After months upon dreary month where the sun rises late and sets chillingly, perversely early, the sudden onset of spring and its 4am sunrise (almost!) dispels any memory of the perpetual winter darkness. And the sunsets... the gloriously late sunsets! It is this that makes the English summer so delicious, where the gentle warmth of the day sidles on late into the night, so that you find yourself sitting outside, blissfully daydreaming your way past your bedtime. But I'm getting stuck in poetic humdrum here - so let me tell you about yesterday and what was so perfectly English about it.
Layla and I waltzed down the stairs to find a blanket spread out on the grass, lamb chops defrosting on the garden bench (our boerewors supplies depleted) and a visibly ecstatic Craig sunning himself like a literate lizard, Stephen King book in hand. (To my horror and rampant frustration, Craig continues to worship the sun as if there were no such thing as skin cancer. AAARRRGH!!!) Anyway, after a quick rifle through the fridge, I decided a quick trip to the One Stop was in order! But then, relief like the coldest beer on a hot day flooded over me in as I remembered that our village now boasted its very own 'country store'. More like a deli with fresh veg, fruit, herbs, spices and racks of the most marvellous breads and fresh rolls, the exuberant and helpful owner, Lee, makes you feel as if you are in Franschoek! It has a certain 'Cape Town' vibe about it in its layout and ambience - so much so that I am blissed out into thinking I am back home already! (Lee's going to be opening out the back and the front of the store into a cafe - so at long blerry last I will have a place to go and boer with a cup of coffee! There are two pubs within walking distance of our front door, but the typical pub atmosphere with its frumpish dourness just wouldn't satisfy that constant craving I have for the kind of coffee culture we are so lucky to have in South Africa. The biggest problem, for me, with English pubs is not so much the olde worlde decor or the beer-guzzling patrons leaning against the bar as if they were holding each other up, but the simple fact that it feels too... exotic. I feel uncomfortably out of sorts in a pub - a 'sore thumb', if you will. Every single time (and perhaps I am overly sensitive) I enter a pub, I feel as if the usually close-knit beer-guzzlers turn around to stare, long and hard, in territorial defence of their turf. I even feel as if I have to talk quietly for fear of being teased out as a usurper! Ja, okay - I admit that's pretty ridiculous...) Ag no - I'm getting sidetracked again into complaining about being in England when, as I wandered along the blossom-strewn road to the shop yesterday, I had wanted to write about how beautiful and peaceful our little village is. And now I've run out of time. (Craig just got back after a trip to Kettering for what looks like twenty packs of boerewors! He saw how warm and sunny today promised to be, and he got a bee in his Eastern Cape bonnet and decided we had to braai --- again!)PS. To make up for the fact that I didn't write about the loveliness of English village life, I've put up some pics of our village as evidence :)
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