Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated

It's true, they are. I really am not dead. Well, not as far as I know, anyway. I've not noticed any strange smells or worms or anything like that. I've just become a totally shite blogger. So much so I've even managed to forget Very Important Things like Blog Birthdays. My blogs' birthdays. Can you believe it that I started Atyllah the Hen three years ago and Absolute Vanilla two years ago. Perhaps I'm just worn out. Perhaps the blogging appeal has finally lost its lovely shiny glow. Perhaps it's a permanent meltdown. Maybe it's just a temporary glitch. Time will tell.

Of course, it may just be that I'm very goal directed on the scribbling front - and that I seem to be horribly sidetracked by Facebook - so much so that the bloody thing has taken to sending me warning notices, assuring me that I am indulging in spam or abusive behaviour. I hasten to assure you that I'm not - I'm just too sociable, flitting from one status update to another offering up my two cents worth of observation or opinion. Clearly the greatest social networking site of the decade thinks this is a bad thing. Evidently, I got the whole point of social networking horribly wrong. Apparently you're not meant to be that sociable. So, hang on, remind me again about the point of social networking? No, I don't get it either. So I'm just blowing a large, wet raspberry at Facebook and will go to the bottom of the garden and eat worms. Or not.

I'm wittering here, aren't I...? It comes from having very little to say - and from having been plagued all night by words. 01h30; 02h30; 06h30; 07h30... - all the hours of the night and morning I've been beset by words on the rewrite of my other novel (no not the one I've just rewritten). Clearly words have utterly no concept of time, or my need for sleep. I look like I've gone ten rounds with a panda. My bedside notebook is filled with scrawls - odd phrases, whole chunks of text, and sparkling metaphors. Okay, I'm not sure that they really do sparkle, it was 3am after all.

Still, lest you think I've popped my clogs, or dropped off the planet, I haven't. I'm still here, just, as I've now told you on several occasions, otherwise occupied. I'm sure that won't stop you from having a totally stunning weekend! :-)

Oh, I did somewhere, inbetween the scribbling, make time to find my desk. It was hidden under a mountain paper, as were large tracts of carpet. I therefore, given this is a rare occasion, offer you a glimpse of the writing cave. Please note the giant magic squirrel in the window. Yes of course he's photoshopped in - unless he really did eat ALL the nuts...

More this, that and the other...

I fear my brain has turned to slush – which would probably explain the gloopy sound I hear each time I shake my head. But there are several good reasons for this –one of which I will advise you of on the weekend…

The problem is a slushy brain makes blogging tricky... oh woe, what to write about? Yes, I know, posting pictures is sooo much easier – and I will be posting more because easy works for me, but at the same time I feel I should offer you more than just pretty pictures, especially since the pretty pictures belie the reality.

Beautiful surroundings notwithstanding, last week, a woman who lives nearby was held up at gunpoint, pistol-whipped and robbed and left with a broken arm, broken fingers and ribs and deaf in one ear after the perpetrators fired shots right next to her head. Aside from stealing her jewelery, the perps also made off with her car. Although I don’t know her personally, I have stopped to say hello whilst out walking. And the irony is this: she was out walking – not alone - but with two other women and about six dogs including a pit bull terrier. It seems there is no end to the brazenness of criminals.

On that similar note, I learned from my mom that the case, following on her attack and robbery, has been closed for lack of evidence. And this less than two months after the incident. This is not the sort of thing that inspires any confidence in the police or the authorities’ ability to do anything about the rampant crime that plagues all of us in this benighted country.

Which brings me to another rant – as of yesterday we are faced with rolling power cuts which will last throughout winter – oh joy, what timing. I guess I will have to buy in a huge stash of fire wood and make sure the laptop is always charged. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the power supplier is looking to increase electricity tariffs by 53% - and this while they’re actually cutting power supplies and their executives are earning performance bonuses of millions… Go figure.

And talking of fires – bear with me, I’m on a stream of consciousness roll here – I’m going to set fire to my inbox if I get one more bloody email offering to improve the size of the penis I do not have. It would be one thing if I was actually male with the relevant dangly bits - but really! I don’t know but it seems that in recent weeks spam levels have risen to dramatic proportions – something akin to the promises made in emails that arrive headed: “Freak the girls out when they see how gigantic you have become.” Or “Every male has the inner potential to be 9 inches long - unleash that potential today.” I mean, pul-lease! When will they realise that, really, size does so not matter! Hmph!

And then I wanted to have witter about writing which goes something along the lines of if you think it’s easy, think again. But I think I’m going to save that for another day and will opt to end this post with the easy option – yet again - with more scenes from my visit to Cape Point Nature Reserve.

For a start, in case you haven't had enough of baboons...

Just call me Yoda... A baby Chacma baboon

You lookin' at me...?

Not yet, not yet - wait for my signal...

A windsurfer's paradise - good too for surfing and kite surfing.

Waves of glass

A solitary Bontebok - one of the medium sized antelope found in South Africa

A posing cormorant



And this one is for all spammers out there - "Stop being a baboon's arse!"