogs today, but unfortunately they all came to me while I was driving! These thoughts dissipate as fast as they arrive and it is impractical to try and pull off the road every ten minutes to write down a note. It has been suggested that I get a basic voice recorder so that I can just say a few words immediately to remind me later of my train of thought, and that is definitely the way to go. So many pearls of wisdom lost in the hum of tyres on tarmac! My phone has a voice recorder, but by the time I accessed it, scrolling up and down from screen to screen, I would be in a ditch somewhere and liable for prosecution for using my phone while driving, in the unlikely event of a traffic cop ever being where he needs to be. Which brings to mind...

As I drew up to a stop street today, I was unable to pull into the road as a woman was wandering across the road with a small child, in a roughly diagonal manner. She was talking on her phone and was apparently completely unaware that she was crossing a road! She was so engrossed in her conversation that she looked neither left nor right, didn't hold the child's hand, and was in fact wandering aimlessly in the general direction of the other side of the road. She did not acknowledge me as I pulled out of the stop street and drove behind her and her child who still had not quite made it to the pavement, and I was hard pressed not to blare the horn to give her such a fright that she would drop her phone down the storm drain. I doubt that she realised she was endangering her child's life. If one of our lunatic taxi drivers had been in the vicinity, they would have become another statistic in our inauspicious road accident records. It appears that it should also be illegal to talk on your phone while walking in the street. Apparently not all women can multitask.

The complete idiocy that we see on our roads these days makes me truly wonder whether the conspiracy theorists are not absolutely spot on when they tell us that we have been transformed into a race of robotic morons! She certainly fits the bill.

Fish Hoek bay

The sea around the Peninsula is strangely calm today, with barely a shore break from Muizenberg to Cape Town. It reminds me of the Mediterranean at Marbella, where the sea sort of folds over onto the beach, and the colour of the water at Fish Hoek this evening was a crystal turquoise. Any sharks cruising by would have been clearly visible, but as usual, none were in sight when I was perfectly positioned to spot them!

A school of dolphins has been very active in the bay all week and those living on the hillside above the beach have been treated to close-up displays as they frolicked along the shoreline before heading back out into the middle of False Bay to feed.

The lifesaving club were out in full force on their paddleskis, taking advantage of the perfect conditions to carry out what looked like timed races out to a buoy and back to the beach. Two paddleskiers remained out to sea and a rubber duck patrolled a little further out, as the shark spotters had departed for the day and it is better to be safe than sorry.

I'm afraid to say that, no matter how inviting the water looks, I have never really gone back into the water since Jaws, and having seen photos of what lurks in the breakers at Fish Hoek, it seems that it is probably a wise choice. Perhaps when the proposed and approved shark net is eventually installed, I may become brave again and take to the waves as I used to as a girl.

It's hard to believe, but we used to swim at night at Fish Hoek!

Sinister and dexter

Went walking with the BungyPump sticks again today. I have to give a report soon, but 2 weeks is not long enough to test their efficacy. Although I can feel I am having a good workout using the hydraulic ski-pole type walking sticks, it is an unfamiliar way of walking and I need to become more accustomed to moving the poles in sync with my feet. I have always had a problem co-ordinating leg and arm movements and aerobics and formal dancing just don't work for me.

Being left-handed when I write or paint, and right-handed for everything else is something I only began to think about recently. I always assumed I was left-handed but now realise that I am actually predominantly right-handed, but have certain problems associated with left-handedness. I have difficulty in defining left and right directions; an instruction such as "turn right at the robot" doesn't register at all and I have to consciously think about which way to turn. If I need to find a place, the way to remember it is not turn left and then left again and then third right. That goes straight out of my head. I must have street names. That is because I am predominantly visual and can usually only remember something I have seen, and not heard. If I am going to an area I am unfamiliar with, I need to look at a street map and put that information into my memory before I set out.

I can tell you where I have seen a word on a page, but I can't tell you your name if I've just been introduced to you. I drift off into another world in lectures if there's nothing visual to anchor my attention, and my peripheral vision is far better than looking directly at an object. When someone talks to me I am constantly scanning the background to see what's going on - probably would make a good bodyguard, checking for snipers - although the person talking to me doubtless feels I am not quite focussed on what they are saying! In movies, I am more interested in the scene behind the actors and the first thing I noticed in Notting Hill was a postcard of the V&A Waterfront and Table Mountain pinned to the staircase behind Hugh Grant's head! I also look at every picture on the walls to see if I've seen it before.

The really good thing about this duality is, I suppose, that if I have a stroke I will still be able to talk, as I use both sides of the brain at the same time!

From blogger to slogger

My little potter in the garden turned out to be more of a slog. I have advanced from blogger to slogger!

