We drove the other day, to a wonderful garden at Babylonstoren, about which I shall post soon, and to which I must return. To take better pictures of the jaw dropping kitchen gardens, to talk better to Anton Roux, whom I happened upon while he was pruning quince espaliers under a beating noonday sun, a man of 72 who seems to know everything there is to know about fruit trees.
We ate at Jardine, on the estate Jordan, which was not an unqualified success, but which had a stunning view.
We drove back on the beach road into tearing clouds and wind, entering the shadows as we hit Muizenberg, leaving the sunny, breathless platteland behind.
The Internet has only dropped us 275 times in the last two days (actual figure). So I write fast: Thinking about the Namaqua National Park on the West Coast, which just won the best SAN Park award, and which I only visited when it was still the farm Skilpad, in a flowery spring long ago. Perhaps we will camp a little, after all.
Thinking about good writing things to come. A proposal was sent into the world and the publisher who asked for it seems to like it. Thinking about dinner this evening when we meet Americans Paul and Sonya Westerveldt. So tonight we will braai.
Thinking about paragliding at Blouberg and the cat in Brooklyn and how many watermelons I can grow on that roof this year. And that six red disas are open near the Aqueduct.