Hello again dear readers and music lovers. As promised, I popped over to Hout Bay on a beautiful winter's day to check out Republic Radio at it's source to find out all about the little Internet station playing cool music 24 hours a day. Now where were they back in the days of long night duties? Not that there was time to listen to the radio with so much work to do, but on sleepless nights off, it would have been great to have a constant musical companion. Come to think of it, my babies might have benefitted more from having a few classic hits played to them in the early hours of the morning during their feeds, rather than my rather tired, tuneless lullabies. Music I adore, but any sort of musical abilitity I sadly lack. Still, I love to listen...
The studio is situated in the modern Mainstream Mall in Princess Street, a stone's throw from the harbour and Mariner's Wharf. It's cute and cozy, tucked away between a few coffee bars, pizza parlours and an amphitheater. Tom Purcell has just finished his regular 9-12 slot and is chatting to his designer when I arrive. The logo is a cheeky Rolls Royce lookalike - not sure how they get away with this one, considering all the trouble the owner of the local Dolce and Banana shop got into with the original D&G guys, but good luck to them, it's crisp and catchy.
Republic Radio is Tom's baby and brainchild. Borne out of frustration at not having a station he could listen to or identify with after his arrival from the UK on our shores 13 years ago, he and his buddy Paul Tomes decided to set up their own station over a few beers last year. After an initial outlay, he says his monthly overheads are not all that steep, as the occasional presenters are volunteers and he keeps a keen eye on costs. Having set up originally in a garage, this expansion to the Mainstream Mall with an ample passing parade of curious people is a sure sign of the success of this fledgling local station.
Having chanced on Republic Radio on the Internet, and enjoying the music from the "seventies, eighties, nineties and occasionally noughties" my first question was how I could listen to RR in my car. The station broadcasts to Hout Bay locals on 97.4 and has applied for an FM license. However, you can listen on your PC, laptop, mac, cellphone or iPad. Go to www.republicradio.co.za and join the growing band of 8500 plus listeners. Not bad going in under a year.
Why does Tom do it? Well, he's adamant that he's not in it for the money, as it is a non profit organization and does it for the love of music, people and the Hout Bay community. It must also be great fun to be your own boss, fulfill a dream, and play just the kind of music you really fancy. He has a plan in place to get more involved with local tourism and NGO's like DARG for community training and upliftment. The station also hosts live performances in the adjacent amphitheatre, and does special tribute shows, like the one for the recently departed Queen of Disco, Donna Summer. Their target audience is anyone from 35 - 80, so if like me you enjoy the tunes of yesteryear and the memories which accompany them without too much advertising and banal banter in between, tune in to Republic Radio and go back in musical time...long live the Goldy Oldy (like me)
Love to you all,
Suzy Q
Further to my recent posting on hands, which many of you dear readers seem to have enjoyed, and here I thank you for your positive feedback, I simply must fill you in on what my own, once lily white little hands have been up to. Nothing wildly exciting unfortunately, like getting behind the wheel of a Boxter. Oh no my dears, my hands have been doing dishes. Poor, poor old Suzy Q!
Our trusty-not-so-old-dishwasher hasn't been cleaning our dishes all that well for a while, so I finally took the plunge and called in the appliance experts to take it in for a service. To date they've done nothing much with it, apart from telling me that it appears to be working well for them on a test cycle. Do they have a set of specially soiled family dishes for this specific purpose I wonder? And for this bit of non-information I am no doubt going to have to pay handsomely, as well as having the HUGE inconvenience of being without my most useful household appliance. Do you know that many women rate a dishwasher as being more useful than a husband? Not me naturally, but now that I'm without one, hmmm...!?
Now that I have googled the problem, I am rather sorry that I've sent the machine away, as it seems there are a number of simple solutions using everyday household products which might just rectify things. Or even simpler, it seems that running the hot tap before each cycle might do the trick. Double damn!
LIAR!
Not to mention that I literally feel tied to the kitchen sink. On a normal day we place all used crockery and cups into the dishwasher, and run it when it's full. Voila, at the mere flick of a switch, out comes a pile of clean stuff, and who cares if they have of late needed an occasional extra wipe? Nowadays, it's rubber gloves, Fairy Liquid, greasy washing up water, and me! Press the repeat button. And again. Is it any wonder that I'm phoning the service centre hourly, like that other petulant Desperate Housewife, Gabi, to find out when my baby is coming home to me.