What started out as a minor remodelling of a flowerbed turned into a landscaping exercise of major proportions. He Who Can Fix Anything temporarily abandoned his removal of the engine from the car to ensure that I did a proper job, as always. I can be sure that whatever small job I attempt, he will turn it into at least 3 hours' work, involving hard labour and broken nails. This time I got wise to that, and immediately got the nail clippers out to do a quick manicure rather than end up with a snap-off. Then it was on with the gardening gloves and pulling out the old plants that had got straggly and moth-eaten and were nothing more than a trap for dead leaves blowing in the wind.

HWCFA then proceeded to dig all of the soil out of the flower bed, which is just a narrow strip of soil along a wall, bordered by brick paving. I had intended to remove the bricks along the edge but discovered, after 30 years (doesn't time fly!) that they were actually cemented in place and it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. The soil only went down a foot before turning into concrete. At least we know we have a foundation. Then we sieved the entire pile of soil, discarding years of broken mussel shells, odd stones and ancient roots. The pile of pure soil left behind was a joy to behold and he decided he would paint the wall before we filled it in again. I took the opportunity to take the gap and leapt into the car under the pretext of needing to get fertilizer and punnets of annuals at the nursery, and left him to it!

It took five minutes to get the plants and I then spent a leisurely half hour enjoying a cappuccino and chat up at the local coffee shop. Once I had given the paint long enough to dry, it was back home to continue the job. Twelve pretty little dianthus are now adorning the revamped flowerbed and I have to say it was well worth all the effort. It has certainly transformed that area of the garden.

Once that was done and the customary braai was had for lunch, I headed for the front garden, where I proceeded to pull out most of a huge tangle of vygie (don't know English name!) that had expanded over the years and looked rather tired, together with a massive arctotis which had borne 1 flower over the last 25 years. I only kept it for its attractive grey foliage, but I have decided to turn the front garden into an indigenous paradise for birds, to match all the other frontages in our road. I have a long way to go to catch up with the impressive array of aloes, proteas, vygies and other specimens of our magnificent fynbos, but you can be sure that nothing that I plant will have a bulb attached to it, as it will go the way of every other bulb I have ever planted, down the throat of the porcupine.

After the day's slog, I was feeling somewhat crocked, to the extent that I actually decided to have a hot bath! I picked some branches of rosemary and lavender and crushed them under the hot tap, throwing them into the bath after that, and lay in my own herb-scented water, which I am sure did me a lot of good.

At least I know I won't have fleas and my hair will be shiny!

Early morning

The days are drawing in here in Kommetjie. No longer are the mountains across the bay bathed in early sunlight when I wake at 6am. The scent of autumn is all around and the water coming through the pipes to the shower is cooler than it was in midsummer.

After some mountainous seas during the week caused by a forerunner of the winter cold fronts, the sea is like a lake today. On our early morning walk with the dogs, we could see numerous tankers and cargo vessels strung along the horizon, taking advantage of the calm water to round the Cape of Good Hope as quickly as possible. Closer inshore, the skiboats are heading down towards Cape Point, where good catches of healthy snoek are being made every day, bringing cheap food to the tables of the people of the Peninsula. These large predatory fish, weighing up to 5kg, can sometimes go for as little as R15 if too many are caught. The boats go out to sea in any weather when the snoek are running, as no one knows when they will just disappear for a while, cutting off the income of subsistence fishermen. They range up and down the West coast and generally are caught further north in winter.

It's nearly full moon and the rocks down at the lighthouse are fully exposed to the point where they drop off into the sea as a ledge and the kelp forest begins. This is where the best black mussels may be picked off the rocks to take home for steaming on the fire and a quick meal with peri-peri or garlic butter. The mussels grow in such thick beds that some of the shells are deformed as they squeeze each other out to get the best position to feed from the currents. Sometimes the animal inside is small and hardly worth eating, indicating a season of poor nutrition, but at the moment they seem particularly healthy, which is a sign that perhaps all is well at the bottom of the food chain.

I'm off to potter in the garden now, before the day warms up.

Championship ice-skating

Last night as I flicked through the TV channels hoping to find something, anything, of interest to watch, I was delighted to come across the US paired ice-skating championships and was just in time to watch the top six couples go through their competitive routines. This form of ice-skating is the one I love best, and I have always wished that I could glide so effortlessly and gracefully across the ice on a thin blade of steel, rather than lurching from foot to foot before sliding into a puddle of melted ice bum first.

The standard of skating, choreography, innovative and daring moves was unbelievable, and you can only wonder at the cheek of the commentators who pass critical remarks on a move that you are quite sure would score at least 12 out of 10! Perhaps they are all ex-skaters and are suitably qualified, but at the time you feel that the performance is unworthy of anything but the highest praise. I certainly didn't envy the job of the judges. I would love to know how many times they crash to the ice when practising the lifts and other manoeuvres involving high speed rotations.

