An attitude of gratitude

Got up at the crack of dawn today, did the necessary chores (dogs out, breakfast, iron pants, morning photo of Table Mountain), then set off a little past the desired time for Cape Town, where I was to be at a Toastmasters Officer training conference, starting at 8am. Being a Saturday, no traffic was expected, but living in the South Peninsula we should always anticipate some sort of delay, as overtaking opportunities between Kommetjie and Tokai (about 20km) are few and far between, and drivers in this neck of the woods range from doddering to dangerous. Today it was doddering, as if some people had no particular purpose in being on the roads, and then there was a large dump truck trickling over Ou Kaapse Weg at 50 with no one attempting an overtaking manoeuvre. A lot of muttering and moaning ensued, but no one could hear and it was all in vain, but it wasn't a good start.
And then I hit the highway. It was one of those days when suddenly the road cleared in front of me, not one single robot was red (all the way into town!) and a consistent top speed could be maintained. As I swept up the M5 past Wynberg Hill where the pine trees have been removed and we now have an unobstructed view of the Constantia valley and mountains, the Gypsy Kings blared irresistibly, foot-tappingly from the CD player and the sun shone in a cloudless sky; my spirits lifted immensely and the irritation of the previous stretch was forgotten. Down Edinburgh Drive (no speed trap), straight through the bends and up Paradise Avenue past Newlands forest, down the hill at UCT and under the bridge where the cameras take pictures of us to measure our average speed. Then my favourite stretch of road - up that wonderful cambered bend at Groote Schuur Hospital, surely one of the best-engineered roads in Cape Town, and along the foot of Devil's Peak around the swooping, tight bends of De Waal Drive. You have to get the speed just right here - boring if too slow, but deadly if too fast - and then you can fly like an eagle, banking this way and that on the thermals, until the last bend and that famous speed trap that probably doesn't even have a camera in it but everyone slows down for.
Added to this exhilarating drive is the panoramic view across the city and Table Bay to the distant mountains. And all the while I could only think how wonderful it was to be able to be here at this time of the day and appreciate the beauty while enjoying the ride.
The first presentation at the conference was about gratitude and how attitude can change your whole life. That was exactly what I had just experienced, so I can vouch for that.

There are ovens and ovens

I have discovered why eye-level ovens were invented. When the oven is at knee level, as was originally invented, no doubt by someone who didn't cook, we are constantly having to bend down to peer inside to see whether the cake has risen or the chops are burnt. While I don't mind a little light exercise, the real problem is that when you open the oven, your head is pretty much in it and the accompanying blast of hot air - sometimes 220 degrees Celsius if I am making pork rashers or suchlike - can curl the straightest fringe, singe off the nearest eyebrow and practically melt the eyeballs. I would liken it to being a firefighter as he approaches a burning building.
I once had a double eye-level oven, which allowed the heat to escape straight up away from my head, and for about 11 years it was balanced on a box waiting for He Who Can Fix Anything to build my kitchen cupboards. The fact that he is HWCFA doesn't mean that he actually makes anything unless he really feels like it. The garage was fully walled, shelved and cupboarded years before I got kitchen cupboards, but I still produced some noteworthy meals, which proves that cupboards are not essential for cooking. I think we were into our thirteenth year in the house, when I phoned a friend of his whose business was built-in kitchens and within two weeks I had everything I wanted and HWCFA got the bill. It was the only way.
So back to the oven. I had by then begun working at a bakery of note and had absolutely no need for a second oven, as there was no baking going on anymore - everything came straight from the factory - and so I got a small undercounter oven with a gas hob. What a marvellous thing a gas hob is! However, the little oven has been a major irritation, being barely able to take a roasting pan and another dish at the same time. It involves balancing one on the other in all sorts of configurations as long as they are dishes of less than 25cm.
How I long for my eye-level double oven, even if I just store the roasting pan in the small one!

