Carol’s Column

Buying a one way ticket to my dreams

This has been a week to remember. I moved from my patched and much rebuilt, falling-down house to a simple Japanese-style villa overlooking the dark blue waters of False Bay. Directly above the rocks, I wake to the sound of surf pounding the rocks. Dolphins swim across the picture windows through which the morning light streams and on some days, I see the large, rounded shapes of southern right whales.

The house is simple really, nothing grand. Just lots of window and a proximity to the sea that makes you feel as if you're actually on the water. When the South Easter blows, it begins as a clear solo soprano. Slowly the rest of the choir joins in an accompaniment until the sound is full and deep.

I have built an outside shower directly facing the sea, screened by a rock, and when showering, I am invisible to all but the jackass penguins and seals below and the seagulls above.

In the garage is my new car, pleasing for so many reasons, not least that when you turn the ignition key there's an immediate engine purr as opposed to a starter motor clatter. I've always enjoyed a cheeky looking vehicle which is why I opted for this bright green, top-of-the-range French model. To tell the truth, it's the first time I've walked into a showroom, selected exactly what I want and driven out in a brand-new car. The leather of the seats smells as fresh as newly picked apples and the whole car glows.

When I nudge the accelerator with the tip of my toe, there's immediate response and the car surges forward without effort. I plan to take it for a lengthy drive into the Karoo. Or perhaps I'll go up the West Coast along the semi-deserted highways stopping over at one of the guest houses en route.

The thing is I know I'll get there without it packing up, without the engine whining in protest, without being propelled by a cloud of black smoke. That's the beauty of new car reliability.

Finally, this weekend I'm off to Hong Kong, just for two or three days. I feel like eating some dim sum and drunken shrimp, some mango pudding, a little steamed soup with crab in papaya and a yellow croaker fillet in fermented ricewine sauce. And, of course, I won't miss out on roast Peking duck.

While there, I'll do a little shopping which I haven't had a chance to do this century. My wardrobe needs a overhaul.

Ag, ja, well, no, fine.

This is what crossed my mind as I phutted in fits and starts, literally, along De Waal Drive.

"Your alternator is stuffed," the AA man told me when he came to start the car yesterday morning for the third time in as many days. "This is a great car," he added sagely, "a collector's item but perhaps it's too old to actually drive."

I was late because, as usual, the garage control didn't work properly and I had to open the garage door manually, which took ages as the wood is swollen from damp.

"That's the trouble with old houses," the guy had said last time he came to fix the control for the umpteenth time. "You tart them up with fancy equipment, but underneath you've still got the crooked walls, uneven woodwork, old wiring and thin pipes they used at the turn of the century, not last century, the one before," he added in case I misunderstood.

I pulled my non designer sweatshirt over my non designer jeans and shot off to the corner café where pretty Lucy with the pigtail was all smiles as she took my R2,50, punched in the numbers and handed me my lottery ticket.

"Next week you'll be lucky, Carol," she said.

She's right. The Japanese style house overlooking the sea, my cheeky French car, an eating and shopping weekend in Hong Kong, I'm clutching it in my hand in the form of lottery ticket 4, 7, 23, etc.

This is the lucky one. I can feel it in my waters.

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