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Or should you give it a miss and just drive past?

It’s funny how, when you mention a place like Bloemfontein City as a destination, people’s eyes tend to glaze over or quietly roll upward. Bloemfontein hardly ever features on major news platforms, and it’s rarely spoken about as a place to visit rather than pass through.

But if you’re nearby, in the surrounding areas, or even just stopping over in Bloemfontein, you’ll discover that—like any other city—it has its fair share of hidden gems. Below are a few of my favourites from a visit that started in the morning and ran into the hot afternoon. It’s not an exhaustive list, but it should give you a good starting point (and the internet can help fill in the rest).

Our first stop was M&M Bookshop in Brandwag. This bookshop has been around for many years and has been situated in various parts of Bloemfontein, but for the past few years it has happily settled into its current home. The owners are incredibly friendly, and we managed to pick up some really good finds. Outside, on the pavement, there’s also an honesty book stand where you can buy a book and pop five rand into a tin. I recently wrote about a similar honesty setup in England, where a woman sells homemade cookies quite successfully on the same principle. It’s refreshing to see that trust still works.

From there, we headed to Westdene Fruiterers in Westdene for their famous sausage rolls. These things are legendary—especially among students who studied in Bloemfontein 35 years ago. Amazingly, the place is still running and the sausage rolls are made exactly the same way as they were back then. Some traditions are worth preserving.

Next, we stopped to visit an Edwardian house in Westdene called Freshford, which I believe dates back to 1894. It’s a beautiful building with lush, well-established gardens. Unfortunately, it was closed due to renovations, but that’s actually good news—it’s encouraging to see local government investing in the restoration of such priceless history. Even seeing it from the outside made the visit worthwhile.

After that, we took a slow drive through the city streets, admiring Bloemfontein’s impressive judicial buildings. As you may know, Bloemfontein has long been the judicial capital of South Africa, and you can clearly see this reflected in the architecture—lower courts, higher courts, and supreme courts all housed in solid, dignified buildings.

On our route, we stopped at a well-known eatery called Stadium Café, which has been open since 1980. Here you can get a good hamburger, fish and chips, toasted sandwiches, and much more. The menu is extensive, the prices are reasonable, and the food is genuinely tasty. Although the area isn’t what you’d call fancy, the place itself is spotlessly clean. Stadium Café sits opposite the sports stadium where Bloemfontein’s big rugby matches take place, with the home team—the Cheetahs—often seen on TV.

Our final major stop was the Oliewenhuis Art Museum at 16 Harry Smith Street. As you drive up to the parking area, you’re greeted by beautiful grounds with manicured lawns and flowering plants (I think they were cannas). It was a hot afternoon, so parking in the shade was a blessing. There we noticed fossilised trees, estimated to be about 250 million years old. You can still see knots in the wood—now turned to stone—and running your hand over the surface, rough in places and smooth in others, is quite something.

Inside the museum, we viewed contemporary works as well as a temporary exhibition titled The Co-Incidence of Circumstances, a solo exhibition by Wessel van Huyssteen. Running from 6 November 2025 to 8 February 2026, the exhibition explores landscape, power, and materiality through detailed watercolours, collages, and richly textured textile works. We also saw a small painting by Maggie Laubser, which was a real treat, and then the magnificent Pierneef painting Rustenburg Valley. I couldn’t take my eyes off it—the way he moves from darker tones in the foreground to lighter areas in the middle ground, with the lightest touches in the sky among the clouds, is mesmerising. There are symbolic interpretations too, but that’s a discussion for another day.

We wrapped up by viewing an exhibition of women’s garments, beads, lipsticks, and personal items from decades ago, which was surprisingly fascinating. By then, the heat had caught up with us and we still had some necessary grocery shopping to do, so we called it a day.

All in all, it was a satisfying visit and proof that Bloemfontein City has far more to offer than many people realise. We honestly ran out of time—you could easily spend another full day exploring. One final tip: it really helps to go with someone who knows Bloemfontein well. Not just because every city has areas you should be cautious in, but because without local knowledge you’ll waste time figuring out what’s actually worth seeing. The internet helps, but be wary of long “47 things to do” lists—make sure the person compiling them has actually been there.

It was a fruitful day, filled with good food, good art, and a renewed appreciation for a city that deserves a closer look.

There’s a new food trend sweeping New York, and no, it’s not kale in disguise or coffee with feelings. It’s something far simpler, far saner, and frankly far more appealing: smaller portions. Yes, the age of the mini meal has arrived — and it’s strutting down Manhattan like a well-tailored jacket that doesn’t strain at the buttons.