Scorched earth and churning seas

Driving over Red Hill from Simon's Town this afternoon, I had a magnificent view of the panorama before me - mirror-smooth False Bay stretching over to the Hottentots Holland range with the beachfront flats of the Strand standing sentry on the other side, a pale blue sky with scattered clouds, the jagged outline of the mountain chain running up the Peninsula to Table Mountain in the far distance. But for almost the entire distance from the top of Red Hill through Scarborough, Misty Cliffs and the road above Slangkop lighthouse into Kommetjie, the mountains were bare and blackened, not a plant surviving the recent fires that ravaged the area. Not long ago, the drive was a delight to the eye, with an abundance of proteas and pincushions covering the mountains in thick groves, and smaller yet no less important fynbos of the Cape floral kingdom, one of the richest and most diverse in the world.
This has all been destroyed by the hand of man, and it remains to be seen whether nature will bounce back after such devastation. It is a fact that many of the species only renew themselves after a wildfire, but if the fires are too frequent, the balance is thrown out and it could be that the cycle cannot be completed. Time will tell.
A heavy swell is passing the Cape today and the waves were breaking far, far out to sea. The surface was a churning, roiling mass of spume and Misty Cliffs was enveloped in the very stuff for which it is named. Barely a house was visible!
I was giving a young Malawian man a ride back to Kommetjie in the course of his work and he said this was only the second time he had ever driven this way and was so happy to see the beauty around him. He had the biggest smile and it was so gratifying that my decision to drive back that way, specifically to show him the view, was so appreciated. Sometimes it is so easy to bring a little enjoyment into life.

A welcome cold front in summer

A surprise swept overhead today in the form of an unexpected cold front, bringing welcome rain to dampen the scorched and bare mountains without saturating and causing further damage through mudslides as has happened in the past. It's been just perfect.
A big swell is expected to reach the Cape by tomorrow, making Dungeons the place to be if you are an intrepid big wave surfer. For us lesser mortals, we'll just enjoy the coverage on the tv if there is any action, and admire the pounding surf off the rocks at Kommetjie. As I write, the thunderous roar from the Kom is more wintry than midsummer, a reminder of the fickleness of our weather, which can cover all four seasons in a day, and the temperatures have plummeted by about 10 degrees Celsius.
I don't know if the leeward side of the Peninsula saw rain today. Driving from the Constantia valley, which was bathed in sunshine, over Ou Kaapse Weg after a jaunt to the Waterfront (more sunshine), it was apparent that the windward side was completely under dark clouds and moderate rain, a total contrast split by the mountain peaks. The views as always were spectacular, with light and shadow dappling the landscape and even the roads seeming clean and fresh after a good wash down.
Within days we will see the difference in our gardens as the grass and shrubs revive - somehow the rain gives much better results than municipal water from the tap - nature knows best!

A breath of fresh air

On Sunday a cool westerly blew in from the Atlantic, bringing long-awaited light showers, washing the smoke from the sky and the ash from the leaves and making the colours bright again. I can't remember when it last rained, but statistics reveal that we shouldn't expect more than 4mm in the months of January and February and the only reason we are eyeing the sky so anxiously is for relief from the searing heat, succour for the scorched earth and refills for our dams which are suffering from an excess of consumption. Last winter went by almost unnoticed, rainwise, and we are down to about 53% capacity now. Gardens will have to survive as only nature knows how, and no doubt the cycle of life will continue without regard to man's attempts to control or explain it.
Today the sea has a gentle swell, unbroken by wind-whipped white horses, and the sun is showering sparkling diamonds across its surface. Ships pass by on the horizon, with smaller fishing boats plying to and fro in shallower water. Bodyboarders are taking advantage of crystal clear, three-foot breakers off the rocks at the lighthouse, a window of opportunity before the big boys arrive at high tide, perhaps.
Puffy clouds and cool air are keeping us comfortable for now. More heat is due to arrive soon, but there is a stargazing event early in February, so expect more clouds!

