Always something going on in the garden

This morning I was outside on the deck enjoying the crashing of the waves and the activity of the birds. There were so many different species chattering away and flitting about that it was like being inside an invisible aviary. A pair of Cape Robins did aerobatics - a strange vertical dance - before diving for cover, and a prinia alighted on the topmost branch of a tree within 6 feet of me to trill its tune against a backdrop of cloud-bedecked mountains. Suddenly, the pigeons which had been lined up on the peak of the roof took off in panicked flight and I scanned the sky for the sight of the black sparrowhawk, always the guilty party at times like this, and sure enough it came swooping in from the East, gliding between individual pigeons still scattering in all directions, knowing that this was going to be an unsuccessful approach. He alighted in the gum tree to wait for the pigeons to regroup, doubtless to try his luck later.

The ghastly and invasive Brazilian pepper tree that is rapidly enveloping a corner of the house is currently in berry and on opening the bedroom window, which is in the midst of the branches, I startled a flock of 20 or so little brown jobs, which may be anything from a type of finch to a sparrow, but I enjoyed watching their antics nevertheless. It matters not what the name is; we should just enjoy them.

The spotted rock pigeons continue to breed well, particularly now that Felix is not here to keep the population under control, and mainly because we feed them, and of course my ulterior motive is to attract the raptors (don't tell HWCFA - he considers Hoppy and Poppy to be domesticated birds). The feeding was originally intended to keep the guinea fowl amused rather than have them scratch up the garden. Gone are the flocks of yesteryear, with long lines of fluffy-feathered babies running behind their mothers - the crows have made sure that nothing survives. Now to get rid of the crows.

The francolins seem to have suffered the same fate, and the two who brought up a few babies under the protection of the myrtle hedge have also not been seen for some time. Perhaps they have found a more protected place to live. As with everything in life, we can only live in hope.

Mango the cat

He Who Can Fix Anything had decreed that we would not be getting a new cat for some while, so we snuck Mango the kitten into the house late last night and presented her to him early this morning. Fait accompli!

On their first meeting, Mango hissed, spat and lashed out at Monty the dog pictured above, who then proceeded to hound (sorry) the kitten and tried to lick her to death. He is very protective of her but fortunately seems to have lost his need to know where she is all the time. As you can see, he even allowed Mango to climb into his bowl and have a munch on his pellets!

Her claws are like needles and when you pick her up she resists quite fiercely, possibly because she doesn't like to be so far from the ground. Kat and I are already bearing scratches, but I'm sure Mango will settle down soon. It's been 11 years since we had a new pet and we haven't been without cats for 22, so I knew we would get another one soon and fate conspired (yes, you know who you are!) to provide us with Mango, sending photos on the phone and via Facebook to make me seem coldhearted if I didn't take her in immediately.

Obviously it worked, and here's hoping Mango likes us and lives here contentedly for many years to come!

Warm seas around Kommetjie

The sea which laps the shores of our sleepy little village is not normally ideal for swimming, unless you are wearing a wetsuit. The average temperate is probably 10 degrees on a good day and it would be an exaggeration to say that in summer there are more than 5 people actually swimming who are not surfers, and I think this has contributed in a large way to it not being a 'beach' destination to the extent suffered by Camps Bay and Clifton. But for the last few days, I have been listening to stories of people who have lived here for years and have actually swum for extended periods because the sea temperature has been similar to False Bay. There have been figures of 18 to 20 degrees bandied about!

I thought I should test this out for myself, as the last time I ventured to put a foot in the water here in the little bay, it was pretty icy and my foot was numb in minutes. Blow me down! The tales were true! Never before has the water been so acceptably warm - definitely around the 18 degrees mark. It would be interesting to know what has caused it - perhaps a stray finger from the warm Agulhas Current curling round Cape Point in search of new places to explore, pushed north by the westerlies that have persisted for the last 5 days?

Although the water was now at its most enticing, unfortunately the air temperature was not conducive to thoughts of casting clothes off and subjecting myself to a dip - it sufficed to stand at the edge of the sea and chat to others enjoying the ambience, while allowing their dogs to take the waters. I did get to have a bit of a drenching after all, as one of the dogs bounded up behind me, sopping with seawater, and placed both paws squarely on my shoulders, and as I wrung the water from my shirt, the cool breeze confirmed that it had been a good decision to just paddle!