An article in The Citizen (24 December 2025) titled “A bite for those reducing costs and waistline” reports on how New York restaurants are adapting to changing appetites. With weight-loss drugs like Ozempic turning once-hearty eaters into polite nibblers, restaurants such as Manhattan’s Le Petit Village are offering scaled-down meals. Hunger, it seems, has been downsized.

But these mini meals aren’t only for those chasing a smaller waistline. They’re also for the financially fleet-footed — the diners dodging inflation. With rent soaring and food prices climbing faster than a New York walk-up staircase, smaller portions make delicious economic sense. As the restaurant owner points out, this is about belts tightening — literally and figuratively.

And honestly? This trend would be a smash hit in South Africa.

Here at home, portion sizes often arrive at the table looking less like a meal and more like a dare. Breakfasts that could feed a small rugby team. Lunches that require strategy. Suppers that whisper, “You’ll be taking me home.” Sometimes it’s just too much for one sitting — whether it’s calamari, burgers, steaks or hake and chips.

It’s a trend that makes you wonder the day after a traditional South African Christmas feast — meat galore, salads competing for bowl space, and rich puddings. You don’t want dessert; you want a duvet. It’s wonderful, yes, but by hour three you’re shaped like a beach ball and contemplating an early night at 6pm.

Dining in 2025 has been tough on the wallet and purse. Prices have rocketed everywhere. Ordering from the kiddies’ menu is forbidden unless you arrive with crayons and homework. So couples have become creative. One plate. Two forks. Burger or calamari and chips shared like a diplomatic treaty. Just enough food, no leftovers, no doggy bag guilt.

Because let’s be honest: reheated restaurant food is a tragic sequel. It’s never as good the next day. Chips go limp, steaks sulk, and salads lose the will to live.

Imagine instead a menu that offers choice, not just abundance. Smaller burgers. Modest steaks. Reasonable portions of chips, rice and potatoes that don’t spill over like a starch avalanche. Even salads — light, fresh, and not the size of a garden bed.

This isn’t only about dieting. Yes, we’ve all heard the advice about using smaller plates to trick your brain into feeling full. But sometimes — especially in summer — you don’t want a meal that leaves you bloated, sluggish.

Of course, discipline helps. But discipline melts faster than ice cream when a plate of delicious food lands in front of you. The fork has a mind of its own.

And here’s the real trouble: affordability. These days, finding a restaurant meal under R100 is like spotting a unicorn at ant restaurant. Even sports clubs — once the bastion of cheap chips and cheerful prices — now charge R140 and upwards for fish, chips or pizza.

Mini meals could be the answer. Smaller portions at smaller prices. Less waste, less guilt, less strain on wallets and waistlines alike.

So here’s hoping South African restaurants take a cue. Because sometimes, less really is more. More manageable. More affordable. More enjoyable.

After all, a good meal should leave you satisfied — not shopping for elasticated trousers or planning a strategic nap.

Bring on the mini meals.

I am walking down an old farm road.

Birds are everywhere, twittering from the bushes and the tall trees. The wind moves gently through the grass, the shrubs, the branches overhead. Butterflies flit across the field. Insects buzz softly. The air is warm against my skin, still holding the heat of the afternoon sun. It hangs low in the west now, while far off the sky deepens into a grey-blue, heavy with the promise of a thunderstorm.

As I near the river, its sound comes to meet me first—the gurgle and rush of moving water. I pause on the cement bridge and search for a stone among the gravel. I find one, pick it up, and cast it downstream, watching as it plops into the water and disappears. I don’t know why I do this, but it feels good.

I cross the bridge and follow the gravel road up to a place I know well. A single tree stands there, silhouetted against the sky. I have walked here many times before. This spot holds quiet. It holds memory.

I think of the year that has passed—of people who have come and gone, of other walks along this same road, taken in different moods, under different skies. Today feels different. Today there is a sense of freedom, a calmness inside me that matches the beauty of the land at its best.

This is the afternoon before Christmas Eve. Tomorrow will bring festivities on the farm, voices and laughter. For now, there is only this.

I stop on the side of the hill and sketch the tree, the rocks, the road. Drawing pulls me closer to the moment. I notice more—the shapes, the lines, the feeling of being here, fully present, with what I see and what I feel.

When I turn back along the gravel road toward the farmhouse, the first drops of rain touch my skin. Far out on the horizon, thunder rolls. The rain is coming. I quicken my pace, and as I go, I spot a fresh porcupine quill beside the road and pick it up to carry with me.

I reach the farmhouse just as the heavy afternoon downpour begins.

It is moments like this that stay with me. Moments like this that I cherish. And I always wonder when I will walk this quiet, beautiful gravel road again.

This morning, very early, we woke up on a farm in the Free State and had the opportunity to see something that still feels slightly unreal.

