hey, bring me more fish
Gawsh. In the Department of the Inexorable Advance of Time, it's November. Hate it when that happens. It's a particularly blustery one, too. I thought that was supposed to be a Northern Hemisphere thing. Not that I mind, because strong winds make me almost as happy as rain, but damned global warming.
In other news, I have sand everywhere. We went out to the Strandloper yesterday for lunch - up the west coast in Langebaan, the mad outdoor "fish boma" where you eat ten courses of fish, no trimmings except bread and lemon, off paper plates using mussel shells as cutlery. It's all sandy and open-air under shade-cloth decorated with suitably piratical bits of fishing float, net and the largest, fattest, glossiest, best-fed gulls on the continent.
Mussels and mackerel and angelfish and stumpnose and snoek and paella and lamb stew and crayfish, oh my. And, of course, a cooler box filled with white wine and gin (and sand). Also, a rather jolly proprietor who gave us taunt-ammunition for EVAH! by warning us not to let "peaches-and-cream there" (pointing at stv) go out in the sun too much. I confidently predict that getting stv's goat by calling him "Peaches" will get old approximately never. It's righteous retribution for all the punning.
However, on the downside it was very windy and thus very sandy, leaving me with small deposits of sand in my shoes, handbag, hair, camera case, ears, teeth, and stuck to the UV blocker on my arms. I was consequently more than somewhat wind-blown, sun-crazed and totally dead last night, I stuck it out as long as I possibly could and then crawled off to bed, only realising as I switched the light off that it was actually 8pm rather than 9. Basically I'm feeble and not used to the Great Outdoors. Also, the West Coast is aggressively beautiful given that it's mostly composed of vast tracts of more-or-less flat and scrubby nothingness.
In other news, I have sand everywhere. We went out to the Strandloper yesterday for lunch - up the west coast in Langebaan, the mad outdoor "fish boma" where you eat ten courses of fish, no trimmings except bread and lemon, off paper plates using mussel shells as cutlery. It's all sandy and open-air under shade-cloth decorated with suitably piratical bits of fishing float, net and the largest, fattest, glossiest, best-fed gulls on the continent.
Mussels and mackerel and angelfish and stumpnose and snoek and paella and lamb stew and crayfish, oh my. And, of course, a cooler box filled with white wine and gin (and sand). Also, a rather jolly proprietor who gave us taunt-ammunition for EVAH! by warning us not to let "peaches-and-cream there" (pointing at stv) go out in the sun too much. I confidently predict that getting stv's goat by calling him "Peaches" will get old approximately never. It's righteous retribution for all the punning.
However, on the downside it was very windy and thus very sandy, leaving me with small deposits of sand in my shoes, handbag, hair, camera case, ears, teeth, and stuck to the UV blocker on my arms. I was consequently more than somewhat wind-blown, sun-crazed and totally dead last night, I stuck it out as long as I possibly could and then crawled off to bed, only realising as I switched the light off that it was actually 8pm rather than 9. Basically I'm feeble and not used to the Great Outdoors. Also, the West Coast is aggressively beautiful given that it's mostly composed of vast tracts of more-or-less flat and scrubby nothingness.