Insect info

I saw such a strange sight yesterday - about 20 individual spinning golden clouds of tiny insects, all about 3 feet above the ground and spaced evenly apart across a field at the side of the road. They looked like the sprays from an irrigation system, stretching upwards in a cone shape. Although I have seen similar swarms before, I have never seen them gathered en masse and I should have taken a photograph but had already travelled too far by the time I had worked out what they were. Perhaps they are as a result of the recent rains and a sudden flush of reproductivity before winter. They certainly made a most attractive display, literally glinting golden in the sunlight.

Speaking of insects, I have a resident praying mantis on the inside of my front balcony where she is very successful in catching the milkwood flies that sometimes gather in droves on the window. She elegantly snatched one from the air as I was watching the other morning and proceeded to eat it without further ado. These insects are not like other flies and are possibly a different species as they are quite slow and tend to hover around the branches rather than settle. I doubt that the geckos are too pleased to have her in their territory, but there's probably enough to go around.

Outside my bedroom window, the three bats were kept busy catching mosquitoes last night, but they missed quite a few and I spent the night swatting into the darkness and scratching my feet and fingers, which seem to be the bits they enjoy the most. Hopefully the bat population will increase in time, but so far we have never had more than three in all the years we have been here. They live under the eaves and sometimes come into the house which is always cause for excitement as I rush around opening doors to give them an escape route. At least they never crash into anything, unlike the frequently trapped pigeons which flutter panic-stricken from picture frame to picture frame!

I haven't been out to check on the golden orb spiders at the end of the garden, but I'm sure they are still there. Will let you know.

Early morning

I really am enjoying these cooler days. Although I have to start every morning at 6am with a trip out into the garden with my little blind doggie, Susie, who has lost confidence in going down the stairs on her own, those early morning trips have revealed a new part of the day. Sunrise is still an hour away, but the trees are filled with chirruping birds, most notably the robin, as they prepare to catch the worm. Somehow the air is not at all chilly and is in fact mild to the extent that there is no sense of temperature, either warm nor cold, and the scent of the damp earth tells of life-giving rain having been showered liberally over the plants to enable them to flourish without the hand of man.

There is a stillness in the air. The heavy seas of last week have morphed into white-capped wavelets dotting the ocean, with no thunderous shore breaks. As I write, I see a small wave curling over and shattering into a gazillion droplets of pink-tinged foam, as the first rays of dawn light catches it through a gap in the mountains. What a beautiful sight - can't be captured by a camera. It is the only patch of sun in the area and seems almost as if that wave was sought out by a laser beam.

In the near distance, a fishing boat chugs by, it too reflecting the dawn off its windows, winking at me as it pitches and rolls on its was to the fishing grounds. Let's hope the sun shines on it today and it returns with a full hold of the gifts of the sea.

Relaxing with a puzzle

Taking advantage of a brief respite from the computer work (for which I am truly thankful, both ways) to do a jigsaw puzzle. I haven't done one for nearly a year and at the first sign of winter, my thoughts turn in this direction. It is the greatest form of relaxation for me, as my eyes just scan the box of pieces for the right colour or shape without giving it any thought. I try to never do a puzzle under 1000 pieces, as there is no challenge in that, and the average size is 1500 because it's easily accessible even when bending over.

I've been obsessed with puzzles since a very early age, I think under a year old, or maybe two, and cannot abide having someone come along and put in a piece for me. However, when it's someone else's puzzle, I cannot resist it! I have been to visit aged relatives at two old age homes in the past where there has been a work in progress on a table in the communal area and I have never left without completing a fair amount, no doubt to the dismay of someone who was looking forward to finishing the parrot, or whatever!

An advantage of this intense absence of using your mind is that the answers to all sorts of problems are able to come through from out there and I find I can think of ways to achieve various goals and do rough drafts of letters while still putting in the pieces. Easier than meditation, which just makes the dog bark at me!

I can thoroughly recommend puzzles as a therapeutic outlet, rather than watching TV, which just deadens the brain. However, a word of warning - when selecting a puzzle, make sure it is varied and has very distinct outlines and not too large a patch of darkness, otherwise you are setting yourself up for unnecessary frustration - there is no point in labouring for hours to complete a patch of shade under a tree when you could be completing a very satisfactory harbour scene!

Clearing clutter

This week has been one of many achievements, mainly in the line of clearing the clutter in my head! The really important things I have been procrastinating over for the last 3 years are on the brink of finalisation, which has lifted a tremendous burden and cleared the way for some decisiveness in areas where it is most needed.