If we could, it would be takeouts all the way. Miss SQ No 1 reckons that having to wash one's own dishes is the best diet aid, and guarantees instant weight loss. Wish I could agree, desperation and frustration are propelling me towards the cookie jar. Although I was only fortunate enough to acquire a dishwasher in my later adult years (yeah right, probably weren't invented when Suzy Q was a kid) I can't believe that so many women were subjected for so long to such repetitive tedium. That and the sluicing and washing of nappies. Ok, so I've done that too, but with the benefit of an automatic washing machine. Women washed, and washed, and washed. Full stop. Sadly, as I speak from my fortunate suburban spot, there are still many, many local women without running water who struggle to wash anything and everything from communal taps which are often without water. I should complain? Wonder if the President's many wives suffer the same problems?
But back to the things which have most revolutionized or improved women's lives. A poll conducted earlier this year rated the contraceptive pill as the No 1 product. I guess we can all see why. Fewer nappies and dishes to wash, surely? No 2 was the push up bra, proving that we are all really and truly animal creatures at heart. This was followed at No 3 by the washing machine. Ok, practicalities will eventually slot into place after all that hot passion has dampened down a bit. Funnily enough, my esteemed dishwasher didn't crack the Top Ten, can't think why. Maybe the mating ritual centered more on the wining and dining of women, leaving them guessing about the mountains of washing and dishes which accompany domestic bliss?
(Couldn't resist this old one of me in my push up bra modelling days sigh...)
Sadly, gotta fly, got dishes to wash AND dry...
With love to you, elbow deep in soap suds,
Suzy Q
'Tis no secret that ol' Suzy Q loves wine, so it's time to let you in on one of my all time favourite wine estates. Come high days and holidays, we celebrate with Springfield wines in order to savour some of the most delicious, delectable and intense flavours of the Cape grape.
Springfield Estate is situated just outside Robertson on the R62 in the Valley of Wine and Roses. I mean, it just doesn't get more romantic than that. Having had the pleasure of enjoying their stellar wines on more than a few occasions, Mr SQ and I made a pilgrimage out there to see and taste the wines at their source. My dears, it was like coming home, a thoroughly enjoyable experience with yet another proudly South African/Cape feel to it.
Despite producing wines which are not only snapped up and enjoyed greedily by locals, but also exported to Europe, Canada and the East, Springfield is about as unpretentious as it gets. This in an industry where snobbery and image are often held in higher esteem than the wine in the glass. A few Franschhoek big name estates come rapidly to mind. The unprepossessing entrance to the farm, up a tree lined dirt track, is a refreshing change from some of the boutique wineries which seem to trade on their fancy gateposts and are more image than wine conscious. The view over the little dam toward the McGregor and Langeberg Mountains is magnificent. It's worth taking a minute or two to shake off the dust, breathe deep of the fresh air and drink in the peace and beauty of the farm before heading into the tasting room for a world class experience. I'm not sure why I say world class, when I actually think that the South African wine industry is a world leader when it comes to it's tasting rooms, hospitality and well trained personnel. I can't think of a single degustation experience I've ever had in Europe which comes even a teeny bit close to the standards we almost take for granted on the home front. I've had it on good authority that the Californian winelands might meet or match us, but hey, that doesn't stop me giving our wine industry, of which I am so very proud, a good punt.
The tasting room is welcoming and anything but intimidating as the staff are very pleasant and professional and offer a complimentary tasting. Think clean, white modern architectural lines thanks to the recent update of the old building. I'm a Sauvignon Blanc girl, and it doesn't come much better than this, trust me. You can practically taste the soil, sun and sky as you try the Life from Stone and Special Cuvee which are both perfect examples of wines of their terroir. Breathtaking, steely, flinty and simply wonderful are words which come to mind, and pushed to choose one over the other, I'd opt for the Special Cuvee. The Methode Ancienne Chardonnay is a massive wine, not to be taken lightly or drunk with less than six friends, ambrosial, but perhaps a little too concentrated and intoxicating for me.
Moving on to the reds, the quality continues. Some estates can get it right with the whites, MCC's or reds, but Abie Bruwer has as deft a touch with his Cabernet grapes as he does with his whites. The Springfield Whole Berry Cabernet is a celebration in itself - superlatives don't do it justice. Suffice to say that for Mr SQ's recent birthday, he received a little war chest of Springfield wines to mark the passing of years and to enjoy in years to come, as they are bound, like him, to continue to improve.