I still remember the performance at the 1984 Olympics in Sarajevo by Jane Torvill and Christopher Dean. It has remained imprinted in my memory as the most elegant, passionate and yet fluidly executed performance I have ever seen, flawlessly skated to Ravel's Bolero. They received the first perfect score in ice-skating and it was a privilege to have been able to watch them thanks to television. The choice of music played a great part in their success, as it was as fluid as the skating. I googled their names to make sure I got the year right and was amazed to find that the video was all over YouTube! You can tell that I don't use the search option very often!

I watched it again and it was like seeing it for the first time. It has lost none of its magic over the years and although techniques may have advanced since then, their obvious chemistry and elegance, in my opinion, keep them in their position at the top.

If you've never seen them, look them up now. You won't regret it.

Busy day, doing this and that

It's been another busy day. Started out with cappuccino under the milkwood trees with a good friend and a really interesting discussion of this and that. A cold wind blew in from the sea from time to time, reminding us that summer is nearly over, and eventually forcing us out into the sunshine to continue with the day.

This was followed by a glass of water with another new friend and a really interesting discussion of this and that, but in the sun. It became too hot to sit in the sun any longer and when I checked the time, I realised that in half an hour I had to be at a restaurant up the road (yes, the Pickled Fish!) for a celebratory lunch with Mom and Dad for their 61st wedding anniversary.

On the way home, I picked up some copy paper and a couple of flipfiles - I am making hard copies of my blogs to compile various short books I am planning - collected my Lotto winnings (R34) and forgot to buy bread.

We had a delightful time under the pine trees at Imhoff Farm, where as usual the food was delectable, and the air just the right temperature, it being a south wester and not a south easter. Wind direction is an extremely important factor to consider when doing anything outdoors in  Cape Town. I think it must be because we live on such a narrow strip of land projecting into the ocean and are subject to the vagaries of every meteorological phenomenon, causing many different weather extremes over a very small area. Once again, as the air cooled, we were compelled to depart for warmer climes.

 I had barely got home and begun with watering the garden when I received a call from He Who Can Fix Anything that he was bringing a snoek home and we could do it on the fire. As I hadn't planned dinner anyway, that was for once good news, so I chopped the wood and lit the fire. While waiting for the coals to be ready, he fiddled in the garage with something and the next thing I knew, he had set up a solar panel (he's had it lying around somewhere for years without telling me) and lit up a light bulb. How easy was that?! He is planning to fix it up to run the computer or TV and the lights. After all this time. It really is very handy to have a handyman for a husband, except that he only works on things he is interested in, not necessarily what needs to be done.

I suppose that is pretty much the way it is for all of us.

Oh, the snoek was delicious - the best we have had in years!

A day of faux pas

What a day of laughter I have had today! It started off when I arrived at the town hall for my Tai Chi class. The whole parking area was full, as the venue had been double-booked despite everyone having paid for it, and in one hall the pension department was updating its records and in the other hall, the University of the Third Age was holding its monthly meeting. As I stood outside arranging a later meeting with my sister via my cellphone, I happened to say: "Is there something you are confused about?", and a man walking past me stopped and said, "Pardon?" He couldn't see that I was talking on the phone and we fell about laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

Our Tai Chi group was told to go to a room attached to the library, as there were only 9 of us, but when we got there, the room was full of bookshelves, tables and chairs. I don't know what they thought we were going to do in there, when we only require a large floor space. So we decided to all go down to Fish Hoek beach to enjoy a cup of coffee next to the sea on this beautiful day. Our teacher couldn't locate her car keys and we all hunted high and low, moving cupboards and looking among the books. I had my bag over my shoulder and my keys in my hand and suddenly I looked down at the keys and realised they weren't mine! They were hers! I have absolutely no recollection of ever picking them up. I can only think that they were next to my bag when I got ready to leave. Everyone made a great show of moving keys and cellphones far away from me when we got to the beach later, and I don't blame them!

We are a very diverse group and everyone has some fascinating contribution to make to the conversation and a very raucous and, for us, hilarious time was had under the palm trees. I hope the rest of the beachgoers enjoyed it.

Ski pole guinea pig

Full-on winter in Cape Town today. Don't you just love it? I took the opportunity of the cool weather (and in fact put on a jerkin - yes, you will find that in the dictionary) to try out the walking poles I have been given to test.

They are made in Sweden and resemble ski poles, which is not something we are familiar with here in the Cape. For some years now, people have taken to walking with ski poles, looking slightly odd, I have always thought, but these are a new variety called BungyPump. They have hydraulics so that, as you walk, you can apply downward pressure and hence exercise your entire upper body as well. They claim to burn 77% more calories than ordinary walking, pump 18% more oxygen through your blood and exercise 90% of your muscles. This sounds absolutely wonderful, as walking is the only exercise that appeals to me anyway.

Off I set along the road towards the lighthouse, thinking that I wouldn't see a soul, but every woman and her dog jogged past me, and no one gave me a second glance, so I either didn't look as strange as I thought, or they saw me coming from far off and decided to cross the road!

