the ruby orchard

Visited The Ruby Orchard in Howick a couple of days ago and left with a bag full of goodies and pretty much 100% certain on where the majority of my Christmas shopping is going to be taking place.  Specialising in beautiful frames and mirrors, The Ruby Orchard is situated in an old renovated house with lots of light and air filtering into inter-leading rooms which are jam-packed with lovely (also read: reasonably priced) decor, homeware and gifts. I bought a polka dot scarf which I’ve worn almost every day since purchase, a heart-shaped little turquoise bowl (currently holding my rings) and some framed text (see below), while Andrew fell in love with these awesome little egg dippy boards which we are planning on using for breakfast this morning. Stay tuned for pics on Instagram – it’s gonna happen. Hope you have a lovely 1st October (ohmigoditsalmostchristmas)! I’m off to pinch and punch Andrew before he even opens his big blue eyes.

Yea, you knew I had to buy that. Already hanging above my desk (thanks husband xxx).

Image: Source

midlands love

It’s always just as I’m about to leave to go on holiday that I fall in love with home again.  For the last couple of weeks, I haven’t been too enamoured with the Midlands.  It’s been cold, dusty and smokey.  It’s been claustrophobic and small-towney. It’s been close-minded and old fashioned.  But today, when I arose and placed my bare feet on the floor, that familiar winter chill was absent.  The sunlight was streaming through the slit in the curtains and as I slid my trainers on, I realised that I was able to go for a lovely run around the farm without the beanie, body warmer and gloves that my usual outdoor winter workouts entail.  Spring is here, and I’ve fallen in love again with home’s landscape.  This is my favourite time of year, before the mist and heavy rains of December and January set in, when the days are balmy, but still dry.  The air is heavy with the sweet smell of cherry blossom and the evenings are warm and long and filled with wine and laughter.  One of my favourite bloggers, Lauren over at Glossary, was recently in the Midlands for a weekend and captured some of the most beautiful shots of my love land.  I had to share.  This lady is one talented photographer and she managed to perfectly capture my childhood memories as well as my daily present in these pictures. Take a look:

If you live, or have ever lived in the Midlands, I know these photographs will have spoken to your spirit.  Thank you Lauren for helping me fall back in love with my reality.

Read Lauren’s blog here and check out her photographic work here.  Lauren, her camera and the magic they make, are for hire so if you’d like some pretty pictures taken, you know what to do.

Images: all photographs courtesy of Lauren at smittenpictures.co.za

keri’s day out

So last Friday (or was it the Friday before?) I had my first proper day off in about three and a bit weeks.  As you can imagine, I was exhausted (especially since during one of those days in one of those weeks I had jumped off a bridge high enough to – – high enough to – – no, there is no way to describe it other than HIGH ENOUGH TO KAK YOURSELF), and in need of some intense me-time.  No blogging, no working, no entertaining, no seeing of other people, but no lying on the couch either (couch surfing, essential as it is when you’re hungover, is no way to spend a good, sober, productive day off).  So I planned my day off (very loosely, of course, everything happened organically – if I changed my mind about doing something, then so be it).  You want to know what I did?  I’m lucky enough to live in the Midlands, as you all know, and equally lucky enough to live close to the village of Nottingham Road, which has so many fun, beautiful places to visit.

So I started off my day at one of my favourite haunts, Cafe Bloom.  Yep, by myself.  I took my book (The Greatness Guide – read all about it here), and curled up on a sofa with a perfect cappuccino.  I then ordered the best breakfast in the world – eggs florentine with herbed cream spinach and blue cheese.  After I ate, I continued with my couch-curling and my reading.  I think I ordered another cappuccino.  I chatted to Mick Haigh, owner of Cafe Bloom, preparer of magical, healthy food and talented ceramicist.  I waved hello to a couple of locals and read some more.

After I had imprinted my body and soul onto the Cafe Bloom couch (the one closest to the fire – it’s basically mine now – if you sit in it, you owe me rent money and I will hunt you down), I wandered up the road to Fordoun Spa for a leisurely swim and a sauna.  Well, it was meant to be leisurely, but if you know me, you will know that I was pretty much a champion swimmer at junior school.  Until Olivia Price arrived from Botswana in standard four, all tanned and long-limbed with super-swimming powers – thank god she was in an older age group, allowing me to save face in the water arena (thanks Liv).  So, as you can imagine, muscle-memory kicked in and a slow couple of laps soon turned into a full-on 30 length workout – after which I almost died.  I don’t know how I used to swim laps for hours on end as a child.  No, wait I do – I was FIT.  I eventually hauled my exhausted body out the pool, fished my lungs out from the deep end with the pool net and headed over to the sauna.  I LOVE SAUNAS.  I love the heat, I love the burn, I love that feeling of being so warm, that your eyes get droopy and your body weak.  I cranked it up in there to the max. Delicious.  I eventually stumbled out a good twenty minutes later DYING OF THIRST.  But it was goooood.  Super keen to get into my swimming again.  Slicing through the still, calm, quiet water gives you a lot of time to think.  And I like thinking, cos I’m smart (or maybe you’d call it weird – whatever – tamado, tomato) and I think of freaking genius ideas and concepts while chasing the lane lines.