We came down to relax and were treated to a front-row seat to the future of farming.

Standing at the edge of immense maize fields, with the Free State sun already warming the day and low rocky hills in the background, we watched an agricultural drone lift off and begin spraying crops. I sort of knew this was happening with drones and agriculture, but when you see it right there, in real life, it’s absolutely amazing.

I’m no agricultural fundi, but the conditions were right. The wind was a gentle breeze, blowing in just the right direction, allowing the insecticide to cover a wide area. The drone moved swiftly and confidently, covering huge sections of maize in a surprisingly short time. What used to require heavy machinery and long hours was happening quietly in the air.

What fascinated me was how efficient the whole operation was. While one battery was being swapped out, another was already charging. At the same time, the insecticide tank was being refilled. There was no standing around. Just a smooth, well-practised rhythm. We stood watching for a long time as the drone covered about half of one enormous maize field — several hectares — before breakfast.

The farmer we’re staying with explained how agricultural drone spraying is already making a real difference here in the Free State. It’s quicker, more accurate, and often cheaper than traditional mechanical crop-spraying equipment. For maize farmers who need to spray large areas at exactly the right moment, that precision matters.

What we saw this morning isn’t unique. Drones are being used more and more in agriculture around the world, and South Africa is very much part of that shift. But what I find particularly interesting is how this technology is forcing even the biggest and most established agricultural equipment suppliers to adapt.

Companies like John Deere aren’t being replaced — they’re evolving. Instead of relying only on massive diesel-powered machines, they’re integrating drones, software and data into how crops are managed and sprayed. In some cases, drones now scout fields and identify exactly where spraying is needed, while ground equipment does the rest. It’s less about one technology winning, and more about everything working together more intelligently.

Back in the maize fields this morning, none of that felt theoretical. It was practical, working technology, doing a job faster and with remarkable accuracy.

We came to the Free State to relax and ended up watching a glimpse of the future. Standing there at eight o’clock in the baking sun, surrounded by green fields fed by good rains and framed by rocky hills, it was hard not to feel that agriculture — here and around the world — is changing right in front of us.

Hint: it’s tucked away in a small suburb

Randburg, Johannesburg — 23 December 2025

Yesterday, I found myself swimming back to familiar waters: a fish-and-chip takeaway in Darrenwood, Randburg. The Fish Hook isn’t flashy or fashionable, and that’s exactly the point. It’s the kind of place you hear about from a local years ago and quietly keep in your mental net for when the craving strikes.

After being away from Johannesburg for two years, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Cities change. Neighbourhoods drift. Places you love can sometimes end up dead in the water. Johannesburg, after all, can feel like a big pond where even good things struggle to stay afloat. But Randburg — part of the northern suburbs — has always felt slightly removed from the chaos, swimming against the current in its own way.

Walking into The Fish Hook felt like casting a line and getting a bite straight away. The owner, Clinton Kahn, greeted me warmly and, to my genuine surprise, remembered me. I was taken aback — after all, I’m no big fish in a small pond here, just an occasional customer from years past. Still, he remembered. Hook, line, and sinker.

This isn’t a restaurant review. Think of it more as a few observations from someone who knows exactly what they want when the chips are down: traditional fish and chips. No reinvention. No distractions. No red herrings.

For me, the fish must be properly fried — crisp batter on the outside, fluffy white flesh inside. Light seasoning is fine, but the crunch is non-negotiable. That’s the finishing fin. The chips, too, must be crisp, not limp or soggy. Fish and chips is one of those classic partnerships — the good companions — where if one fails, the whole plate sinks.

There are rules, of course. Fish and chips must be eaten as soon as possible. Reheating them in a microwave is a bait-and-switch you’ll always regret. And while salt and vinegar are part of the tradition, vinegar is best added at home. It has a way of chipping away at crispness, especially the fish. When it comes to batter, vinegar can smell a little… fishy.

The Fish Hook itself is as unpretentious as they come. It sits in a small, slightly tired shopping centre — the kind with a few shops below and flats above. The building could use some tender loving care, but when it comes to food, cheap décor is no bargaining chip. What matters is what lands on the plate.

Interestingly, right next door is Bert’s Butchery — another Darrenwood institution, largely run by women butchers — making this modest little centre something of a blue-chip destination for honest food. No hype, just substance.

The shop was previously owned by a friendly Chinese couple who emigrated to Canada to be closer to family. Clinton took over, and like anyone swimming with sharks in the food business, he’s had to weather mixed reviews. A glance at Google shows the usual spread: many loyal fans, a few unhappy customers, complaints about waiting times or service. When you run a takeaway day after day, letting the chips fall where they may is sometimes the only option.