There is no doubt that I could feel my whole body getting a workout and yet it was not too strenuous - I didn't walk for more than 20 minutes, as I am only a 'beginner'. I must say that it was pleasant exercise and I am looking forward to tomorrow. I have to fill in a questionnaire relating to the results I obtain from the BungyPump and, based on the response from those testing the walking poles, they either will or won't be imported into South Africa. If the results are good, I am hoping to be able to keep the poles, or at least get them at a favourable rate!

The brochure promises health, fitness, strength, endurance and weight loss. I'll let you know.

Short and sweet?

When I was young, in the 60s, there was a wonderful programme on the radio in the afternoon at tea time, called Woman's World. Once a month, there was a slot for a lady from England who would send out a tape of what had transpired in the vicinity of her home. It probably arrived via the mailships, or perhaps was sent out by plane if it wasn't too expensive. How far off those days seem! But I digress...

She would start off: "This is Elizabeth Webb calling from Oxfordshire" and it was always fascinating to hear about the birds in the garden or whether there was a drought and what flowers were in bloom. It was the closest thing I can think of that relates to what we do nowadays - blogging, twittering and facebooking. But then you had to be someone who was regarded as remarkably interesting, eloquent and extremely well spoken - nothing but the Queen's English for the airwaves!

Today there are no cultural standards whatsoever, and the saddest part is that very few people are even aware of it. Will grammar and spelling join the dinosaurs, becoming extinct through a virtual meteorite from cyberspace? If the ability to communicate has not been impeded by the use of every conceivable form of abbreviation, for which there exists an sms dictionary to enable older receivers to decode their messages, then it appears so.

I for one will miss the use of such words as 'discombobulated' and 'flapdoodle' when referring to confused writers of nonsense, but I suppose their continued use will lead to aggravated carpal tunnel syndrome through excessive keystroking, and who would want to be considered 'persnickety' for being obsessive about mundane details?

So it only remains for me to say that I hope this blog will make you LOL or perhaps even FOCL or, dare I hope, LLTA!

Sunday sky

Hot, hot day in Cape Town. Down here in Kommetjie we have been lucky to have the odd drift of cool air coming in off the sea. Had to water the garden twice today - the water table is getting low, as summer draws to a close. Although officially ending on 20 March, the last week has definitely had moments when the air and the light have brought autumn to mind, and it seems as though winter may be early this year.

We had heavy rain last weekend which brought the Scarborough lilies to life, with gorgeous deep orange blooms appearing from nowhere. The bulb stock comes from my paternal grandmother, who passed away in the 1960s and had given the bulbs to my mother some years before, so they are in a way a link to her, and an annual reminder when in bloom. There could be worse things to be remembered by!

While doing my usual Sunday afternoon sky scan, I noticed a bright white circle in the sky, way beyond the swifts and swallows crisscrossing my vision and the odd gull drifting on the thermals. I dashed inside for the binoculars and saw a round white balloon, presumably, with a long tail hanging down, and suppose it was nothing more exciting than a weather balloon. However, even that is something I have never seen before, which just goes to show that if you keep looking up, there will always be something new to see. It drifted away over the sea quite rapidly and was soon lost from sight, and there was no way of knowing how high up it was.

As I write, I hear the rumble of another object in the sky, a white plane leaving Cape Town for Europe. I always go outside to look at planes, I don't know why. Perhaps I'm not easily jaded, and planes have always fascinated me. I love to watch them land and take off from the airport whenever I am there to drop off or pick up a family member. And every so often, I feel the need to be on one of them and venture into the wild blue yonder. 

Fire season

It's fire season in Kommetjie and once again houses have been endangered by a carelessly discarded cigarette butt, fanned by a strong wind and developing into a runaway veld fire that has become the norm at this time of year.  The helicopters were there within half an hour of the fire starting, by which time it had swept down from Ocean View and was burning merrily in the back gardens of the houses on the upper reaches of Slangkop. As they chopped up the skies overhead, carrying bucket after bucket of sea water from Long Beach to dump on the burning vegetation, one couldn't fail to be impressed by the effectiveness of this method of firefighting. Large areas were doused with each dumping, and it wasn't long before it was all over and there was nothing left to do but start the big clean up inside the houses which were now filled with a thick layer of black ash.

The same area was devastated only two years ago, except it was at night and helicopters couldn't be used. So it was up to the apparently incredibly fit firemen to climb the hillside by torchlight, and put out the flames using the traditional beating method. That night, as tree after tree burst into fireballs in the gale force wind, it seemed as though the battle was being lost, when suddenly the wind ceased completely and within a very short time, the fire was almost completely under control. Definitely an intervention from above.

A closed mouth gathers no foot

The news today is full of death and disaster, abuse and accidents, near misses by meteors and asteroids. The social media reflects people's opinions on all of these things, supporting and condemning, covering up and exposing, in an unstoppable avalanche of free speech which reveals both the depths and heights achievable by mankind in its assessment of the world as we have made it.