Another Funday in the garage

Oh, joy! A fun-filled family day in the garage, helping He Who Can Fix Anything (when he feels like it) put the Ford back together for the new racing season. Being what he is, the whole engine and gearbox was removed during his holiday, stripped down to nothing, cleaned, painted and reassembled. Just in case there might be something wrong, but actually because he likes to do it.
We steer clear of the area as much as possible, but there are times when he needs a helping hand or three and so we reluctantly drag ourselves downstairs and await instructions. These have to be in words of one syllable and very specific, just in case we turn a nut the wrong way or let the jack down when he is under the car. You can imagine how much we look forward to these bonding sessions.
Today was the day to put back the engine and gearbox, using a new idea of lifting the car up and sliding the entire assembly underneath then lifting it with the hydraulic hoist - theoretically taking a few minutes rather than an hour or two. My job was to man the hoist - my added weight was required for ballast rather like the concrete blocks on the back of a crane - and pump it up or release it on command. It is one of my favourite pieces of equipment in the garage, requiring absolutely no brute strength to achieve amazing feats.
Not for nothing is his nickname Richter, and the air was blue with language that would have made a pirate's parrot fall from its perch - another reason why we tend to keep a wide berth of garage activities. His creativity and the size of his vocabulary is to be marvelled at, although we despair of his double standards when he hears the F-word on the TV and changes the channel!
Finally all was bolted into place - and we bolted for the kitchen and couch respectively while Richter pottered on happily in his man-cavern below, doing what he loves best.

Fan-tastic

Every year when the heatwave hits us, we suddenly remember that we meant to buy fans the last year at this time, and this week was no different. After a particularly long run of unbearably sultry weather in Cape Town, I remembered that fans were an option to tide us over these few days or perhaps weeks of discomfort, and so I set off in pursuit of perspiratory relief.
Of course, only the day before, the whole of Cape Town had remembered the same thing and stripped the shelves of everything that could spin, large or small, and the only remaining fans were those that were faulty, had been repacked (very badly) in their boxes and put back on the shelf for the next sucker. This seems to be the modus operandi of many a retailer in Cape Town. Desperate times call for desperate measures and so I bought one expensive but new looking fan, and a cheaper model in a dodgy looking box.
I've told you about my little car (the half a loaf of bread, with a lawnmower engine) but it wasn't until I tried to fit three largish boxes into it that it was brought home to me how very small it really is. On the back seat I have a big box of books waiting to be taken to the TEARS bookshop which never seems to be on my route. One fan fitted into the boot. The other fan had to go on the passenger seat. My handbag and other odds and ends were relegated to the floor. Luckily there was no one else in the car. It's light and easy to drive, but only for one person, and not a shopper.
Back home, I eagerly tore open the packaging. Naturally the cheap one had a part missing, and so could not be put to use, but the pricier purchase whisked the air into a semblance of a breeze. In no time the pets were gathered around, like the animals in the Lion King meeting Simba, and relaxation was the order of the day. Oh, except for an irate call to the retailer just to let them know my reservations about the state of their packaging were well founded. That entailed a trip back to the store to get my money back, as the only other fan available was a 6-inch desktop toy.
All of this was entirely my own fault. In a few days' time, when the heat has dissipated and we have almost forgotten about it as the first whiff of autumn passes by, I will no doubt be packing the fan away and thinking with fondness of my electric blanket. But at least I am now ready for next summer!

Just saying, again

Facebook has rapidly become a platform for the spread of propaganda, misinformation, basic lies and untruths, where trolls can freely vent their vitriol, hate speech and chain posts exhorting you to type amen underneath a picture of some horrendously deformed baby or suffer bad luck for the rest of your life. Political parties pursue their own agendas through fake identities posting inflammatory comments intended to sow dissent and fear among the population - and unbelievably successfully, with people working themselves up into frothing rages over a sentence written by someone they don't know and who probably doesn't exist. And yet those who dare to suggest that the world is run by a handful of people who have for centuries manipulated the media, lied to us to control us, poisoned our food and water, forced unhealthy eating habits on us to enslave us to the pharmaceutical industry, used financial systems to enslave us to debt and advertising to make us dissatisfied with our lot in life are labelled cranks and conspiracy theorists.
Strange.
If we just went about our daily lives, spreading a little kindness to all and sundry and treating our planet and all its inhabitants well, all of the above would have no hold over us and become the meaningless nonsense that it is.

Last gasp?

