Yes, it snowed at our house today.
We had men come and sit in the roof space with a huge cellulose fibre blower and the snow poured out from under the eaves. Quite nice to watch it fall past the windows while I worked. You wouldn’t want to catch flakes on your tongue.
We had Josie’s Cape Town birthday party yesterday. When Jo got up the sky was just lightening and the clouds were a gold colour: “Daddy, that’s the colour I’d like my birthday cake to be.” Thanks to the tremendous foresight of her dear mother I was able to seat her at the table and turn on the lights to reveal a cake to suit.
It turned out to be an in-the-dark birthday party because the huge storms we’ve been having took out the power for most of the afternoon and also hid most of the sun. We lit a fire and smoked ourselves gently while gorging ourselves on the treats Michelle had prepared. A good time was had by all.
New pics in the gallery.
Wherein the author, having (hopefully temporarily) reached the end of his shallow supply of wit, seeks unashamedly to satisfy coffee lovers, Steve who wants to hear more about monkeys, and even Peter who loves to hate affected prose.
Today I distracted myself by negotiating a preferrential rate with a rather nice hotel I’d like to try but which hadn’t previously fallen within budget, getting my airmiles statement bang up to date (I shall have access to The Lounge from the week after next), and visiting Origin (the subject of a previous comment by my esteemed aunt from deepest some-small-island-in-Indonesia-I-think).
Origin is the best coffee supplier I have ever visited. Now I’m about to say I was overwhelmed by the choice which just isn’t true – in fact as I walked in and smelled the aromas of the place my brain leapt out through my nose and started dragging itself with some vigour across the floor towards the counter such that there was no real possibility of being overwhelmed as there was no longer a subject for the action, so to speak. I honestly couldn’t tell my arabica from my robusta. But bear with me, it’s a figure of speech intended to protect my diginity. Somewhat overwhelmed by the choice, not to mention the fact that they were closed and didn’t think I should have got in the door, I went for their house blend which was still warm from the roaster. It’s very good. Smoother than I’d usually drink, but very good.
Driving home in a car full of warm well-rounded coffee smells, thinking of Origin, my mind wandered to last week’s monkeys (not as great a leap as it seems, from Origin to Darwin to Monkeys, particularly on a Friday afternoon in traffic). I remembered being taught the full title of the book a long time ago: “On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life” and suddenly realised why those monkeys were going for the sugar from the coffee supply stand thingy. The little buggers new that all that really separates them from total world domination is the discovery of the right kind of bean. This was a truly shattering revelation – not because they know, but because they’re so close to the answer. Somewhere in their uncomplicated little detoxed brains they’ve figured out is has something to do with the coffee supply stand thingy. THEY’RE CLOSE. One day they’ll stop ignoring the foul-tasting black stuff that “couldn’t possibly be IT” and that’ll be the end. Tickets. I’m still shaking. Driving was tricky.
We should celebrate the simple things while we still can: a good cup of coffee, the transitory antics of the kids, a cracking family feud, or even just what we did today that wasn’t about how many thousand dollars we earned. Life is, after all, about the small things. Until the monkeys take even that away from us.
Sun City has changed, perhaps unsurprisingly, since I last visited in 1989. All those good things that defined it as Sin City have been ripped out – no skin-and-feathers stage shows and adult movie theatres here; even the casinos seem to be slow.
There’s no question that the changes are for the better, but it feels unfocussed. There’s no buzz, no unifying purpose however sordid. Maybe families will flood in this weekend to lie on the pretend beach, go on game drives or participate in any one of the miriad other activities I’ve seen advertised, bringing with them some life and vigour.
This morning the baboons roaming freely over the outside of the hotel building reminded me more of nihilistic scenes from 12 Monkeys than an idyllic African retreat … perhaps I need a good night’s sleep.
Jo turned four (this many: one, two, three, four) yesterday. We drove up to East London for the event as she’d been missing Granny Heather terribly for some weeks. It was a beautiful 12 hour drive with very little traffic on the roads.
We had a party yesterday morning with deneal and keagan and matt and tim and ant – and of course their associated adults. There was a spectacular ballerina cake thanks to Granny Heather. We were also finally able to give Jo the gifts we’d bought for last Christmas but had been in storage at the time. We had a lot of fun.
When I rang Jo from Jo’burg airport just before bedtime she said her favourite part of the day was swimming with Tim and Matt.
Pics to follow when I’m back home.
Always good advice for the air traveller but, I’ve learned, also the modus operandi of the well-heeled personal protection professional. Who would have thought … . Still, if you need one of those I have a number.
.. will make it better (to paraphrase Jaxx). Alas I have only one cup of Lavazza left and no security of supply in this land of milk and honey (but not good Italian coffee). Like the Chinese I will have to look elsewhere to secure supply (who would have thought that if you ran your ports like a Home Affairs queuing system and your railways so abominably it defies description that the world’s greatest consumer of commodities might look to places north to secure supply, even if it means building ports and tracks from scratch? Gobsmacked. Not.