Modern technology has made all information instantly available to just about every person on the planet who owns a cellphone, with the sharing of photos with barely a minute passing between recording the image and relaying it to millions of viewers, and no possible way of preventing the misery and misfortune of others from being broadcast to the world. What happened to respect for people's privacy, for thinking before doing, for holding back before reacting, for just allowing people to be, without feeling obliged to pass judgment?

It's even worse to have to read all this vitriol in the 'comments' section which is attached to everything that appears in the media, social or antisocial. Nothing will ever be gained by negative outpourings. What the world really needs is upliftment and support for victims of circumstances which are not always within their control. Those who stand up in defence of both sides and call for empathy and understanding for those involved are ridiculed, with snide remarks being posted to draw attention to their naivety.

One can only feel sad for those whose only way of communicating is through denigration and the limited vocabulary of the gutter. They are the ones in greatest need of non-judgment.

We could do worse that follow the old adage: If you have nothing good to say, say nothing.

Mother's Valentine's Day

In our family, Valentine's Day is Mother's birthday. This means we can't buy her flowers, because they are overpriced for the occasion or else in short supply. We can't go out to eat because the restaurants are having a Valentine's menu and are fully booked and not able to offer their usual standards of food or service. And apart from all that, she has such a busy life that she is usually doing something on her birthday anyway. Today she went to a Probus lunch, which is not subject to the vagaries of Valentine's day, being a society/club that meets every month. Unfortunately, she cracked a tooth and so will be spending tomorrow at the dentist, which puts paid to a postponed prandial party.

Next week will be their 61st wedding anniversary, which doesn't coincide with any event warranting capital letters, and so we will be going to one of our favourite eateries, the Pickled Fish at Imhoff Farm, Kommetjie. We go there separately and together quite often, as we have never yet been disappointed in the menu and in fact recommend it to all we know, for the delicacy of flavour of the fare, without forfeiting the heat and spiciness required for a robust prawn curry and paella to die for. The setting, in one of the original farm buildings with walls as thick as the length of your arm, is simple and welcoming, and the service efficient and unobtrusive.

It's unlikely that anything on the menu will crack a tooth, so I can guarantee a good time will be had by all!

Horsing about

Every time I turn on Sky News, the main story still seems to be the horsemeat 'scandal'. While I appreciate that the British culture and most of the Western world does not involve the eating of horsemeat, it must be remembered that many European countries condone it, regarding it as just another form of protein, similar to eating cows. I am unable to comment on whether Eastern cultures eat horsemeat, but considering that cats and dogs form part of some menus, there is no reason not to believe that all animals are considered 'fair game' by one culture or another, depending on what is available in the environment.

Those who have indulged are quite open about how tender and tasty it is and that it is their meat of choice. For vegetarians, all forms of meat eating are taboo and repulsive to them, while certain religions forbid any contact with pork. Maybe they would eat horses. I haven't studied the subject, but it would be interesting to know.

However, the extent of the outrage and investigative journalism going on seems a little out of proportion when considering that the vast majority of the population is prepared and indeed eager to eat burgers, fried chicken, processed meats and a variety of fast foods that are so far removed from a piece of 'virgin' meat as could be dreamt of in Horatio's philosophy! I would be far more frightened of eating these than a horse steak.

While a nation that invented the deep-fried Mars Bar as a takeaway snack foams at the mouth at having been illicitly served a slice of a beloved domesticated animal, one wonders what really important events are being allowed to slip by unnoticed in the background while the popular press and government mouthpieces grind this headline news out day after day.

Go gentle into that dark night (apologies to Dylan Thomas)

It's late at night and all is quiet. The intense heat of a perfect February day in Cape Town has transformed into a perfect balmy February night, with the inky blackness punctuated by a billion stars surrounding our planetary home. It is so still that not a star twinkles, the light uninterrupted as it shines down on us in patterns that have guided explorers across the ages to find their way to new places and home again. The crescent moon set early and the brightest object above us is Jupiter, descending into the Atlantic as the Milky Way sweeps from north west to south east in a magnificent arc of glowing gas, dust and rock.

The faint glow of the lights of greater Cape Town outline the mountains to the north, the familiar Table Mountain easily identifiable even in starlight, and the measured flash of the Slangkop lighthouse signals to passing ships that tonight is a good night to be passing the fairest cape in all the circumference of the globe. Cicadas are shrilling in the milkwoods and night herons call as they pass overhead to their nocturnal feeding ground beyond the lighthouse.

A small shore break reminds me that the sea is close by despite the warmth in the air, and an occasional drift brings the scent of ozone and salt and freshly turned kelp wafting in my direction. There are lights on all around, reminding me that we are actually in the middle of suburbia. If there were none, it would be easy to imagine that I was an early inhabitant, looking at the stars and listening to the sea from my rock shelter a little way up the mountain.