A slight lull in formal work which kept me tied to the computer for many months (and gratefully received) has allowed me to work in the garden for a few hours a day, landscaping a much-neglected area at no cost, by simply clearing out the grassy overgrowth, levelling the area and relocating the prolific bromeliads which thrive in my garden. They have multiplied so well over the years that I am able to fill every shady spot with them. The tall varieties hide ugly vibracrete and rows of steadily diminishing height will make for a line of colour in some place or other pretty much throughout the year. The poor quality of the soil - actually just ancient sea sand - is of no consequence to these interesting plants, which are of the airplant family, and they benefit most from having snails removed and a regular watering into the centre of the plant. Oh, and preferably deep shade. There are a few varieties that have red leaves and do well in a bit of sun but apart from that they are perfect for difficult areas of the garden.

 The weather has turned to definite autumn, with rain forecast for the next three or four days - a perfect opportunity to feed the garden without having to water it, ready for the next season. For us, it's time to make sure the house is watertight and windproof before the first winter storms strike, and to dig the slippers and winter woollies out from the back of the cupboard! This is Cape Town, after all, and for the next few months we can expect any type of weather, from icy winter to sultry summer, right up to the end of June.  It's not a time to make plans for any outdoor events without a Plan B and it's best to be prepared for all eventualities.

That said, it's no coincidence that this is the time of year most favoured by tourists from Europe who come to spend months on end in our mainly sunny climate. Let's hope it doesn't disappoint!

Artful arachnids

I wandered down to a far corner of the garden this afternoon, where the kitties' graves are under the lemon tree, and by chance a ray of sunlight peeped through the branches and revealed the most incredible spider's web stretching between the bushes. The two owners of the web, a pair of golden orb spiders, were busy repairing the web, which seems to be very effective. Plenty of food is wrapped up for later consumption; the vain struggling of the little bugs merely caused a few snaps of the web strands - there was no escape. I watched in fascination as the spiders drew the sticky thread from whichever orifice it is that emits it, and worked away at filling the gaps that had appeared.

The golden orb spider doesn't  spin the beautiful flat, symmetrical web which we all associate with spiders, but rather makes a haphazard crisscrossing over a wide and deep area, guaranteeing that something must meet a sticky end. Rather like the laser beams that are used for alarm systems - or at least the ones we see in the movies. (Oops! I stand corrected! On a further inspection later on, I realised that there are in fact two flat symmetrical webs in the middle of the laser web! Even more skill than I gave them credit for!)

I haven't seen these before in my garden, and it seems that there is a proliferation of them at the moment, with a huge web with about 50 or so arachnid inhabitants attracting attention on a wall down near the beach. I hope no one thinks to harm these creatures, who are only going about their business, and don't seek to destroy such a monumental effort to catch a few bugs, which incidentally keeps them away from us. There is a purpose for the existence of every living thing.

The roar of an ocean wave

We are now on the equinox and autumn is officially upon us. A passing cold front has brought 6m swells to the coastline, which have reached massive proportions as they have thundered ashore here off the little village of Kommetjie. We are fortunate to be protected by a natural barrier of jumbled rocks along this section of the Peninsula which has kept the shoreline intact over millenia, unlike the constantly shifting sands of the long white beaches of the area. The roaring of the surf as it folds over, expelling trapped air before crashing into the boulders, makes the very air vibrate and is truly deafening, as it can keep you awake at night.

The abruptness of the rise of the seabed from sand to rocky ledges brings waves that are world famous, and anyone who can conquer the Outer Kom has earned their surfing stripes (sorry if that is not the right word!) There are some incredibly young boys who I see out there among the surfers at the Inner Kom, which on a big day can be intimidating enough and if they are so skilled at the age of 8 or 10, then they will surely be giving their counterparts in Hawaii a run for their money one day.

I have a cousin who made a name for himself in big wave surfing, something that requires you to have no fear, I would imagine, and his children are following in his wake and gaining international recognition in the sport. Unfortunately, the sporting world doesn't place the same value on the talent and bravery of those who play out their passion in sometimes dangerous and life-threatening conditions, and so the financial rewards are not really there, which makes it all the more admirable that the world's professional surfers let nothing hold them back when they are chasing their dream.

Cooling down

On the brink of the equinox (tomorrow) we are having our first taste of gentle rain to ease us into true autumn. This is, of course, because I spent the greater part of the day yesterday moving the sprays every half hour to ensure that the garden got a good watering! This is more work than it sounds like, as I have a large garden and operate three hoses at once, and sometimes I get so engrossed in my work that I forget to move them and have to wade through a swamp to get to the sprinkler head.