"Helter, skelter, in the summer swelter" American Pie, Don MacLean. We never really understood those words back in the early 70s. I don't remember it ever being so hot or so windy and there were definitely no incessant fires.
Our surroundings, society and weather patterns really do seem to be on a helter skelter, spiralling ever downwards, faster and faster. We must surely be near the bottom by now, the end of the ride. Will there be survivors to pick themselves up, dust themselves down and start all over again?
The demise of modern civilisations were the culmination of excess, of greed and corruption, war and genocide at the hands of a few. History always repeats itself as we never learn from our mistakes. Maybe that is our purpose in being here, to keep on making these mistakes until we learn that the only way is love, respect, tolerance, compassion.
I have great hope for this planet, which has the capacity to renew itself over and over once the influence of man's civilisations is swept away and a new start is made. We know only what history has taught us of our existence, and that is such a brief moment in time as to be hardly worth a mention in comparison to the time our known universe has been around. And even that is only an educated guess.
So we may have done this many times before and there is no reason to believe that we won't have another chance.

Too too terribly hot!

This heat is so enervating. Even the puppy can only bounce briefly before collapsing in a fluffy heap against a cool wall. My favoured temperature is around 24 degrees and with the forecast for the next two weeks in the high 20s to mid 30s, I can only say that an airconditioned room sounds most attractive, despite my penchant for lying under a tree on a sunny day.
The sky has been hazy with smoke from the devastating fires being deliberately set around the Western Cape, and although the wind dropped to nothing today - a sign of help from a greater power - the slightest breeze can rekindle the embers, and so the firefighters are on duty round the clock in teams doing shifts. As always, the local communities are doing their utmost to support them with refreshments, but they must be losing body weight by the hour in these scorching conditions, in their heavy clothing.
The heat combined with galeforce winds has put my garden into a sorry state, with a branch of 15 rosebuds snapping clean off and spoiling a week of keen anticipation of their beauty. Even the birds took a rest today. Not one made an appearance to feed on the juicy coprosma berries, even when I watered in the late evening. This is when the sunbirds, Cape white eye, robin and sometimes the boubou make their appearance to enjoy a refreshing bath in the spray, hopping from twig to twig and shaking their feathers fit to fall off a branch. Today, not a chirp.
Just as I am always so grateful for hot water in winter, so I am grateful for cold water in the shower at this time of year! I am not like the birds today - I'm ready to shake my feathers!

Pearly Beach - way back

Standing on the crisp remnants of my lawn, the sandy soil now covering more area than the yellowing grass, and listening to the soughing of the wind through the branches of the trees, I am transported in my memory to the days when we camped on our plot at Pearly Beach, a seaside village along the coast beyond Gansbaai. The climate is very predictable at this time of year, when we cast civilisation off in favour of campfires, gaslight and an outdoor shower. Early morning would be windless, suitable for walking along the miles of pristine beaches with rocky outcrops and blue water bays and perhaps a shallow swim in the warmish water. Not deep - this is the home of the great white shark and the centre of a cage diving industry. Treacherous reefs line the coast, the resting place of many a ship that foundered on their hidden spikes, but I didn't consider this a barrier to sharks and never took to the water after Jaws.
The early afternoon would bring a breeze off the sea, rustling the leaves of the trees over the campsite and bringing relief from the baking heat that keeps the natural flora of the region both low lying and drought resistant. Weavers' nests would sway overhead, where females would inspect and reject over and over until the males' nest-building skills were honed to perfection and a home would be settled on. This was a time for sleeping under a tree after a good lunch.
Around 5pm the wind dropped and a long warm evening in front of the campfire ended off a long and lazy day. We camped on a plot in between houses and so it was very quiet - not like the campsite near the beach where it was the last outpost of the republic and the brandy and coke brigade.
In the mornings, the embers would be revived and a copper coil thrown in. This was attached to a hose leading in and a hose leading out and by running the tap - the fireplace was between the tap and the outdoor shower - everyone could enjoy hot water through simple regulation of the strength of the flow. Very handy contraption put up by He Who Can Fix Anything.
Circumstances forced us to sell the plot, but I have hardly given it a thought since then, so it must mean that it had served its purpose in my life. But good times all the same.

Fitting in with the furry family

Cleo has been living the life of a queen for a week now. She is still trying to wheedle her way into the hearts of Monty and Susie, but her modus operandi (biting at their heels) is not working! Monty is very grumpy and barks at her while on the run, and poor Susie can't see what she's dealing with but knows that the attention is not welcome. I think Cleo has identified Susie as her mother and longs to just lie quietly beside her. She does this at every opportunity.