The Cox’s kindly brought a heap of bags of Crema e Gusto in Feb, which I’ve worked my way through at pace. One lonely spoon left. Ho hum. When this buzz wears off I’m done for. Think of me when next you’re in Costa’s, Nero’s, Starbucks (or even Pret).
Not the sort of plane you’re thinking of. It’s been a little strange having autumn where spring should be. Fortunately we have an enormous plane tree in the front to remind us which season we’re in. One of my very strong associations with autumn is heaps of crispy plane leaves on cold, clear days.
We spent Saturday sweeping, raking and otherwise collecting leaves into bags. Sunday we dug garden beds, got new plants, mowed and put up a new fence across the front yard.
Ruby showed her appreciation of the weather and the changes to the garden by refusing to go outside for piepies ‘n peopoes last night, prefering to defecate copiously in the playroom in the dead of night. I met that at 4am when I got up for my shuttle to the airport. The stench is still in my nostrils. Really. I’ve checked my shoes three or four times but it’s definitely a virtual ponk.
What can I say? It’s been an entertaining week.
First there was the incident of the crocodile. For this you need some background. Many, many (many) years ago in a different place and at a time when MGW and I were young (a cyclical occurence in case you wondered) we went on a week-long canoe holiday. It was idyllic: long stretches of time floating gently through the wilderness under a wide blue sky were punctuated by manic white-water sections. Evenings under the stars cooking on open fires … I slow down just thinking about it.
There were also (and this bit was missed in the literature) crocodiles. The literature also didn’t mention crapping in a bucket and then paddling said bucket down river for seven days but let’s face it: that’s nothing compared with not mentioning crocodiles. It probably wouldn’t have been too bad had it not been so hot. We could have fastidiously kept our limbs out of the cool water had the daytime temperatures not been in the mid-to-high 40’s C. As it was we spent most days taking turns paddling while the other swam behind or next to the canoe. Days passed uneventfully until one day as I was paddling along with MGW swimming some way aft there were yells of “Crocodile!” and I turned to find her clinging to the back of the craft with all four limbs, trying to roll over and in.
The sneaky bugger had swum up quietly right beneath her to see whether she was worth a nibble. The first she knew of him was when she kicked him and that was enough – fortunately – to catapult her into action. Within fractions of seconds she was so much one with the canoe that there’s no way that croc could have shaken her loose. The worst she would have had to show for the experience was teeth-marks.
This is important to understand because since that time her enduring measure of degrees of panic is the state of tension in the deep muscles of her back – what in prime steak terms would be the fillet, and which I have no doubt was the part most desperate to escape the jaws of the croc. So when MGW in a quiet moment confided in me this week that she was experiencing extreme and almost constant panic attacks, with the state of her “crocodile muscles” as evidence, you can imagine it was cause for considerable concern.
As if this wasn’t enough to be going on with Ruby has developed an interest in tunneling to Australia at about the same time as we’re investing time and energy in getting our garden in order; we’ve had a house full of visitors all week (which has been wonderful) and Josie and Sophie have decided to subtly alter their sleeping patterns. Each night.
Somewhat more positively, the girls have taken to their new jobs around the house with alacrity – Josie collects pajamas in the mornings and puts them carefully under pillows and both Jo and Sophie are becoming tidy-up pros. I’ve rediscovered Airfix and have started a model Michelle bought me a couple of birthdays ago. I have a corner of my study that’s given over to my Spitfire Mk Vb and have spent some happy evening hours moving gradually from Step 1 to Step 2. I can’t believe I didn’t make time for this a long long time ago.
So this week we’ve learned that pilates works the same muscles as a crocodile attack (leaving them uncomfortably stiff in week one), that even the best-laid garden plans are subject to canine oversight and when Humbrol says “Use only in a well ventillated space” they weren’t thinking about the corner of my study.
I had a series of urgent messages from a magazine that interviewed me some weeks ago to say they needed photographs “today or tomorrow”. Well, I’m on my way to Jo’burg airport from Pretoria and have an hour there if that’s any good …
Turns out it was. Fortunately I had the shuttle drive to prepare my mind. The thought process went something like this:
“Aargh, I hope I don’t look like a stuffed shirt.”
“Aargh, I hope I don’t look smug.”
“I hope my eyes smile as well as my mouth.”
“What would Tim do? (I know three Tims very well; this was the one I met when I was three – the only one I’ve seen in the press) He would throw himself into this completely because it’s a laugh.”
I had a lot of fun at my own private photo shoot on the observation deck at Jo’burg International.
“You’ve modelled before, haven’t you?”
Like you don’t say that to every guy who looks at you down the barrel of that gorgeous Canon …