The good part is that the water is coming from the ground eight feet below the surface and not through a pipe from the dams that supply Cape Town. I hope that anything the plants don't require simply seeps back down to be recycled on the next pumping.

The cooler air and soft rain is much appreciated by the birds, who have been lying on the lawn with outspread wings to catch the slightest breeze on hot days. The sunbirds and white eyes love to dart in and out of the fountains I make with the hose and sit on twigs of hibiscus, fluffing and shaking their feathers with abandon.

A few years ago, an owl roosted on a branch near my window for a few days, in the open, and the whole time it was raining. He looked so hunched and miserable, but never moved, and I suppose it was only my impression based on how I would have felt, as nature has provided the perfect covering for every creature to withstand the climate.

Which makes me wonder whether Man was meant to live in cold and damp places on Earth, seeing as we arrived with just a thin layer of skin and no nice warm furry coat or feathers.

Calling back the past

A small group of girls from our 1973 matric year had tea at a local nursery yesterday, some of us meeting up again after a gap of 40 years. No one had changed too noticeably - a little extra roll here and there, and a laugh line or two, but nothing to speak of. Even our hair was pretty much the same style and length as our schooldays!

It was such a fun afternoon, and if it hadn't been for the fact that the restaurant closed for the day and everything was shut down around us, we would probably still be sitting there, reminiscing, catching up on births, marriages and careers and being amazed at how well we all got on! Most of us still live in the south Peninsula, although one lives abroad, but all of us have travelled and done interesting things with our lives, and in fact are still doing so. So there were no boring old fuddy-duddies at that afternoon tea!

Three of the ladies are directly linked to the three major schools in the Fish Hoek valley in various capacities and shared many an interesting story on the ins and outs of school life today. A far cry from the days when we romped through our schooldays in this most idyllic part of the world, with the beach, mountains and sand

dunes all on hand to keep us occupied. We laughed about the day the high school pupils ran away to the dunes for the day, although I can't say I remember why we did it! And the assembly when a bag of flour was dumped on the headmaster as he gave his morning homily from the stage - that I remember as if it were yesterday, the ripple of laughter that swept through the hall, quickly suppressed as even we, callow youths, realised how embarrassing it must have been for the poor man, and the sudden departure from the stage of teachers who had already identified the culprits.

There is no doubt that school days really are the best days of your life, but you have to live a long time to really understand that. We thought about our friends who had passed away since those days, some - far too many - leaving us in the first few years after school, but I think we were all agreed that being at the same school, and particularly over many years, leaves us all bound with the same silk ribbon that ties us together in the best possible way - with the happiest of memories of our long-lost youth.

Heart's desire

It's a little past the witching hour and here I am, writing business letters and gathering my thoughts for a hard week to come, sorting out miscreants and misdemeanours. Once I have regained control of the events in our lives, things should look up considerably, and I will have achieved my heart's desire - that elusive goal or dream that we are urged to focus on to bring abundance into our lives.

It's a funny thing that - abundance. It comes in many forms, and everyone has their own ideas about what it is. That's why it's so difficult to know what your heart's desire truly is. We always go for the obvious - money in the bank, a nice house, fancy car, someone to love - and then wonder why they seem so difficult to attain. I think the reason is because we have to take the actions which will allow us to achieve these things before they can become reality, as they are blocking our ability to manifest the outcome.

It was only recently that I realised that my heart's desire at this time is to stop procrastinating on the important things and get my 'house in order' so that my true heart's desire - peace of mind, the ability to bring out my creative spirit and paint again and spend time writing under the milkwood tree - can become a reality, as I know it will.

So I'm knuckling down with a determination I haven't felt in a good few years, confident that my dreams will come true after all!

Life goes on

Wide awake in the early hours again and ready for work! This is no good - must be because the moon is nearly full. While I have no objection to being awake and up and about, it doesn't suit the rest of the household! All is quiet in the kitchen without Felix - she used to come straight in if I got up at night, always on the lookout for a snack or a drink of water; she only drank from a running tap, so I always had to wait until she was finished before going back to bed.

Sent a few emails. That will surprise some people, if they look at the time sent. It must be the peaceful silence in the house that is encouraging me to do long-outstanding matters. A pile of ironing beckons...

