Barring last weekend’s downpour, we’ve had some pretty good summer-like days in the Mother City.
I say ‘summer-like’ because, as all Capetonians know, summer isn’t really here until, well until it decides it wants to be.
It pretends to have arrived, roasting anyone in the City Bowl for days on end, lulling us into a false sense of security that makes us foolishly forget to take a warm top when we’re heading out in the morning.
Then in comes that icy breeze, direct from the Antarctic, freezing our exposed sandal-clad feet, making a mockery of our short-sleeved t-shirts, reminding us who’s boss, really.
On the Sunday of the weekend before last, the weather was spectacular, and I went on an epic solo voyage that included a visit to the Noordhoek Country Fair, swimming and whale-watching off Kommetjie Beach (man, oh man, but that water is cold), a stop-in at the Imhoff Farm (out of curiosity) and munching on calamari and chips at Kalk Bay Harbour.
True to form, though, last weekend winter was back: the heavens opened, the temperatures plummeted and my trip to the beach seemed a distant memory.
My take on it? Summer never really and truly arrives until February. Throughout December and January, it teases and taunts us. Hot one day, frigid the next, that darned south-easter blowing almost all the time.
The trick is to make the most of the good days, find a leeward spot for the wind-blown days (or wake up real early, before the wind gets going), and accept that the Mother City will always keep us guessing.
But I guess you probably knew that already!