So did the news of the shouting, swearing woman in the pink flannel pajamas reach you yet? No. Well let me confess...

 
I used to love the city. Loved how you could just zip down to the local coffee shop. Have an espresso. Zip to the office. High on caffeine. How the buzz of the city would make you not notice how uncomfortable those really high shoes were. I guess in Cape Town you can get away with almost anything. It is so damn beautiful that you are distracted from sore feet, caffeine highs, vagrants on the street and any type of existential crisis as you are regularly overwhelmed by the sheer fabulousness of it all.

Port Elizabeth, on the other hand, prove to have more room for ... ahem .... contemplation. There is no in-your-face-beauty. No Long Street. No fabulous old woman who will regularly stroll down Victoria Road to Gardens for tea and scones.

God does have a sense of humour. I landed up in a cottage in the country. In a place that only now have a really great coffee shop. (Thank you Friendly Stranger) And I am no longer wearing high heels - well, sometimes - if it rains you get stuck in the mud. Instead  I have bunnies, a wandering tortoise, three very ill-tempered Egyptian geese, a little brown bird that is certifiably crazy and often try to kill itself by flying into the sliding doors, several times every morning (Once I opened the door and it flew right in, bashed into the wall and was lying lights out on the carpet when I found it.)

Instead of late nights with questionable men in the Cuban Restaurant where we will end up discussing topics with long Latin names I now go home, feed the birds, including the crazy brown one, put out some spinach for the tortoise, aka Clive, who will only come nibble on it when I can't see him, shout a little at the geese, just for fun.

I really like my little cottage as it firstly is quiet. I don't have to listen to drunk vagrants singing in the street and discussing the exactly length of Langkop's manhood - however interesting it is. I don't have to bash on the walls at 2 in the morning to alert the neighbours having very loud sex that I can hear every dirty word. Nobody knocks on the my door for "20c please."" (Really... what are you going to do with 20c??) My gate doesn't even have a buzzer so unless you have been invited or I really, really like you I don't have to let you in.

Of course recently my lovely, peaceful existence was seriously disturbed by the Neighbourhood Watch and their green light. Yes... I said it the Neighbourhood Watch. Lovely people. Sacrificing time for the good of all. Having spent the better part of the last decade covering brutal farm murders I am very much in favour of any deterrent force that will keep intruders from my home. However...

It is dark where I live. I like it as it is conducive to sleep and I have an insomnia-induced deficit of about 20 years to wipe out. If somebody shines a light in my eyes I will wake up. I will have a fright and I am bound to be cranky and do crazy things... as we all saw last night.

So the past few nights I got woken up by a flashing green light - shining right into my bedroom. My first thoughts contained several four letter words. The second one too. By the third one I was peeping out the study window and realised that the source of the green flashing light was the neighbourhood watch's friendly patrolling vehicle. You are wondering why they have a green light? Sit tight. At first I thought it was just a once off flashing incident. When it happened the next night I repeated a "tolerance affirmation" to see if it will make me patient and loving towards the neighbourhood watch people. It didn't.

Last night, I lost it, I am sorry to say. Barefoot and in pajamas I opened the front door. Stormed out to my gate. Discovered that the neighbourhood watch having coffee and sandwiches with the armed response guys. (Lovely only-in-South-Africa moment I only realised now that I have calmed down.) First my front door bashing woke the geese who, as one tends to do in avian land when woken up crazy angry women, made a huge noise. It did not disturb the security-sector midnight party.

 

"Can we help you?" they asked politely. I explained my predicament. "But it is a green light," they said. "It should not disturb you. Green is conducive to calm... and it is very dangerous to be outside in the middle of the night. It is cold you might catch a cold. And you must never leave your front door open."

 

I am not rendered speechless often in my life. But I was. Bowled out by the neighbourhood watch. I turned around angrily walked to my front door and promptly stepped in geese poo left there no doubt by my frightened avian friends.

 

This is not over.