‘Ramblings’ conjure up the image of some romantic Maugham or Hemingway narration that draws from experiences in a place far, far away at a time long, long ago during which the author, through the eyes of the hero, tickles the reader into a state of excitement or just as easily lulls them into a barmy state of dreaminess.
Ramblings are sepia in colour, and measure about 25 degrees celsius on an expensive and accurate thermometre.
They taste like fruit tarts in a light dough with a smattering of sugary powder. Surrounded by flakes of sugar-sprinkled parmesan.
These are not ramblings. These are pork ribs with cassava and avocado, and red chillis whisked in oily cloves and sun-dried tomatoes.
So wash your hands.
There will be lots of dust and not few pot-holes along the way, so you will need a four-wheel drive brain at times, but certainly won’t have to engage it full-time.
As you would expect, power will be cut off occasionally, load-shedding being so rampant, and when that happens you will have to use the inverter offerred by a few links in earlier posts, especially the ones that reveal my core elements.
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