This year I was away overseas for a month of those 90 allegedly “cool” days and heard I missed two terrible weeks in the middle of my working holiday (or sanity break!).
That was the fortnight I was in Morocco, with desert temperatures in the mid-40s centigrade in inland Marrakesh, but, thankfully, at least 10 degrees less on the coast.
I’d bet some days I spent in Scotland, and a few in England in their purported “high summer” were cooler than the same days in Harare in mid “winter” but a lack of the UK’s traditional June/July warmth was largely offset by lush greenness, quality of light and length of days.
It’s nice to trot down to the village pub after supper and the nine o’clock news in broad daylight, returning a couple of hours later in entrancing twilight. Travelling by coach from Edinburgh to Oxford, there were still 300 or 400 metres’ visibility as we crossed the border just pre-midnight. I woke as the coach pulled into a motorway service area at 3am, somewhere near the Peak District, and we could clearly see what was happening on rich farmlands 500m distance.
Saturday dawned here chilly, but by the time I walked over to Springfever (I’m house sitting nearby while pals visit Thailand) for breakfast (no Municipal water!) at 9.30am, a light long-sleeved V-neck was unneeded; shorts were worn for the first time in about 80 days (in Zim.)
Sitting in the dappled garden shade of Springfever — an Afrikaans-themed coffee shop, also called Plaaskombuis (farm kitchen) — was most pleasant. For a wee while Boere music played softly from speakers on the stoep (soon changing to Wonderwall!) And I heard the almost unmistakable Taal spoken softly, oddly enough, for the first time since Edinburgh, six weeks earlier.
Sitting in the bar of one of those lovely (but sadly, now rather dear) pubs in Rose Street, a couple chatted in what I first thought was cultured Afrikaans, but decided may be Dutch or Flemish; or, for all I knew, Lithuanian Latvian or Estonian (Britain’s full of Balts). Then they changed to English — and back again to the more guttural tongue.
As far as I know only Afrikaners do that and, sure enough, they were from the Cape, visiting kids who’d settled in Britain. They loved Edinburgh…its culture, traditions, theatre, art galleries, food, drink and pubs but were going “back to the UK” tomorrow. Don’t laugh: when an Edinburgh travel agent suggested a break in Corfu (instead of the Morocco I finally chose) and I commented on savage riots seen in Athens and Salonika on TV, she asked: “Oh, is Corfu in Greece, then?”I overheard an otherwise bright sounding student on a plane assure his adoring chick that Tahiti (a French colony in the South Pacific) was British and in the Indian Ocean!
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But, I digress (as usual!) Springfever is owned by Elise and Piet Oosthuizen, who ran the excellent pull-in at Karoi of the same name before it was “taken” by “warvet” warlord the maverick Temba Mliswa, who spends a lot of time these days helping police with their enquiries. Mliswa has literally “taken” much mobile and immobile property in that area, but it doesn’t look as if he’s doing much with those once productive tracts, when I travel to and from Kariba.
Having lost virtually everything, the couple re-opened Springfever to popular and professional critical acclaim at Westgate, before that rapidly turned into Ghost City (Zim) Inc. They then took over Mimi’s at Borrowdale for which they won awards, and in April moved to Rowland Square.Their meals are punchy, well-cooked, using first-rate locally sourced ingredients. Being Afrikaners, portions are on the large side of substantial. Being honest country volk, prices are on the south side of reasonable.
Everything is freshly cooked to order, so be ready to wait perhaps 15 minutes to graze. The eatery provides books, magazines and independent newspapers (including this one) to kill time. However, I had with me a borrowed copy of Peter Godwin’s The Fear (The Last Days of Robert Mugabe) a beautifully written and evocative, but sadly inaccurately titled…and very depressing… look at the aftermath of 2008’s bloody, farcical “elections”.Folk at the next table asked: “Are you enjoying that?” I did the hand wobbling “so-so” bit to be told they were in it…on page…… That was roughly 100 pages further on; I skipped there to find it mainly about Roy Bennett (and the husband clearly was not Pachedu), so they must be the Mutare couple from Fairbridge.
Small world, I personally know or have known about three dozen people mentioned in this book, so far, including the bloke in the next office!I was ready for “crumpet stacks” when they arrived. I’d say they were flapjacks or griddle scones rather than true North of England crumpets (or pikelets). Savoury, the bottom one was topped with much good quality bacon; then another “crumpet” stacked with caramelised onions; then another “thing” groaning under sautéed button mushrooms; then a top plain pikelet on which sat a perfectly fried runny soft egg.
These came with a side portion of grand chips and “cheesy tomatoes” (grilled: covered with grated cheddar.)
Two toast slices accompany breakfasts (served all day) with butter, home-made marmalade, or golden syrup. This dish, at just US$8, was washed down with a pot (four/five cups) of Tanganda tea, with vanilla biscotti at US$2.
Springfever, 2, Rowland Square, Prince Edward Road, Milton Park. Open daily. Sunday buffet lunch. Tel 0772 711 985; 0772 210992; 0772 687344. [email protected] l [email protected]