At the moment she is still a pooping machine and I am still sourcing her 'presents' via my bare feet and more specifically, toes. The vet assures me that she is still too young to be house trained and we have a long flight of stairs to reach outside, which her tiny little legs cannot negotiate, either up or down, and so for the time being we will just have to persist with newspaper and lots of trips to the garden. Sleeping takes care of most of the day, interspersed with frenetic dragging of toys and shoes, much shaking (perhaps some terrier in her) and a lot of joyful puppy bouncing.
She is quite a biter, but has quickly learned that it is better to just roll over and let me tickle her tummy - much more satisfying than chewing on an old finger! Only I can do this to her, so perhaps it is a sign of things to come - a devoted companion for me. Of course, if she turns out to be a much bigger dog than anticipated, requiring lots of walks and runs, I will enlist Robert as chief dog exerciser!

Night owls

It's 3am and I'm wide awake. The mind is buzzing with random thoughts, sometimes of things long put off that need completion, sometimes of friends in far-off places, suddenly recalled in memories of a childhood that seems like only yesterday, then back to the present and things I did today. What makes us wake with a flood of thoughts spinning in our minds? Is there an 'off' button, or is sleep the 'off' button for the noise of daily living and the 'on' button for our memory bank? Perhaps this is the time when the mind has been stilled for long enough to bring important ideas to the surface - they are always lurking in the background, but can never make an appearance in the clutter of daily living. Sometimes these thoughts arrive in a dream - I know I have dreamt whole books! - but on waking, they disappear again, sometimes never to return, yet often recurring until you feel as though you are receiving a message but can't quite decode it.
A flick through social media will show you that many people are awake, thinking the same thoughts and wondering why it is that we have to wait till morning to act on these thoughts, and simply toss and turn until an alarm rings to tell us sleep time is officially over. Perhaps some of us are meant to work in the early hours and rest in the heat of the day? Seems sensible. We might be a lot less stressed if we didn't worry about being awake while everyone else is asleep. After all, every body runs on its own clock. But somehow I don't think the rest of the household would appreciate a burst of energy and a spot of vacuuming at 3.30. So it's a cup of tea, perhaps a sudoku and back to sleep.

Blowing us away

Yesterday's skies were an unblemished clear blue after the smokiness of the last few days, and puffy white clouds scudded ahead of a following wind, the galeforce southeaster that has been battering the Mother City. Videos have been posted on social media of people hanging onto lamp posts and trees in the city, just to stay on their feet. The survival instinct brings out the best in fellow hangers-on, as total strangers link arms to assist each other to cross roads, skirts flying and scarves whipped away, never to be seen again. Anything that isn't tied down is swept away in a litter storm, swirling in eddies in corners of buildings with dust devils reminiscent of the Sahara. A mouthful of grit awaits the unwary who dare to laugh at their stumbling gait as even teetotallers stagger hither and thither.

A cold front sweeping past the Cape (unfortunately not bringing any relief in the form of rain) sent in some heavy swells which the southeaster did its best to beat back and flatten, but they would have none of it, and spectacular white horses bore down on the shore, where surfers gathered in droves to catch the ride of their lives.
I think it's these extremes that make this such an exciting place to live!

Fire! Bugs?

It never does to become complacent in Cape Town. After two exceptionally idyllic months, we are now being thrashed by the southeaster. This fuelled the rapid spread of yet another no doubt deliberately set wildfire that raged from Scarborough to Ocean View yesterday. Once again our heroic firefighters, paid and voluntary, came to the rescue and the outstanding skills of our helicopter pilots doused the flames over a 12-hour period. Four helicopters thundered overhead all day, at times making the house shake and I kept rushing out to wave at them, by way of a rather pathetic attempt at Thank You! Strong winds buffeted them but they held steady despite sometimes retreating for another attempt to take the rise at Slangkop and there is little doubt that without their accuracy more devastation would have ensued. While the cost in flora and fauna lost is immeasurable, houses and possessions will be replaced. Today was mopping up day, as a thick layer of black ash covered everything inside and outside our houses. The wind continues to blast up the valley, spreading more ash on newly cleaned surfaces.
Rumour has it, and we can only hope it is true, that an arsonist has been apprehended. Whether this is so or not, a suitable punishment would be front-line duties at every wildfire for the next 20 years or so, without the benefit of protective clothing. And definitely without the food and water so generously donated by the local communities, who never fail to step up to the mark in the hour of need. Capetonians can be proud of their unstinting generosity when called upon for help. The fires that have been deliberately set over the last few years are a huge drain on the resources of the city and divert funds from the areas where they are needed most. No wonder many are smelling a rat.