The last few days have been absolutely beautiful here in Kommetjie. Birds abound - in the shrubbery, in flocks overhead, wheeling in the thermals or heading to feeding grounds, or simply pecking away on the rocks - there are so many species to be found if you just keep looking. The surf has been small lately, flattened by the very strong south easter that has brought an autumn chill to Cape Town. Large gum trees have split in half, giving up the years of fighting the onslaught, and highlighting how dangerous it is to have these huge, shallow-rooted and weak-limbed trees growing near roads and houses. They really are best left in the far outback of Australia, where they come from. The tree in front of my house has a new lease on life, after showing signs of dying this summer, except for the large branch overhanging the driveway, which is most definitely dead and will one day crash down, hopefully not while I am driving underneath it.

All the feeding and watering has paid off this year, with the lawn green and no patches of sand for the first time in 30 years. The indigenous buffalo grass has finally taken hold and is covering the kweek and kikuyu at a satisfying rate. This means that the lawn will not need so much water or mowing in future. The bromeliads have made an excellent showing throughout the year, and the Scarborough lilies are spectacular, lasting for more than a week.

The garden has become a veritable jungle and self-propogation of the clivias and agapanthus means that I can fill in every empty space when I eventually get a chance to spend a day in the garden, without having to spend much at the nursery. How I long to have a gang of labourers move in and dig up lawns and lay paved areas and interesting pathways into secret gardens! There's plenty of space for a total re-landscaping, but it requires vision and planning, and I don't seem to have too much of that in the horticultural line.

Ah well! Something to work towards...

Into each life...

Into each life a little rain must fall, for how else will you get to see the rainbows? Wake up each morning and accept what the day brings. Expect the best and you will surprise yourself. If it's not quite what you had hoped for, accept it, deal with it and move on. Every day is a new beginning.

Today started as a magnificent early autumn day in Kommetjie. Life is good - we are healthy, working and surrounded by beauty. All our needs are met, even if it sometimes seems like a bit of a struggle. My work situation is what I always wanted it to be - from home (no traffic), doing what I do well, having time to walk along the beachfront and do a bit of gardening, as well as enjoy the company of friends and family. But two days ago, our last little kitty (of the four we have had for the last 22 years) stopped eating and went to lie under the lavender bush near the graves of her fellow kitties and I felt she had heard them calling. Sure enough, a visit to the vet confirmed that her kidneys were no longer functioning and Felix was euthanased. I declined to be present and merely accepted the rather sad-looking cardboard box a few minutes later.

The grave had already been dug and after a last stroking, we lowered her in and laid her to rest next to Fluffy, Mittens and Tigger. An apple tree marks the spot, and HWCFA will be making the last of the crosses bearing her name. For the first time in 22 years, there is no cat on my kitchen counter.

So despite the beauteous day, a little rain did fall.

Off on a jaunt in the countryside #3

I eventually arrived at my destination after adventuring up the kloof and was relieved to find the rest of the star partiers relaxing in a large bricked courtyard. The main building looked out over a large dam at the foot of the hill and the soaring fold mountains directly behind, and our accommodation was arranged around the courtyard in an almost Mexican hacienda style, with tables and chairs amply supplied. The brick company had a field day when this place was built, as the entire complex is brick-paved and the rooms are all rough brick, but it is charming and completely suited to the purpose of the place, which is for people who wish to spend a quiet time, birdwatching, stargazing, walking around the dam and just generally chilling out in the mountains of the Karroo. My room was nearly the size of my house and could accommodate a family of four, with a shower that could easily fit 6 people! A huge kitchen with gas and electric stoves, 4 or 5 fridge/freezers and multiple work stations provided a communal area for food preparation, with a lounge, dining room, bar room and games room also available. Everything was perfect for a relaxed weekend away from home.

Within minutes of my arrival, the heavens opened and the rain slashed down as if thrown from a bucket, and 5 minutes later it was all over. Two hours later, the last of the clouds had evaporated and the outlook for a night's staring out into space was excellent. The previous day had been over 40 degrees, but the thunderstorm had cooled the air considerably, although not to the extent that a jersey was required. There were about 10 people there - some comings and goings in the night, although how they all got there in the dark, I don't know - seems like I was the only one who took the road less travelled.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, expensive equipment was brought out and set up in the courtyard - reflectors and refractors, computerised drives, video and camera attachments for the telescopes for those whose interest was in astrophotography and binoculars of all sizes for general viewing and the odd bird.

