Rob in the ‘Hood: Is this a case of too hot to handle?
Each year we say it's too darn hot, moaning like mad that we just have to get out of here, away from this heat.
The first signs that the weather is slightly cooling down appear to be upon us. The ‘suicide months’ of January, February and early March have been something of a raging inferno, with temperatures in the 30s: A case of ‘too hot to handle’.
Each year we say it’s too darn hot, moaning like mad that we just have to get out of here, away from this heat. But then, the temperatures start to fall, the rains ease off, and we are again living the good life, with perfect weather.
This is followed up with the CO and I agreeing to give it another month or two on the Hibiscus Coast here. It’s a little game we play, in time-honoured tradition.
On with the show.
Turbulent Times
We live in turbulent times, many of us are driven to despair, wondering why we are here? We don’t need this angst, whether it is Ugu, Ukraine, or Underberg, or any other place beginning with a capital ‘U’. Maybe not Uruguay, South America, but you get my drift.
The CO and I sometimes dust off the old Atlas from the bookshelf, run through the pages and the countries, debating whether or not we could live elsewhere. Note the ‘could’, which should read ‘could not’, as it is not really viable in these uncertain economic times to move and start all over again.
Besides trying to make new friends and a new life, we both agree that this little part of South Africa is pretty good: a quiet life with beautiful settings and scenery, with the friendliest people. We really do live in a special place.
Thinking of Leaving?
I am frequently asked two questions: “When did you come out to South Africa?” and “Have you ever thought of going back to jolly old England?” My stock answers are: “Sunday, 4th April 1965”, and “yes, I’ve thought about going back since Monday, 5th April 1965, and every day ever since”. But, I’m still here, folks.
When asked why I’ve not returned to the Mother Country, my general reply is something on the lines that: (a) “I don’t ‘do’ cold, snow, ice, frost, rain and miserable weather; (b) I don’t ‘do’ traffic jams, driving around searching for parking space; nor self-service filling my own car with petrol/gas; and (c) I don’t ‘do’ queues.
Give me the sun, blue skies, friendly petrol attendants, along with our helpful and appreciative car-guards anytime. Yes, the grass is greener (but only just) here, but we don’t have to cut our own grass. Even the local municipality is making an effort to cut the grass verges. Hope springs eternal.
Pussy Galore?
Many thanks to those good folks who expressed an interest in the stray cat which had invited itself unannounced into our home. After placing notices on the local Hibiscus Coast Pet Lovers’ website, including Facebook; visiting the local vet for any possible micro-chip to see if it had a home, plus inquiries with the the SPCA, the ‘Cat With No Name finally found a good home, with loving and caring owners. ‘
In trying to locate the original owners, we followed up many leads, but without success. One well-meaning lady contacted us to say that she knew where the cat lived, that its name was Pussy Galore – shades of James Bond (007) and Goldfinger. The fact that this Pussy Galore was a he and not a she made us think twice. I still fondly remember the time when Sean Connery announced himself as ‘Bond. James Bond’. And no pussy-footing around either!
It’s a Wonderful World
Now it’s not often I bring up the matter of English football in my Rob in the ‘Hood column, and rarely mention Manchester City, but there are moments in history when even little old me gets carried away.
Sunday was a moment in history when the worries of the world were lifted. The sun shone, the sky was blue and my beloved Sky Blues made the world a much happier place to live in. After all, when you thrash your local rivals, Manchester United to the tune of 4-1, then it’s time to party.
See you, Rob.
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