Clovelly gathering as festive season finishes

A final festive season get-together for the family in Clovelly today. Four generations: Dad, my sisters and I, our children and their children. The genders have switched from female to male and female to male in three generations and all the great-grandchildren are little boys. Bright, intelligent and very active little boys who no doubt will make their mark on the world one day. The tradition of three-year gaps has remained unbroken for 42 years, as each child has had a chance to be the youngest, although the gap between the last grandchild and the first great-grandchild is 23 years. If that hasn't made your head spin, have another glass of wine!

My rock, used as a boat for play in the 60s

Paths leading to various levels of the garden

Conversations going on all over the garden

Dad enjoying the shade

Looking down the valley to the golf course and sand dunes (now covered in bush) where we played as children

Apart from being the family home, the fact that it borders directly on the mountain and has the advantage of being almost entirely wind-free in summer (though it gets a battering in winter from the northwester!) meant that so many Christmas Days were spent in the leafy garden with extended family and the ever-hospitable ministrations of Mother, who made everyone welcome whether family or friends. 

Forever a most special place.

New pet, ongoing project

As if I didn't already have enough to keep me busy! New puppy very cute (aren't they all?) and no trouble despite being a pooping, peeing machine! All very tiny and manageable and becoming easy to predict so can rush her outside every hour. Lots of sleeping for Cleo but not much for Robert who is in charge of her at night and has to wake up every three hours (LOL). Vengeance!
Oops! Seems like vengeance has bitten back - just stood in a present and had to wash the rug and my feet. Will have to become more vigilant, but in the meantime it's lucky I don't wear shoes otherwise I wouldn't have noticed. She spends the day alternating between frenetic activity and being dog tired, chewing everything in sight, particularly in the garden where she can't be unsupervised for a moment.

Also still working on my freelance editing, but have taken up my writing again after a gap of three years (can't believe where the time has gone), so have sent off the next 10 000 words for editing by a third party in the USA. Only an outsider will do, as the number one rule is never to show your work to anyone you know, as an unqualified comment can be the death of inspiration. The good thing is I am not being charged for proofreading, as I do that myself. Small mercies.
2016 is going to be a great year!

Lucky doggie!

Turned out to be an interesting day. Without actively seeking a new dog to add to the family, the right one just appeared, as is always the way, at just the right time. We tend to favour rescue animals, and all except Monty have come off the street and quickly become accustomed to a lifestyle that some poor animals can only dream of. There is little more rewarding than contented cats and dogs lying on the bed on a cold winter's night or in the shade of a tree in sweltering summer. Monty and Susie are getting on now at 16 and one is blind and the other deaf, which makes for poor watchdogging.
So today little Cleo arrived on the scene and before I saw her, I instinctively knew this was going to be a good day for her. She was picked up from the side of the road in Hout Bay yesterday, where she was being dragged along with a string around her neck by an individual who was not fit to be on the other end. The young girl parted with cash just to get the puppy away from him, although he tried his luck with four times the amount. Presumably she didn't want to be a dognapper, but this is the modus operandi of these types who use animals to prey on people and it is very tempting to snatch and drive off. Word soon spread that the puppy would have to go to the local rescue centre to wait for adoption, and having found Susie at such a place, knew that it could be months before the right person came along. So I informed HWCFA that a puppy would be presented for his approval, just to make sure that he started to think about it, and when it arrived, he could hardly say no.

A visit to the vet confirmed she is in good shape apart from some slight scabbing from perhaps being carried by other dogs (?) and the inevitable fleas, etc. Weighing in at 950 grams, his estimate is that Cleo will grow to something between 8-12kg, somewhat more than anticipated, but she has strong border collie! mixed with perhaps Pomeranian - what a combination. However, very cute and prognosis is that the mixed parentage will give her a good resistance to the long list of ailments suffered by the more pedigreed breeds.
So far she is really enjoying her food and spends most of the time napping! Watch this space. (The rest of the animal family are a bit stand-offish, but they'll come round. They've been there, too.)