The purpose of a star party is to stay up all night and observe whatever it is that interests you in the night sky as the earth turns and reveals the wonders of the Milky Way around us. To do this, it is vital that your night vision remains unimpaired and so no torches or other artificial lighting is allowed after sunset, to allow everyone's eyes to adapt to the dark, which takes 30 minutes to an hour. Exposure to white light will set you back to the beginning of dark adaptation and hence anyone who breaks the rule is as welcome as bacon at a Barmitzvah. As usual, there will always be someone who is completely unconscious of the purpose of the occasion and who seems oblivious of the irritation they cause by constantly opening the kitchen door to make coffee or get something to eat, thereby flooding the courtyard viewing area with artificial light, and so there was considerable muttering in the ranks from the professionals! However, everyone eventually settled down, and with at least 8 hours' viewing ahead, it didn't really matter too much.

The people who were there have devoted their lives to sharing their passion for observing the universe and educating those who wish to know more. There was a diverse mix of people, from academics to ordinary people like myself, and conversation was stimulating and varied, ranging across biochemistry, geology, palaeontology, birds, telescopes, binoculars, GMOs, astrophotography, etc. It is only by stepping out of your comfort zone and actively going out to interact with new people that you realise how much of interest there is in the world and how many people actually are making a difference in trying to preserve our heritage and increase useful knowledge for posterity. Having no cellphone or internet contact made for much more interesting conversation!

I nearly forgot to mention that barely a word of English was spoken the entire weekend and I am pleased to say that I hardly noticed it. It shows that the Afrikaans community remains a source of our intellectual and academic strength in this country, together with their pioneering spirit that seems to compel them to share their knowledge and expertise with all who wish to learn. As ever, their English is always impeccable as they switch between languages effortlessly, to ensure that we English-speakers never feel uncomfortable or out of the picture. I have yet to meet an English speaker, myself included, who voluntarily offers to converse in Afrikaans to make it easier for them, and I can only put that down to our reluctance to make ourselves look inferior through not being completely fluent in one of the easiest and most descriptive languages available to man. We would do well to revive its use.

I'll eventually get to the actual stargazing bit!

Remodelling the man-cave

He Who Can Fix Anything has transformed his garage into a veritable man-cave, or rather, man-cavern, due to the proportions thereof. I went away for the weekend and when I returned, he had moved the bar area to the other side of a wall, lined the walls generously with shelving for his racing trophies, reconstructed the somewhat ancient and dilapidated bar counter/cupboard, re-wired the sound system for the relocation, shifted the fridge, moved the snooker table (single-handed, still don't know how), put in new lighting, carpeted the floor and sorted his years of sailing photographs.

Upstairs, the kitchen looked the same as when I had left on the Friday, with the addition of a few more pots, and a packet in the bin revealing a fast food outlet as the source of sustenance. So much for my efforts at feeding him only fresh and nutritious food. After dumping my bags on the floor and cleaning the kitchen, before even getting as far as my bedroom to unpack, I took a bucket of hot, soapy water down to the new man-cavern and proceeded to wash every last trophy, bar ornament and other knick-knacks gathered by this magpie over the years. If you think that women collect dust-gatherers, come and look at HWCFA's collection. You may wonder why I did this, after a relaxing weekend away in the country, and it did cross my mind as I restored everything to its former glory that I was a sucker for punishment, but after all the effort that had gone into the relocation, there was no way I was letting the dust be relocated too. I have to say the result of the weekend's activity is very pleasing and should have been done years ago.

However, upstairs I am waiting for two light fittings to be installed, a bathroom cupboard, a shower that needs to be fixed, potplants that need repotting and two blinds that need new strings. Some of this stretches back 32 years while others are more recent. I suppose we are all guilty of only doing the things we really want to, but I have to say that I think it's time I went away more often and for longer, so that this lot can have more time to miss me. About 6 months should do it.

Night-time nattering

I haven't blogged for a few days now, mainly because life is rather devoted to work at the moment and it's the usual story - all work and no play, etc. But now I am wide awake in the early hours of the morning and feel like doing housework! How weird is that? During the day I feel no inclination towards it at all. It must be some deep psychological thing that always makes me put 'real' work before housework and so if I wake up early that is my cleaning time. I doubt whether the rest of the household wants to be serenaded by a vacuum cleaner right now, but if I lived alone, that's what I would be doing. Or a good old clatter among the crockery - pack the dishwasher maybe.

Yesterday started out hazy and cool, and as the day progressed it became one of those gentle late summer days by the sea, with a big shore break sending ozone-laden air in from the bay to invigorate our lungs. The air temperature was perfect for a short stroll along the beach front before popping in for a cappuccino at the local coffee shop. The milkwoods have dropped their berries now and their strong scent has passed until the next time round. I always love that smell - it's just so 'Kommetjie'! Of course, for those who live on the other side of the Kom towards Long Beach, the smell of Kommetjie is rotting kelp, something that should always be borne in mind when buying property here. Old Kom, which is the part from the old post office down to the lighthouse, has never had that smell, for which we are truly grateful.

