Continental whiplash

Morning at last. Jetlag wakes you at 3.15am, so you read three Oscar Wilde stories, as well as re-read the introduction to the anthology (published in 1948) decrying his "sordid past," and when that becomes too much, catch up on two back issues of the Botanical Society's Veld and Flora. You beat the birds to breakfast by an hour, in the still-dark, and by 7.34am would like to go back to sleep.

The flowers are from the garden - Lachenalias, Cape Town's answer to daffodils, and so much nicer, in this, their native context.