Yumcious! It really was!

I would make a hopeless restaurant critic. Not because I have no taste or am not discerning, but simply because there are too many things I don't eat to enable me to make a fair assessment of the food. There are many restaurants that don't have anything on the menu that falls within my dietary requirements and I have in fact sometimes left without sampling the menu. And so my quest for a great restaurant revolves around what they offer that falls within the ambit of my diet. The following are not on the menu: sugars, wheat, dairy, legumes, grains, nightshades (potatoes, tomatoes, aubergines, peppers), mushrooms and raw cruciferous vegetables. What is left? Meat, fish, fowl, eggs, nuts and seeds and lots of fresh vegetables, as well as a judicious selection of fruits in the berry department!

The way to ensure that every meal is tasty and satisfying is by having lots of different flavours through use of herbs and spices and combining as many textures as possible to meet the sensory requirements. The search is over! Jenny Morris' new restaurant in the Cape Quarter, Yumcious, lives up to its name and the weigh as you go bar provides a veritable feast for the pickiest eater (i.e. me) with sufficient variety of dishes and daily changes to ensure that my tastebuds are titillated! If I worked in the area there is no doubt that it would be my regular lunch takeaway spot, as everything can be taken home to treat those who couldn't be there in person. Jenny's trademark is flavour and visual appeal, lavish and luscious, yet retaining the homemade appeal of good basic ingredients.

Hitting the highway in cool comfort

The best place to be in this sweltering heat is an airconditioned car! I took the gap at lunchtime and headed into Cape Town from the Deep South - quite an adventure at this time of year - and was amazed that there was no traffic to speak of. Obviously everyone was at the beach and I wasn't on any of the coastal roads - clever move!
An entertaining dance between a Porsche and BMW amused me along the Blue Route. The usual assortment of cars hogged the 'fast' lane (is there such a thing in Cape Town?) and it was hard to make a decision, even in my half a loaf of bread, as to which side to choose to make good headway. A BMW in front of me wasn't quite up to scratch and as I was about to veer left, a shiny black Porsche shot by, hoping to squeeze into the gap in front of the BMW. However, things didn't quite work out and the Beemer, which was also one of the production run that left the factory without indicators, changed lanes inappropriately, leaving me in the fast lane and the fast cars in the slow lane. We eventually sorted ourselves out, and I could see that the slow lane was moving faster so stuck to it. By the time we got to the top of Wynberg Hill, the Beemer had changed lanes a number of times, the Porsche had got in front, and I was on the left. By the time we reached the top robots on Paradise Road, I was two cars in front of the Porsche and the Beemer had disappeared. So half a loaf of bread still gets there in the end. (Don't misunderstand me - I used to drive a Beemer and loved it to bits, not yet got to the Porsche and the half a loaf of bread is just for the airconditioning and power steering! I'm sure I would fit into the footprint quite neatly!)
The biggest danger on the road was a large truck that was doing 100 in the 80 zone in quite heavy traffic and tailgating everyone. Couldn't have had a tin of beans in the back, as I have never seen a truck go uphill so fast. He was also weaving in and out and seemed to be missing an indicator as well. He eventually peeled off at the N2 turnoff, just in time for us all to avoid a broken down construction truck half way up the hill in the middle lane! Incredibly, a traffic cop had put out warning cones and parked behind it - things often do work the way they are meant to - and no hold-ups ensued.
Traffic in town was barely noticeable as the January sales have hit the Waterfront and those car parks must have been jammed. I was on my way to sample some delectable delights at Yumcious! in the Cape Quarter.

An abundant garden

Red-faced mousebirds alight en masse in the upper branches of the coprosma, where they feast quietly on the fat, juicy berries.They are almost cockatiel-like with their long tails and cheeky crests - a very pretty species. The fearless Cape white eye divebombs overhead as it swoops in from nearby and up into the twigs, alighting without so much as a squeal of brakes on the tiniest twig - always a source of wonder - and cheeps cheerily as it snatches at a berry as big as its beak, then swoops away to the next tree to gobble it down unobserved by the camera.

