Stoned

Not in that way, of course. That would be very naughty.
No, my drug of choice is fresh air. That and brandy, obviously.

I took this on one of a few quick trips down to the beach from the cottage this weekend.
Rather hypnotic.

The remainder of the time there was spent sorting out the back garden (such as it is) and trying to salvage fynbos from the remnants of the building site. I’m unconvinced that we got a long way with that process, although my aching muscles are screaming otherwise.
My rationale for getting as much done as possible as soon as possible is that then I’ll actually be able to use the cottage for its original purpose, namely to chill out a little.

The place is alive with wildlife: peregrine falcons, African land snails, striped mice, scorpions (x2, in the house) and a tortoise in the bushes at the back. Then one of the neighbours came round to say hello and warned us about the the pofadders.

This sorted out a lot of a gardening worries, since I’m now going to raze the whole thing and concrete it over.

Got to love getting close (but not too close) to nature, hey?

More pics, should you wish.