I love the ambience and the humble philosophy of the farm, suggesting that they are blessed with the lime rich terroir which they inherited, the farm having been in the Bruwer family for many generations (no blow in businessmen having a hobby wine farm here, this is the Real McCoy) Abrie will further modestly add that "the wines make themselves" as the farm's policy is minimal intervention, and their motto is, "from the grape to the bottle with care and passion."
Springfield is all about the wine, and it works. No tea garden, restaurant, gift shop, craft market, or cheesery, just a pure focus on the wine. However, they are generous enough to offer visitors the opportunity to share the beauty of the farm if you bring your own picnic basket. So pack a little hamper, and sit back and relax on the deck overlooking the dam, and if you're lucky, as we seem to have been, Brenda will pour you a decent glass of your chosen wine to accompany your lunch. Aaah, life is bliss!
www.springfieldestate.com
With love, and lots more in store for you so please keep checking in if you haven't officially signed up (you know who you are)
Suzy Q
My car radio is permanently tuned into FMR 101.3, until of course the Misses SQ haul themselves in and press the Radio 5 button before they've said "hello", and I'm subjected to rap and inane chatter for the remainder of the journey. I really do prefer the calming effects of classical music, but what's a mom held to ransom to do? "It's not for much longer," they love to remind me, or is it a threat? Anyway, all this to say that I have chanced upon a pretty good local station of late, and am enjoying music from the 70's, 80's, 90's and as they say at the station, "a sprinkling from the noughties." I'm talking about Republic Radio, operating independently from the Republic of Hout Bay, which provides good online listening 24 hours a day. Lots of music and not too much small talk, love it. I'm so excited to discover the station that I'm off to meet Tom Purcell soon, and will tell you more about the whole operation asap, can't wait! www.republicradio.co.za
Needless to say all this radio talk makes me rather nostalgic, as radio was our prime source of entertainment growing up in South Africa without TV in my youth. Well, that was in the evenings, when we weren't swinging on trees or falling off our bikes during the day. Springbok Radio was my childhood companion, and I'd hazard a guess that applies to many of us. Remember the great shows which held us spellbound round the radiogram?
The Creaking Door, a spine chiller, Consider your Verdict, that great courtroom drama series, Taxi, Red "If I don't see you thro' the week I'll see you thro' the window" Kowalski, Pet's Parade, and the penultimate show of the week at 7.30pm on Fridays, Squad Cars. For the pleasure of listening to our favourite show we'd all be scrubbed and huddled round the radiogram in our dressing gowns eating fish fingers for supper, eagerly awaiting the signature, "They prowl the empty streets at night, waiting in fast cars, living with crime and violence. These are the men of SQUAD CARS." Yes, for this I'd even eat fish.
But this was as nothing compared to the excitement and anticipation as we awaited the big event of the week on Saturdays at 5pm, The Springbok Hit Parade. WHO would be No 1 this week we wondered as we sat through the countdown till we discovered who was top of the Hit Parade.
www.springbokradio.com
As music became more of a growing interest in the tweeny and teen years, LM Radio was the station of choice, with the coolest tunes being played by even cooler DJ's from their base in Lourenco Marques. Remember Barry O'D, Long John Berks and Peter de Nobrega and all their signature jingles? Not to mention the unmissable LM Hit Parade! This was the era when the transistor radio was king, the prize to be prayed for if you came first in class or hit the jackpot on a big birthday. Then you could listen under the covers with the earplug (yes singular) to all the late night jocks and progressive music. When I started listening to LM Radio in primary school, the Kinks, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and wait for it, Joe Dolan were big news. When LMR finally shut shop in October 1975 after independence in Mocambique made the station's 42 year existence there untenable, it was Supertramp, Rodriguez, Pink Floyd and Bad Co who ruled the airwaves. The station moved to Johannesburg to become the same Radio 5 to which my daughters listen today, but to me, it was never quite the same.
www.lmradio.org
During my student years, Capital Radio 604 from the Wild Coast burst onto the scene like a breath of fresh air, which was probably tinged with the fumes of Transkei Green, if the stories which emanated from Port St John's were anything to go by. This was a direct break from SABC and it's archaic and restrictive culture, operating from one of the supposedly independent republics known as bantustans. Their theme tune was "all the hits and more," and for a while we had good music on the air again. Of course it was a dream to tune in to the really cool stations operating out of Europe, like the pirate Radio Caroline and Radio Luxembourg, but my trusty tin tranny never rose to such heights.
