A memory of a lost friend and snow in sunny South Africa?

She pushes against the door and it swings open slowly, silently, predictably. The quietly cold smell inside is how she had imagined it would be and she tries to brush off the feeling of turning around and running away with a shrug.


The lady at the reception desk personifies the feeling of the room with her tired and outdated attitude as she hands over a clipboard with paper work. It is quite a list for such a short stay, she thinks by herself while she completes the forms robot-like.


She has a burning urge to wash her hands, but doesn't want to leave her seat. Maybe, if she sits here quietly she'll go unnoticed and this day will pass like the one before and the one before that. Maybe then she'll just disappear as each hour follows the next until eternity. She wants to stay in this chair.


A hand touches her shoulder. She looks up. The lady in the blue scrubs has an expressionless face, but she has amazing green eyes. Like the mieliefields back home on the farm. There is a flash of impatience from the lady and she gets up slowly. This is really going to happen. If only she wasn't so alone. After this day in this hour, this minute she will never be the same again. They say there is always the feeling of something missing. She'll probably get used to it; what could be worse than the feeling of not being loved in return anyway?


"Everything went well. Just take this prescription and if you feel any discomfort or sudden bleeding come back immediately."


That's all there is to it, really. A pill for sorrow, a pill for heartache, a pill for emptiness. If all these pills were combined, would they take away all life's pain for good? Science might be the answer to all life's miseries, she smiles wryly as she thinks of him.


The water tastes bitter; she imagined it differently and it could have been. If only she wasn't so alone.

My front yard looking like an ice rink

Moving on to other things. Snow in September in South Africa? Marvellous, some of you might say. It's not snow, but hail and it's not marvellous, it's bloody awful! Never again will I be singing I'm dreaming of a white Christmas whilst stirring a pot of fudge whilst sweating like an overweight hippo in the desert. This side of the planet is known for its blazing sun and beautiful beaches which usually means pleasant weather. This was anything but pleasant.

Looks like a cotton wool factory launched its opening in my backyard

My once beautiful spring garden now looks like the battlefield of an angry golfer using hail as a cheap substitute for golf balls and I was not amused by the fact that His Royal Demanding and Her Comfortable Highness refused to walk on what looks like Frosty's diarrhea, let alone get to their business which means I had to use a tray as a kind of shovel to clear a patch of grass in the middle of the night.

Her Royal Highness: high on sleep and comfort

Does he LOOK amused to you?

At least that saves me a trip to a winter wonderland somewhere abroad in the future. Can we get three hurrays for money saving tips, Mother Nature style.