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On the first school day in January, I eagerly join the early morning coffee crowd at the pop-up coffee cart on one of the quiet streets in our neighbourhood.
There are usually one or two good stories to be heard about the past holidays. Like one young mother, quite haggard-looking, who says their Christmas holiday was spent in the Karoo.
Her husband’s brother farms there somewhere and invited the whole clan for a camping Christmas on the farm: all three brothers and their sister from New Zealand, along with their offspring. There’s a cool spot in a thorn tree thicket with a huge cement dam close by and lots of open space for the kids to run wild.
