This is certainly the winter of my malcontent. In mid-September Cape Town is cold and wet, and prospects for the next few weeks look decidedly bracing. I’ve lived down south for more than 35 years and this winter even beats a particularly dank and damp year in the early 1990s when my Claremont cottage  flooded to just below the electricity plug points, water licking at my precious CD collection.

I spent most of last Saturday’s tennis league encounter at Pinelands raving like King Lear into the icy north-wester sweeping straight down the courts. The duffle-coated gentry, walking their pooches past the courts, were not impressed by this uncourtly behaviour, particularly so near the quaint Town Hall. Anything more than a gentle wrist roll and my service would float well beyond the line. Lining up a smash was near impossible in the swirls and it was open season for the Pinelands lobsters. ..

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