When life gives you thorns
We had been fantasising about breakfast even before we started the walk. Now, halfway up Chapman’s Peak, the thought of the impending meal was running through both of us.
“It’s a full, full plate,” I said, gasping a little at the steep gradient. “There’s no chance you’ll be hungry after.”
“Speak for yourself,” grunted Daniel, my son, clambering up the side of a rock in front of me, his 16-year-old back like a man’s beneath his clinging T-shirt. Beyond him lay the curve of Hout Bay, a bowl of wind-tossed blue where pleasure boats churned out to Seal Island and its barking seal pups.
“Did I tell you that I took a trip to De Rust in December?” I asked.
“Yes, you did.”
“I went for a walk