And so it was that in my thirties, during my early mothering years I greeted the advent of our very own FMR with equal enthusiasm, and loved to have it playing in the car and in the house during those toddling years to introduce young ears and minds to the pleasures of classical music. But that was before the little ones learnt how to take control of the radio. The music must have meant something to them however, for when Eric Alan came on air with Swing, Sing and all that Jazz at 5pm, they used to sit on the kitchen floor playing "clap handies, clap handies till Daddy comes home" eagerly awaiting Mr SQ's imminent arrival home after a long day with me. But not quite as eagerly as me!
www.fmr.co.za
Still, the times they are a changing, and I think Republic Radio may be getting a lot more airtime from me, and I'd urge anybody in need of good music and memories to tune in to them too. Fill you in on the workings of the station when I've packed my passport and headed over the hill.
Till then, with love,
Suzy Q
Back again, trying to make up for lost time! As I was watching my fingers tapping over my new keyboard I was given cause to muse about the precious gifts of our hands. (Obviously I never learnt to touch type, as in my day girls who were deemed not to be academic did a "commercial" matric learning shorthand and typing to place them in secretarial positions, whilst the rest of the gang got to wrestle with maths and science and a one sided view of our history, with the choice of going teaching or nursing. How I wish I'd learnt to type properly rather than having to struggle with subjects which were of absolutely no interest or use to me, and which barely stand me in good enough stead to calculate the calories in a Mars bar or test the pool water. Ah well, how much better it is for today's young women, who are able to choose from a broader spectrum of subjects, receive decent careers guidance and have a mind boggling, if somewhat daunting selection of careers options.)
But forgive me as I digress, so easily sidetracked is your feather brained Suzy Q. Back to hands, my chosen topic for today, those extensions of our bodies which set us apart from all other mammals and primates. They are capable of so many feats, from gross to fine motor movement, and they can convey our emotions even when we are poker faced. Our palms sweat when we are nervous or afraid, we wring our hands when anxious or grief struck, they tremble as they open an important letter or door in our lives and they express love in so many different ways. Anger too if one has a violent inclination. Hands are comforters, a simple touch can mean so much, and a pat on the head of a dog creates canine heaven. I'm also inclined to think that the skills as contained in our hands determine the type of work we do. Think artist, writer, sculptor, potter, doctor, nurse, physiotherapist, dentist, sportsman, actor, chef, waiter, artisan, the list goes on and on...
I think also of the romance of hands; how we feel secure holding the hand of a parent or older sibling as a child going into a shop or on our first day at school. The thrill of holding a pencil and seeing letters taking shape which enable us to write and communicate in our mother tongue. Hanging onto monkey bars and doing handstands, learning to swim and riding a bike are all dependent on the use of our hands. Then during the early romantic years, what bigger thrill than to hold hands with the object of your desires, all the better if it happened in the back row of the movies, and to be seen to be walking hand in hand was a public declaration that you were indeed "going out" with him.
Then, when love becomes more intense, it is the tender stroke of a hand across a face which says it all and more, or having one's face held in the two hands of one's beloved in a lover's cup prior to a life changing kiss. Who then hasn't gone to a fortune teller to have one's palm read to find out if he will or won't propose, or if he is indeed the one for you?
It is hands which are joined in prayer, and which are held during a wedding ceremony as the binding of souls on the long road to marital harmony and parenthood, and the rings which are exchanged in a promise of faithfulness go onto the ring finger with a direct connection to the heart. And if one is lucky enough, those hands will be cupping an enlarged belly whilst you wonder about the lucky packet contents contained therein, and will one happy day be cradling a beautiful baby. The fruits of love and labour.
The child becomes mother and marvels as ten little fingers unfurl and grow and grasp and explore. You wash little hands before meals, stick them in pots of paint to encourage creativity, teach them to turn pages carefully and learn to love and respect books. Your own hands, rougher and wrinkled, mop fevered baby brows, wipe dirty little botties and snotty little noses, and cook and wash and clean and drive for many years to come for those precious offspring. Till it's time to hold their hands as they start their first day at school, and they don't want to let go of your hand as they begin the long, slow journey away from you. All too soon, the day comes when the very last thing in the whole world they want is to be seen holding hands with you, and you try to hide your pain behind a bright smile. Knowing it is right in the great scheme of life. And then in turn, holding the hands of loved ones as they embark on their journey into the next life, and hoping and praying that there are hands outstretched to welcome them...
Our hands are our heritage, our lifeline, our form of self expression, our life's work and our show of love. Look after them and use them well and never take them for granted.
Love and thanks as always for taking time to read my blog, hope you all have a wonderful weekend.