I wish it could be so for everyone - to have a night filled with nothing but peace and tranquillity.

Survival

Some time back, a shrub in the garden was stripped bare by a team of 4 very large, but beautiful Death's Head Hawk Moth caterpillars, and I thought that it would surely die. Within a week of the devastation, tiny buds appeared all over the shrub and within 2 weeks it was restored to even better than its former glory. Such is the survival instinct of nature.

Since then, my Parrot/Dragonflower creeper has been subjected to the same treatment by tiny black hairy caterpillars, leaving long strings of bare stalks trailing all over the place. And now I see the tree fuchsia and another shrub are showing signs of leaf chompers at work. I thought how disappointing it must be for these plants to have put all that effort into new shoots at the beginning of summer, only to find themselves under attack from a predator with no defence. Yet, once again, close inspection reveals new life budding from the wounds of battle.

It becomes obvious from these instances of renewal that the eating of the leaves by caterpillars enables them to continue their lifecycle, while the plants appear to benefit by starting afresh with new, healthy growth after an enforced 'rest' period. And it occurred to me that in our human lives, we should take a lesson from nature.

When life appears to have stripped you bare, if you can accept what is and not give up all hope, your inner strength will rise up like sap in the plants and allow you to have a fresh start all over again, that may lead you to an even better life than you thought possible at the time of your lowest ebb.

I think it could be referred to as being rooted in faith.

Rocking with Rodriguez

I was lucky enough to get a last-minute ticket to see Sixto Rodriguez on his current South African tour. Having just watched Searching for Sugarman, I realised that it would be mutually beneficial to go to the concert; for me to show respect for the man's talent and contribution to the world and for him to use that talent by performing for his fans. And they were there in their thousands. I asked the man next to me if he was a big Rodriguez fan and he said, "You know then!" - a good old 1970s phrase - and he sang and clapped throughout like a teenager although in his 60s. He told me that he didn't care whether Rodriguez sang well or not, he just wanted to see him on the stage in real life. And I think that was the attitude of most of the audience.

Before the show started, Rodriguez's daughter stepped out from behind the curtain to wave and take pictures of the audience - a heartwarming and endearing moment as she recorded the world's appreciation of her dad, which was so long in coming.

The performance was everything I hoped for and more. The old familiar songs that created such a following in the South Africa of the 1970s have not lost their message and forty years later he still has his unique and so listenable style. His daughters were close at hand to lead him on and off stage, as failing eyesight makes him seem frail, but his arms are still strongly muscled from years of labour on construction sites and, of course, playing guitar.

I wore my Rodriguez hat, and so did he.

A cultural evening

Attended a piano recital last night - Francois du Toit, Professor of Music at University of Cape Town, and acclaimed concert pianist. It never ceases to amaze me how, first of all, someone wrote the music and secondly, another person can translate those lines and symbols into a sound that is literally music to our ears. It is another form of written language. A note from an instrument is given a name and placed in a particular place on two sets of defined lines, and that representation of a sound is recorded for posterity. Genius at work.

The works of Beethoven, Mozart and Haydn were composed and played on instruments quite different to the modern-day piano, and I would be interested to hear how the music differed, in a kind of New School, Old School comparison such as we hear on the radio today for remixes of the songs from our youth. I suppose the transition from basic piano to advanced model was a little like the electrification of the guitar, and the increase from 5 octaves to 7 octaves must have given the composers a huge scope for adding drama to their music with the deeper notes and lighter, more fanciful interludes at the higher end of the scale.

It was a virtuoso performance, attended by hundreds of middle-aged to elderly people, and as I mentally compared it to the rather aggressive and repetitive rappers at the other extreme of the music spectrum, I felt saddened that such a large proportion of humanity might never have the opportunity of appreciating music that truly is a gift from and to the soul.

Sport on our roads

There is a new danger on South African roads. In a previous blog I expounded on the moronic idea that recreational cyclists should be allowed to practice their sport on public roads at the expense of motorists. It has been decided by the powers that be, without the consent of motorists, that we should pass cyclists at a distance of 1.5 metres. This entails crossing a barrier line to give them sufficient space, particularly if they are not riding in the gutter.

Yesterday, while travelling in fairly heavy traffic in both directions, there were no less than 3 occasions where someone with a sheep mentality blindly followed his latest instruction from the authorities and swerved across the barrier line in the face of startled oncoming motorists who then had to swerve onto the verge. Did these people not understand that the basic rules of the road still apply and that, when spotting a cyclist, the world should not revolve around them? Apparently not.

This leads to the very obvious conclusion that, in the face of oncoming traffic, the cyclist must be allowed to dictate the pace of the traffic. This situation cannot be allowed to become the norm, as the common man becomes subjected to more and more restrictions applied by people who should never have the authority to impose them.