Once I’d showered and dried the hair and drunk three litres of water with the lovely spa manager, Sherrilee, I was off to Knotts Salon back in town for a desperately-needed manicure.  And a sneaky foot massage – all from the beautiful, gentle Nellie.  She is the sweetest thing ever and will treat you like a princess without robbing you blind.  Seriously, super reasonable – thanks Megs for the recommendation. Give her a spin.  Next time: mani AND pedi, just in time for summer, because it is almost August which means ONE MONTH UNTIL SPRING.  I can smell the blossoms.

All relaxed, well-read, sweated out and prettied-up, I headed home to indulge in a little couch time.  It was well-earned. Can’t wait for my next day off!

I have been receiving so many emails and requests via Twitter and Facebook from people travelling up to the Midlands and asking advice on what to do and where to eat that I may be starting a little series soon on that very thing.  Keep a look out for it and let me know if you would like to get involved.

With love xxx

why we live in the midlands

I might have been galavanting around the countryside recently, but there really is no place like home.  Even in the midst of a cold winter, when the grass is brown and crusty and the air filled with smoke from firebreaks, the Midlands is the shiniest jewel in the crown that is South Africa.

a letter to the snow tourists of 2013

So the last day and night has been bitterly cold.  It hailed and thundered yesterday – very unusual for winter. No, I didn’t Instagram it, Cape Town-style. This weather is the ominous kind.  The kind that reminds you of the snow.  The snow that has started arriving every winter in the Midlands for the past few years.  (As a child, I can remember it snowing only twice throughout my entire childhood, a sure sign that climate change is a real, happening phenomenon).  With the snow comes many things: cold (obviously), chilblains, Hunter boots, no electricity, no running water. Hot chocolate, soups, gluhwein, wet dogs.  And snow tourists.

They descend upon our tiny village in their hordes – rich and poor, black and white and green and purple, young and old, all in cars with ND and NP number plates.  They cut through farm fences to make snowmen and toboggan down our farmlands, with no thought to the livestock that could escape or the crops beneath the white powder which they may be destroying.  They infiltrate our little coffee shops and restaurants in the thousands, complaining about the slow service and lack of menu items (this is usually caused by the very snow they’re coming to ogle – the snow which has caused roads to shut, making the village inaccessible to staff; snow which has caused power lines to break and electricity lines and water pumps to stop working).  These snow tourists rattle all the locals, who hide out in their houses, so fearful are they of the chaotic influx, and anger the farmers who are tempted to load their shotguns and patrol their boundaries.

SNOW TOURISTS – you do not add value to our village or income to our pockets.  In fact, you mostly damage our community.  Your measly order of a hot chocolate and toasted sandwhich does not make up for the thousands of rands of damage you cause our farmers.  You are not worth the hassle you give our restaurant owners and shop keepers who are worried about the fact that there is no power and water at home, that their animals are freezing and hungry, that their staff are unable to get to work.  You arrive in your big Chelsea-tractor 4×4’s, play for a day, wreak havoc, moan and complain at all our restaurants and shops, cause damage to our little Midlands area and then when the sun starts to set, off you migrate back to Durban where at home your lights are on and your toilets are flushing, where you can have a hot bath and a home-cooked meal and then get into your warm bed, grumbling all the while about how un-hospitable the Midlands area is when it snows.  We, meanwhile, are going home to darkness.  To cold houses.  Hungry animals.  We light the fire in the living room and pull our mattresses into that room so that we may sleep with some warmth.  We fetch water from the swimming pool to flush our toilets.  We can’t shower or bath.  We light candles so that we may see, and if we’re lucky and have a gas stove, and aren’t too exhausted, we maybe cook a dinner on that. We do this for days on end – it’s not at all like a little load shedding or an Eskom outtage.  It’s days and nights of cold – the kind that gets in your bones and forces you to wear two three pairs of socks and long johns to sleep. We go to bed hoping and praying that tomorrow – tomorrow we will wake up and have power, that the snow will have melted and that everything will have returned to normal.

Dear snow tourists, I hope this letter helps you understand our side of the story.  I hope it helps instill some respect towards farmers and their property.  I hope it teaches you patience when your R35 toasted sandwhich takes an hour to be made, because there are a hundred of you and only two staff members in the kitchen.  I hope it makes you realize that for us, snow is not a fun time, or a getaway for a day. It is hard work. It is exhausting.  And we don’t need your ugly attitude on top of it too.  By all means, come and play.  Snow IS a wonderful, magical thing.  But please don’t ruin our lands or hurt our animals.  Don’t shout at staff and grumble and moan when the food takes too long.  Leave your nastiness at home.  Smile, say please and thank you, be nice.  Be compassionate towards our locals and our animals.  Order a bottle of wine (that never runs out, even when it snows), relax.  Give your children a glass too so that they can pass out and not destroy everything they touch.  Think of others.  Put yourself in someone else’s shoes.  Mind your manners.  And then, I promise, this snow season will be a pleasant one for everybody involved.