Post-holiday correspondence

Dear Cape Town,

My, but you've grown up. Love what you've done with De Waterkant. You're so sophisticated these days. So sexy. I mean, you were always fabulous, but wow. I'm impressed.

And you've done a great job of looking after my mountain. I do miss you, you know. Especially now you've shown me this new, smarter side. Trying to win me back? I could be tempted... Anyway, thanks for putting on such a great show while we were there. The weather! The food! (Actually, my thighs would like to have a word with you later.)

By the way, where was everyone? It was great not having to fight off hordes of tourists everywhere, but honestly, where did you put them? Are they really all in Plett this year? Or was it the fuel crisis keeping them at home?

Which reminds me. About that fuel crisis. And the weekly power cuts. Temper, dear! Isn't it time to put such childish things behind you? I know, I know, responsibility is so boring. But these adolescent tantrums... it just doesn't suit your new image, darling. Try to walk the talk, hm?

All right then. You're so lovely. If you really want me back, we might be able to work something out. But you're going to have to sort out that temper of yours. Oh, and you might as well know, until you can offer me fast, cheap broadband, it's just not going to happen.

Ta-ta, darling. Kisses. Love you always.

Scroobious.

***

Dear London,

Okay. I get it. You're in cahoots with Cape Town. The mothers — mine, Beloved's, the Mother City — pulled some strings, and you agreed to give me the cold shoulder. Bravo, well done and all that, you succeeded admirably. Grey skies, bare trees, gloom all around, very effective contrast with sunny SA. Tesco was a nightmare, you got that right too. Ambushing me with fights with Parcelforce and British Gas — bit over-the-top, no? But okay, okay, you've made your point. Now give it a rest. We're stuck with each other for now, so just deal, okay?

Okay.

Happy Christmas.

Scroobious.