The good part of rotting kelp is that it is the food of Talorchestia Capensis, the sea louse that is our warning signal of high tides. Their instinct never fails them, and if you see them crossing the road in a mass migration away from the sea, then you know there is bad weather on the way. I find it fascinating that they are able to know exactly how high the tide will be. Many years ago, when we had one of our famous hurricanes, they swarmed up the walls of the houses and the next day, the roads were piled high with kelp from the storm.

The sacred ibis feed on sea lice and so there are always plenty of them around, providing us with the pleasure of seeing them fly in from their roost in Hout Bay early in the morning as the sun rises, their V-formation barely breaking ranks as they swish silently overhead. The straggler still remains far behind - a lonely little bird who just never seems to wake up in time. I have been watching it for years and it always flies alone, a few hundred metres behind the flock. I wonder if they allow it to feed with them or if it has to find its own pile of kelp?

Anyway, back to bed for another hour's sleep. The cat has turned up for an early breakfast and is dozing next to my computer now. See you later!

A bevy of baboons

It's official. The baboons are back in town. They started innocently enough with a few domestic raids on kitchens, snatching bananas, muffins and other delectables. It was Moms and Dads and scores of kids - it's been a good season for breeding, it seems. And then they moved on to the industrial sector, where a dozen bins from the restaurant were flipped over and ransacked - so much for baboon-proof lids! The person who designed those has apparently never seen a baboon. If he had, he would know that they are mostly far more intelligent than the average human, with the ability to watch and learn, and also to think it out for themselves.
I know people who can't work out the mechanism! But baboons know that you just knock the bins over and the locks pop open as the flexible bins distort.

Today, Bobby and Jane pitched up at my place. They cavorted on the roof, a fine viewpoint for the surrounding territory. and having sussed out the lie of the land, made a beeline for the bin and spread the contents nicely over the garden. There wasn't much to eat, but like good bin-pickers, they opened every bag. I suppose I have to be grateful that the full bins were taken away by the dirty dozen early this morning, so the mess could have been far worse.

They scuttled back and forth from property to property, over the roof like a herd of elephants - the only indication that they were around, as nothing creeps more quietly than a baboon. It was particularly hot inside today and having to keep all the doors and windows closed made it unbearable.

The bin is now in the garage. HWCFA won't like that, I fear, so his only alternative is to build a bin cage. Now there's a plan...

Off on a jaunt into the country Part 2

So I'm bowling along the dirt road and it's 2 o'clock - I left Kommetjie at 9.45, so who knows what I've been doing to take so long to travel 250km. The sky is low with black thunderclouds and bolts of lightning becoming ever more frequent. Edith has gone quiet - apparently she has delivered me safely to my destination. But all I can see is an assortment of farm buildings and labourers cottages and a small dam. I spy a somewhat elaborate, white-painted entrance to a farm which has the farmer's wife's name on it (rather like boat owners who name their boats after their wives or daughters to make up for lengthy absences at sea), so I knew that wasn't the place I was supposed to be.

I followed the dirt track past the farmhouse, noting that it wasn't quite as substantial as the previous section I had ridden along, but as I was so intent on actually getting to the lodge, bordering on anxiety, I looked neither right nor left, but focused on the fact that there were fresh tyre tracks. Obviously someone lived along that track, so I would continue a little further. In hindsight, that was hardly a good reason.

Soon the track became a single lane and started to wind its way deeper into the kloof, the hills becoming steeper and more frequent, and I crossed three drifts with water streaming steadily over them. I remembered how recently they had come down in flood and at that moment the heavens opened and it bucketed down, huge drops beating on the windscreen and roof like the Edinburgh Tattoo. The edges of the track now sloped away quite sharply on either side and two wheels went through a small donga. Anxiety grew, in part due to the fact that my car sometimes has the nasty habit of cutting out and cruising to a halt, and it doesn't always start again very easily. I had brought a battery pack with jumper leads just in case, and had bought a can of puncture repair spray, although having read those instructions, it would be much quicker just to change the wheel!

