Oxtail perfection only possible with Terry's three day stock, and Kirsten ensuring bubbles were plentiful. The fire necessary on a blustery evening at the cottage. Around Stellenbosch are sculptures of people sitting on benches. Part of the 'Kom Sit' street art installation connecting people. I used the installation, together with one of the street men who roam around the city for my
'Confusion', oil on canvas. Under painting for a painting of the gardens at Rustenberg. A smear of colour that seems to hold its own. And now??? Beach, sun, and the grizzled collection of locals drinking drafts first thing in the morning. A sound decision on their part as the coffee was awful! Polly waded in the the ripples of low tide, the colours of
Grey skies over the vineyards, clearing as we drove over the mountains to see Dad and Mary. Their new Prado very impressive, ready for the safari to Kariba. Watching the mini-bus taxi stopping at a random spot, before rejoining the traffic in wild abandon, reminded me of Eddie's observation of the taxi services in Juba Town. Which could be considered as perfect Customer Satisfaction.
An Artists Garden. The vineyards. Jasmine hedonistic, as we watch the sun through the trees. Bubbles, red wine and Simon&Garfunkel while Polly rolls in the grass. Sunset shadows through the trees. Gurgling fountain. Felecia adding spots of blue. The sun easing its way into a new day. Francolins and Guineafowl, broken voiced, discordant raucous. A quick catch-up with George before we were dragged kicking
Fires, wine, food and laughter on a rainy day in the vineyards. Fingers frozen by cold paint in the studio. Options, plans, for TH2. Practical, reality amongst the wine fueled creativity. Freeing imagination for the loft apartment space. Tartiflette, first introduced to us by Aly, is a French dish from the Savoie and Haute Savoie region of France, made with a seriously pungent reblochon cheese.
Unexpected days filled with sunshine. The braai a must, and an excellent foil to Terry's cauliflower and bacon tart. Doolhof shiraz, living up to the hype. Rich and spicy. Francolins in the garden, churning the yellow flowering perennials. Camellias in full bloom. Pink and red brilliance amongst the green foliage. The winter garden starting to stir as thoughts of summer increase with the
Attitude. Flavour. Colour. Attitude. Style. Fashion. Attitude. Italy. Within the first fifteen minutes of the four hour train journey to Turin, I had managed to cause and incident with two old Italian women (correct seats, wrong carriage), an Australian couple (correct seats, correct carriage. But they had been bumped from the earlier strike affected train). Knocked over my red wine so it splashed the
Listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the city waking, against a background of chirping birds. Street sweepers. Suitcase wheels bouncing over cobbles. Traffic. Hooters and the occasional voice raised in anger, or appreciation. Homeless occupying benches and doorways. Unexpected. People frozen in front of static electronic train schedules. Strike, causing mayhem and anxiety. Fields of gold and green, with the occasional burst of colour
On emerald grass, dusted with gold, stark ribs of garden sofas, squat beneath heavy skies, braced for winter. Maison, for their season ending lunch. Probably a tad too much wine, well anticipated by Terry and Hesta with Nicholas driving us. An unexpected afternoon of sunshine, demanded a braai. My lack of practice evident in a fire that was too cold to give any colour