The current heatwave conditions in Cape Town (it's official) are blissfully eased in such close proximity to the sea, with a stiffish breeze crossing the Peninsula. We're still headed for the hot summer months of January and February and it seems as though many are already looking forward to winter.

I try to observe what the trees are doing as an indication of things to come. The coprosma is not as heavily laden with berries as usual, perhaps a sign of a mild winter this year? The huge gum tree at the top of the garden that seemed to be dying last year has unfortunately rejuvenated itself and is showing vigorous regrowth such as we haven't seen in thirty years. Either it has reached a deeper aquifer or it has tapped into the municipal water pipes at last! Meanwhile the restios a few metres away, which used to stand with their feet in a permanent spring, have continued to die back since last summer. So no equitable water-sharing there.

My concern at present is for my pride and joy, the forty-year-old milkwood tree under which I spend time in quiet contemplation. Although it is natural for the leaves to proliferate at the tips of the branches and the inner twiggy growth to die back, leaving a cave-like inner space, the leaves on this tree have become sparse and many are turning yellow. I have never heard of a milkwood dying at such a young age, and they can live to over 1 000 years. The neighbourhood is abundant with ancient specimens and their canopies are so thick as to block out all sun from the inner space. It's heavily laden with shiny purple berries and five saplings are making good headway close by from last year's seeds. I'll leave them and let a copse develop for posterity in case the parent tree is on the way out. Enough of manicured gardens. Let the trees grow where they will and work around them. 

Idling on an idyllic day

A relatively cool spring has given way to sultry summer days and balmy summer nights (Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta;s duet from Grease (1979) will be instantly recalled by those of a certain age!) where standing under the stars at midnight is preferable to being confined inside a house. Even a cool shower doesn't prevent an almost instant return to clamminess, a most revolting state in my opinion, and the drift of air off the sea is the ideal antidote for this. I have given some thought to sleeping under the stars on the deck - it's perfectly safe with no stair access and the only things that can climb up are the cats via some very slender twigs. But this is Cape Town and it would be Murphy's Law that the weather would turn in the middle of the night and a fog would roll in or even a little thundershower. Still tempting, though.
The afternoon was spent in convivial company round a table groaning with delectable delights - a seafood salad of red stumpnose and langoustines in a luscious dressing, Norwegian salmon lightly barbecued to perfection, succulent steaks for the red meat lovers and boerewors for the traditional. All accompanied by fabulous live music from the talented company, ample liquid refreshment in true South African tradition, and plenty of fully-clothed dive-bombing in the pool. All under a soaring deep blue sky - the thing that we miss the most when travelling abroad - that wide open space that is Home.
The party is probably still in full swing. I am relaxing on the deck in quiet contemplation, waiting for sunset. It is always best to go home when you feel you want to stay just a little bit longer.

Witsands, near Kommetjie

A trip down to the crayfish factory early one morning was unusually pleasant, due to the lack of wind! It's not my favourite beach, being bleak and isolated on one side of the island and bleak and isolated with lots of dogs on the other side. I've never enjoyed being alone on a beach and even with HWCFA I feel he wanders into areas that always leave me with the feeling of being watched - this is something I have had my whole life and it suddenly occurs to me that this could well be the reason why I refer to myself as 'not a beach person'. Perhaps something happened - a movie or story - in the past that left an impression, a disconnected memory.
However, that morning it didn't feel too bad and we had a pleasant meander along the shoreline, although not far, and I mainly took photos rather than walked. The waves behind the factory roll in from the deep Atlantic and some spectacular swells come in, challenging big wave surfers to their utmost, and often smashing through the windows of the house perched on the low rocks and sweeping out of the other side during a really heavy winter storm.

Oystercatchers frequent the coastline and provide a colourful subject for the lens, while a slightly misguided mole almost reached the water's edge - must have been pretty damp in that burrow! The shadows create an interesting optical illusion. The holes are from pecking birds and sundry sand creatures. Always something fascinating to observe, although a shame that the shell variety is limited to mussels and periwinkles. The best shell beaches are further up the coast towards the Indian Ocean, although lovely rounded pebbles can be collected here by way of some compensation for compulsive collectors!