And because it feels like summer today.

I’m thinking about my summer holiday. And it won’t matter if summer never shows up down here, I’m going north. Well, a little north and a lot east actually.

If you live in the city long enough, after a while, you start to think you belong there. That you’re meant to breathe exhaust fumes and only ever walk on concrete and tar, and to call the dog park nature. To drink overpriced cocktails while perched on uncomfortable bar stools and pay too much for a haircut.

But then it happens that you go for a morning run in the clean air, or fall asleep to the sound of the ocean, or walk the dogs just as the sun is coming up over miles of green and blue, of fynbos and sand and sky. And you think “Scratch that!” (or, if you’re me, something far less ladylike).

And you start fixating on how great it would be to fall asleep to crickets every night instead of the white noise of the city and to really need that shower you take right before bed. You’d have to take up a new career, obviously. Artist? Fisherman? You’re nothing if not adaptable.

And there I go again, saying you when I mean me.