There is currently a video going viral on the web of a youngster skateboarding down Kloofnek in Cape Town and being flashed by a speed camera, which was the object of the exercise. One can only admire his courage as he flies down one of the best slaloms in the world, while feeling sympathy for the oncoming motorists who must have been horrified at the possibility of a potentially fatal crash, and as he took a sharp right between two cars, I also feared for his life. The most thrilling thing for me was that he actually had the guts to do it and with such skill. Throughout the world, children are no longer allowed to climb trees or playground equipment, nor are adults allowed to climb ladders at work, all in the name of Health and Safety, in a very successful plan to take away personal freedom to make all our own decisions and live a life of nothingness. The traffic department have declared the stunt reckless and plan to prosecute this daring young man. I think it is their way of giving him a speeding fine, as the law probably doesn't cover prosecution of speeding skateboarders.

Speechless for once

I joined Toastmasters last night.The very formal structure is something quite new to me as it's the kind of thing I have successfully avoided all my life.The aim of Toastmasters is to mentor would-be public speakers to develop sufficient skills to deliver a speech without hesitation, repetition, um, ah, er, so and okay, within a strictly controlled time limit. This sounds like an audience's dream and can certainly be recommended for those who are liable to be interviewed by the media. How excruciating are the incoherent mumblings of those who are caught unawares by questions they don't know how to answer.

A section of the evening is taken up by Table Topics, where you are given a topic or suggestion and must deliver a one to two minute speech immediately on the subject. I was asked to do one, as a visitor, and my first reaction was no, I'm not ready, and then I realised that that was what I was there for, and said yes.

I'm not usually at a loss for words. I had to take an object out of a bag and then address the audience, who were my Valentine, as to why I was giving them this Valentine's gift. It was a calculator.

Now a calculator is the last thing I would give as any sort of gift and as I stood there, nothing raced through my mind. The clock was ticking as I desperately tried to think of any word that would make sense. "I'm speechless," was all I could say. They liked that, so I thought a little more and Shakespeare came to my rescue. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." Laughter and applause. And that was it. I told them that there was no way I could connect a calculator with a Valentine or marriage as you couldn't really work out what the result would be. And that was my first speech at Toastmasters.

We were all evaluated afterwards for timing and how many umms we had used. Amazingly enough, I apparently used real words and was recorded as 'very good' despite having said practically nothing! This is very encouraging for the future.

Applause and laughter can be addictive - and completely harmless to your health. I can see why so many actors prefer a live audience to film. Oh, I neglected to mention that they videoed our speeches. They have promised under oath not to release them on YouTube.

Comet spotting and other astronomical observations

There is currently a comet passing by at a tremendous speed. It is Comet Lemmon, and can be seen with binoculars on a dark night such as during this week when there is no moon, with a good pair of binoculars. It isn't spectacular like Comet McNaught  as it is still far away, but look for a fuzzy pale green blob without a tail between Musca (right of the Southern Cross) and the Small Magellanic Cloud (it is heading towards the globular cluster 47 Tucanae). You may find it interesting to observe its path each night, as it is moving very fast. It is currently on its way towards the sun and will swing round the back of it and be flung back on its return trip past us in April, when it will hopefully be a more breathtaking sight.

The best time for spotting is about 2am when it is overhead. At the same time you will be able to admire the magnificent constellation of Orion with its Great Nebula forming the sword, and the giant planet, Jupiter, the fourth brightest object in the sky, to the left in Taurus, with its four moons constantly changing position as they orbit the planet. Sirius, the Dog Star which is the brightest object, lies to the right of Orion.

There is a particularly rich star field to the right of the Southern Cross, in the constellation of Carina, and you can observe stunning clusters and the Eta Carina nebula with binoculars.

So set your alarm and go outside to see the wonders of the night sky. But remember not to turn on any lights as it will ruin your night vision for half an hour. Make sure you know the way to the door!

An invitation to think #1

I recently heard of a woman in England who, through infirmity, desperately needed to sit down for a while when out shopping. The shop assistant told her they couldn't let her sit on a chair, and that chairs were not allowed in the shop, in case she fell off it and hurt herself. This 'rule' formed part of the health and safety regulations which these days prevent anyone from doing anything that might cause them to hurt themselves. The reasoning behind these regulations has little to do with concern for safety, but rather concern for the amount of money the injured party could sue for. There are a number of questions that can be raised here.

Since when has the human race become so afraid of being responsible for their own actions that laws have been passed to ensure that someone else becomes financially ruined through those actions?

Since when has compassion been replaced by mindless obedience to someone else's rules, thus robbing the enforcer of free will, the one thing that sets humans apart from all other beings?

What are the statistics relating to people who sit in chairs and don't fall off them, as against people who sit in chairs and fall off them (this would have to be broken down into the myriad reasons for falling off)?

If the shop assistant stood all day and was on the point of collapse, would she be too frightened to sit on a chair in case she fell off?