Suzy Q
Ps. Who says elephants, my favourite animals (aside from Rex and Mr SQ) aren't evolved from a higher species? Just look at the mother "holding" her baby's hand and leading her to safety.
Well, as some of you might know, walking in the botanical gardens of Kirstenbosch rates most highly as one of our regular Cape pleasures. It is a privilege and a pleasure to be able to walk in such magnificent surrounds, getting a fairly good half hour hike in as we kick off at a lick up Camphor Avenue and do a circurtuous route first thing in the mornings.
www.sanbi.org/
One of the added benefits is that we feel pretty safe within the confines of the gardens. Today was particularly enjoyable, showing early signs of winter, being fresh, clear and breezy. We met up with Mr SQ's new walking pal, and ventured out of the gardens and on to the contour path for an extra thrill to the day and a super start to the weekend.
All this fresh air and exercise called for a little refreshment, so we ventured into Moyo, whose Bedouin style tents have been intriguing me me lately. Moyo has recently taken over the lease on the former Silvertree Restaurant, famous for it's magnificent views and sylvan setting, but most definitely not for it's food, as is often the case where there is a captive audience. Hope springs eternal, as it would be really super to be able to have a light bite or an evening meal in the gardens we love so much. I must admit to being a bit dubious on arrival, as it seems to have a circus-cum-carnival feel to it, a bit-how-wow, and is, ummm, not quite Kirstenbosch. So ok, they come from Zoo Lake in Jozi where they do things differently. Not wanting to be accused of being a boring old fuddy duddy opting for the old tearoom for a pot of tea and anchovy toast, I was sweet talked into popping in to find out what it was all about.
The serving staff are bedecked in clownish outfits, not quite sure what that's all about, but they seemed delighted to see us. Colourful cushions like something out of a Kasbah bedecked the seats, and we took a table outside, talking the place up. Perhaps we could all meet up for a meal and a glass of wine some time. Trevor, the manager, invited us to check out his produce table in the entrance, and urged us to "get involved." "Get involved with what, exactly?" enquired You-Know-Who (Yup, your ever boring Suzy Q) and was told to get involved with all the organic produce, including the preserves, apples and coffees. This rather reminded of the line from Richard Rayner's novel Los Angeles without a Map when a girl at the seaside said, " I love the sea but I don't want to get involved." Ditto me and my hard earned coffee. I just want to relax, chat and drink it with friends.
Our newfound friend and charming walking companion decided, whilst filling us in on his various cardiac and cholestrol treatments, to order the full English breakfast, with two SOFT eggs. Not wishing him to eat alone, we opted for a healthy yoghurt, fruit and muesli affair to share. The organic coffee was really very hot and flavoursome indeed. Full marks, but there it ended. The eggs arrived rock hard with two tough looking bits of cold toast and were sent back on the double. Our friend remarked wryly, "if the chef can't get the breakfast eggs right, there's not much hope for the rest of the menu." Worse than that, they could't get the raw muesli affair right either. A parfait glass with a sticky sweet dribble of red syrup down the sides arrived with a sickeningly rich yoghurt, nondescript muesli and a few gooseberries as its "healthy" contents. Pass. It rather reminded me of the Knickerbocker Glory parfaits we used to adore in days of yore.
The second round of eggs were only half hard, and we all had to get going so lingered only long enough to mention the saga to Trevor. Flabbergasted he was, and thanked us sincerely for the feedback, then he quickly moved on like a slick politician to tell us all about the face painting they do (seriously, if I want to go to a face painting party I'll take along a tribe of three year olds) and his Sunday buffets at R150 a pop. Don't like buffets, and the North African cuisine seems strange to me when Kirstenbosch is visited by so very many foreign and local tourists, and could really showcase some of our very own exceptionally good cuisine. I reckon that if they spent less time on the circus fare and more time on the menu and the edible fare they might stand a chance as they have guaranteed custom from the passing parade. However, even if he had offered us a complimentary anything as compensation, I doubt we'll be returning, till the next crowd take over....
However, I do wish them luck, not wishing to see any enterprise fail, so if perchance you are a senior citizen, they have a Pensioner's special on Tuesdays of coffee and a muffin for R20 to coincide with the free pensioner's entrance to the gardens. Now there you surely cannot go wrong, so why not take an old friend out for a walk and a treat and give Moyo a try?
www.moyo.co.za
Lotsa love and good to be back. Thanks for your support and patience. Hopefully with my new bluetooth keyboard (the old mac lives to fight another day) and a better Internet service from Telkom, it'll be back to regular postings again.
See you back here soon,
Suzy Q