As suddenly as it started, the rain was over and ahead of me was a pretty little cottage at the side of the road, with a young man standing in the garden. On enquiry he told me that there was only one more farm on that track, about 3km on. Having come that far, I thought I would carry on, and as I reversed back into the roadway, the car cut out. When I turned the key to restart it, it gave its ominous impression of the last gasp of a dying battery. By now the man had wandered off down the road on some mission of his own, so it was an opportune time to ask my guardian angels to sort out my car problems, and at the next turn of the key, it sparked back to life and I was off again.

By now I knew this was definitely the wrong place to be and I began to wonder if I should just turn around and drive straight back to Cape Town, but dismissed that as the thoughts of a wuss (?) as I crested a rise and gazed down a hill that must have been a ratio of 1 in 4, ending at a charming farmhouse surrounded by green fields and definitely not where I should have been.

Despite the narrowness of the road, I did a 4-point turn and was out of there! All my rallying experience (armchair) came to the fore as I sped back along the gravel, barely lifting my foot from the accelerator. Admittedly there were a couple of close corners, but Sebastian Loeb would have been a little impressed, I hope.

Back at the neat farmhouse where things had started to go skew was a large 4x4 being thoroughly valeted by two domestics. I stopped to ask directions, and the farmer detached himself from the shadows of the old gum tree, from where he had been watching me earlier.

"Ja", he said slowly, in that farmer type of way that indicates he has plenty of time on his hands, "I saw you go past and I wondered to myself where you could be going. I know all the cars here, but I didn't know yours. I was just waiting for you to come back." Nice. He almost had a straw sticking out of the side of his mouth, chewing on it while he contemplated the idiocy of city women.

Turns out I should have made a sharp turn left just before his farmhouse, but I was so enthralled by his beautiful white-painted entranceway that I failed to notice the turnoff. I blame the entire stressful incident on him.

Off on a jaunt into the country

I went to my first star party this weekend on a farm deep in a kloof outside Montagu. For those of you who are not amateur astronomers, this involves a bunch of people with large telescopes sitting in the dark all night searching for faint objects millions of miles out into space.

The 8" Dobsonian was wedged firmly across the back seat of my little Golf and the boot loaded with accessories, clothes, a small bag of food for the weekend (it was a B&B without the second B) and a bag full of books on astronomy and geology. I was all set, map on the seat beside me and Edith on the GPS in my phone.

The weather was not looking auspicious - after weeks of heat and clear skies, thunderclouds were moving in from the north and there were already short, sharp showers in Cape Town. It looked as though we were going to have cloudy skies over Montagu - not ideal for stargazing!

Lightning bolts flashed from purple-black clouds as I raced out of the Huguenot Tunnel, caught up in the melee of trucks and 4x4s heading out of Cape Town for the weekend. The awesome Cape fold mountains towered overhead - deep, dark ravines, jagged spires of barren rock and mind's eye pictures of leopards lurking make this one of my favourite road trips.

Unaccustomed to travelling at more than 60kmh on urban streets, I found my foot wasn't as heavy as I thought and it was quite a while before I settled into a steady pace of 120. From time to time, Edith would bleat "You are exceeding the speed limit", so I turned the music up a notch or two. The R62 was lined with lush vineyards, where farmers drove fascinating machines above the vines, stripping the bunches and depositing them in a large tank for transport by truck to the wineries which form the most important industry in this part of the Western Cape. Truck after truck laden with grapes trundled by - the farmers must have been eyeing the unseasonal prospect of rain with a wary eye.

The road from Cape Town, which must surely rate as one of the best in the country, suddenly deteriorated into a badly patched but not potholed stretch through the little town of Ashton, and I began to be alarmed for my telescope's insides, but things improved (although considerably narrower) as I entered the spectacular Cogman's Kloof that meanders through to Montague. This is where you will see perpendicular ridges and z-shaped folds, showing the immense forces of nature that crumpled these mountains into being millions of years ago.

Driving straight through Montague (I lie, I stopped to buy a takeaway bobotie so I wouldn't have to cook!), I followed the R318 northwards out of the town, passing the turnoff to Baden - a place which holds the most vivid childhood memories of holidays at the guest farm. Then it was time to pay careful attention to the directions, as I turned off onto a dirt road to the lodge. Amazingly enough, despite the remote location, Edith coped fantastically. We had only one altercation when she insisted I should turn left and I would have had to drive off the road into a ravine, so I ignored her and she told me she would recalculate the route. Soon we came to the final turnoff to the lodge, and cellphone reception disappeared, but thanks to my marvellous phone, Edith stayed with me.

And that's where things went a bit skew. More tomorrow...