A Street in the Cape Malay Quarter

It is a Sunday, much like any other Sunday except that this morning, the little village was woken up at seven by the sounds of an approaching military band. Sleepy, questioning faces line the main street as the band approached. They had sounded so formidable, and now we saw that they were all, or almost all of them, children. One of the smallest - he was almost the smallest - made the most noise. He thumped his big bass drum with a stern look on his little face. They came - and they went, and nobody has any idea why they were here. Slowly the sounds of the child military band faded and one by one, we returned into our little houses, to our little village lifes. Even in a small village like Stanford (RSA) there occur little mysteries.

Have you heard of Aldo Buzzi? I hadn't, until I discovered him Googling gorgonzola cheese - and what a surprise awaited me! I have been engrossed in all I could find which, eventually, led me to start this blog. This is really a teast, so I am going to end it here, but I will soon provide links etc and tell you more. Of course, we must assume that people are listening. Not only on a blogsite, but even in conversation. Have you ever had a disconcerting feeling that someone's attention is drifting elsewhere? It is a most disconcerting feeling. You don't know whether to stop talking, express your irritation, or press on regardless. Or it is like tossing a pebble onto the surface of a lake or a dam. We have all done that. And we watch it skid across the water, and the slowly subsiding ripples are our only response. But that is enough for us, and we never expected more.