Stoke of Luck

Rather than being suckered into being chauffeured around Cape Town by a friend of the crooked concierge "that's the only way for seeing the city madam", I decided to let chance be my guide and set out on foot . I had no sooner turned the corner when a big top-less bus  pulled up beside me. For a tenth of the price of the shifty chauffer I was carried through the streets of Cape Town, and surrounds, with the sun on my face, wind in my hair and stereophonic commentary in my ears. The day's entertainment taken care of and no requirement to make small talk. Christ, what luck!

I hopped off at the Kirstenbosch Gardens for lunch and ambled into an exhibition by local artists. Quite a lot of crap, of course. There always is. Yet down low, on a stand on the ground, I spotted an unframed silk "rock painting" of cows or buffalo or some such bush bovine. I liked it, I bought it. It wasn't expensive and I was still ahead.

The artist, a single mother, supports herself by providing healing through art. Healing through art. You know, for people who have had strokes, or some such, and need to regain confidence and motor skills.

The bean planted and now bubbling and brewing. It's so close I can smell it. A gallery coffee shop artists' drop-in joint. Hip and bohem.

I can do that.