How is it that a world population of billions has managed to relinquish control of their everyday lives to so few?

If you were the shop assistant, would you ignore the 'rules' in favour of good sense, compassion and empathy?

Lazy days of summer

Did nothing today. Watered the garden. Helped put a side mirror on the Mini. Took the Mini for its first long drive since reassembly. Did 110 on the stretch along the fence at Cape Point Reserve - this little car sure can go. Still need to adjust the timing so overall very happy with my new little old car!

Had a nap under the trees and spent some time looking at the clouds speeding overhead in two different directions, and listening to the rumble of the breakers crashing on the rocks down at the lighthouse and the sharp crack of the waves dumping closer to home at the Inner Kom.

It's nice to take time out and do nothing, think of nothing and just BE. It's going to be a busy week - Tai Chi twice, a funeral, Toastmasters, Astronomy, lunch at the Pickled Fish, appointment with nutritionist - in addition to general household chores, gardening and some rather essential bookkeeping matters! And doubtless some other events will creep in to keep me busy. Oh, and of course I have my blogs to write and three books to work on, as well as a painting underway.

Thank goodness I did nothing today.

How many people does it take to replace a light bulb?

It's been a week since I turned on the kitchen light and nothing happened. Well, not quite nothing. The ends of the fluorescent tube glow a kind of warm orange colour and bathe the kitchen in a rather pleasant and flattering light for someone who is looking to hide the odd wrinkle or a bad hair day, but it's absolutely useless for cooking. If I open the microwave, I can chop vegetables and knock up a stir fry in the light that comes from inside. I wonder why the light comes on when you open it? It's not like a fridge where you need to be able to peer into the depths to see what is hiding behind that jar of authentic Italian pasta sauce you were given three years ago but have never had the inclination to open because you know it couldn't possibly be better than yours. When you open the microwave, you are either expecting it to be empty, or you know exactly what it is you are going to take out. So the reasoning behind the illumination escapes me. Perhaps it is for occasions such as this, where the light is not working - if so, well done, LG.

Every evening, as darkness draws in, I bleat to He Who Can Fix Anything that the light has gone in the kitchen and he answers, "Oh", from where he reclines on his pillows, glued to the latest episode on the Crime channel, Women Who Kill, looking for tips and telltale signs that he might need to look out for. I keep telling him that when the time comes, I have a perfectly good oleander in the garden which I can use as a herb garnish on his braai chops. And so a week has gone by without replacing the fluorescent tube.

You might ask, why don't I just go and buy one myself? Well, the last one I bought and installed didn't work; it just glowed at each end, and having 1. gone to the trouble of getting the thing home without breaking it, 2. climbed a ladder and unclipped the old tube without falling and 3. climbed back up the ladder and clipped the new tube in without falling off it, I was so annoyed at having been sold a shoddy product that I simply left it in and it's been glowing at each end for some two years now. (I should mention that it is a double tube light and I only need one, so it didn't matter that the new tube didn't work - after all, if the kitchen is fully lit by one tube, what could I do with twice the amount of light?) So I have decided to wait and see how long it takes for him to remember to bring a new tube home.

About 19 years ago, there was a leak in one of our showers and so we took the tiles off one wall and removed the dry walling.

I'm still waiting for it to be put back.

Consumer cautions

Having been scammed on so many occasions in a supermarket, I feel compelled to share some basic tips on how to avoid being taken for a fool:

1. Don't buy prepackaged vegetables. The glossy, firm looking baby marrows on the top layer are cunningly concealing the yellowing, shrivelled second-grade marrows underneath. There is no way that it is not a deliberate act to put the inferior goods out of sight.

2. The same goes for meat. The top retailer in SA is as guilty as the rest of them. I bought a piece of steak which looked appetising and with minimal fat, only to find, on opening the pack, that the reverse side of the steak was basically the edge of the rump and mainly fat. Once again, absolutely a deliberate attempt to deceive.

3. Packaging is used to effect a price increase without increasing the price. Toothpaste is number one on the list, with the size of the tube being slightly reduced without changing the price so that it looks as though everything is the same. Old stock with the bigger tube is removed from the shelf so that there is nothing to draw the eye to a smaller quantity in the tube. The way to overcome this and reduce toothpaste sales is to only use the actual amount you need - adverts and the packaging show a lavish dollop of toothpaste covering the entire bristle section, but in actual fact, only a pea-sized amount of toothpaste is required to do the same job. Consumption can be reduced by 75% and you can leave the manufacturer wondering.

4. Bulk packaging is in general more expensive than regular sized products and a careful comparison of the price per unit of every size of pack will prove this, particularly in the domestic cleaning products. The "Great Value" printed on the pack is nothing but deliberate misinformation.

A little care and a good pair of glasses can save you quite a substantial amount over a period, as well as send a message back to the retailers that we are on to them!