We took our order home, where fish and chips truly belongs — wrapped not in newspaper, but in familiarity. Paired with a craft beer from Kaya Sands in Johannesburg — Agars, one of the city’s standouts — the meal hit exactly the right note. Comforting. Familiar. Satisfying. Fish and chips, after all, is culinary reassurance: a reminder that some things don’t need improving.

Comparisons between inland and coastal fish and chips are a slippery business. Coastal versions have their place and their loyal following. But when you’re inland — especially in Randburg — The Fish Hook holds its own. It may be tucked away, but it’s not a fish out of water.

If you’re passing through Darrenwood and craving something classic, it’s worth dropping a line. You might just reel in exactly what you’re looking for.

Christmas is one of those times of year when people either travel far from home or stay put and overindulge. Or both. We move through crowded places, sit next to strangers on planes, eat too much, drink too much champagne, and generally lower our guard because, well, it’s Christmas.

But on the more serious side, Christmas does come with a long list of potential issues.

If you’re travelling, you can easily pick up germs in a new city. It might be the local water, something you catch on the airplane, or even fruit that looks innocent enough but hasn’t been washed properly. Sometimes the fruit has been washed — just not with clean water. And occasionally it’s simply past its best, even if it doesn’t look like it.

Then there’s the great Christmas leftover experiment. Leftovers are wonderful, but only if they’re stored properly. Food that sits out too long or isn’t kept at the right temperature can quickly turn into diarrhoea or food poisoning. Not exactly the festive memory you’re aiming for.

So yes, Christmas is fun — but it can also be a time of real discomfort and suffering if you’re unlucky or careless. Of course, there are things you simply can’t avoid. You don’t always know if food is contaminated. You don’t know who sat in your airplane seat before you. I even read recently that something as harmless-looking as a poinsettia can cause problems if you’re allergic.

What I’ve put together below is a list of possible hazards that can strike in the run-up to Christmas Day — and after.

Common Christmas Ailments to Watch Out For

Respiratory and Viral Illnesses

Close contact at gatherings and more time spent indoors make it easier for viruses to spread.

• Colds, flu, and COVID-19: All very much still around, often sharing symptoms like coughing, sore throats, and fatigue.

• Norovirus (the stomach bug): Highly contagious and fast-moving, with vomiting and diarrhoea being the main features. Dehydration is the real danger here, especially for the very young and the elderly.

Food-Related Issues

Big meals, rich food, and relaxed food safety rules don’t always mix well.

• Indigestion and stomach ache: Overdoing it with fatty, sugary, or spicy food will usually let you know about it.

• Food poisoning: Undercooked meat (especially large turkeys), food left out too long, or poor handling can cause bacterial infections.

• Nut allergies: Nuts are everywhere at Christmas, which can be dangerous for those with allergies.

Mental and Physical Stress

Christmas isn’t relaxing for everyone.

• Stress, anxiety, and depression: The so-called “holiday blues” are common. Social pressure, family dynamics, money worries, loneliness, and unrealistic expectations all play a role.

• Heart issues: A mix of stress, lack of sleep, heavy meals, and extra alcohol can increase the risk of heart problems, including what’s sometimes called “holiday heart syndrome.”

Accidents and Injuries

Festive activities come with their own risks.

• Falls and fractures: Hanging lights, decorating trees, or climbing on chairs and ladders can easily end in injury.

• Cuts and burns: Kitchens become danger zones, with sharp knives, boiling liquids, and hot ovens all working overtime.

• Choking hazards: Small decorations and toy parts are particularly risky for young children.

Allergies and Other Irritations

Even Christmas decorations can cause trouble.

• Christmas tree and poinsettia allergies: Mold, pollen, or natural plant gases can trigger sneezing, itching, watery eyes, or asthma-like symptoms.

A Few Sensible Prevention Tips

• Wash your hands regularly, especially before handling food.

• Eat and drink in moderation, and store leftovers properly.

• Use stable ladders or stools when decorating and keep sharp or hot items away from children.

• Make space for rest — Christmas doesn’t need to be a performance.

• If you’re ill, stay home, especially around elderly or vulnerable people.

On a Lighter Note…

Christmas has a way of producing a few memorable mishaps.

There’s the very real risk of falling while decorating the Christmas tree — balancing on a chair that was never designed for acrobatics, reaching for “just one more branch” or adjusting the lights.

Then there are the kitchen accidents: a rushed moment with a carving knife, or a burn from hot gravy or a tray pulled out too quickly from the oven.

And finally, the great Christmas bug — the cold, flu, or stomach bug that quietly does the rounds at family gatherings and only shows itself once everyone has gone home.

None of these are funny at the time, even if they sometimes become stories later.

Back to Being Serious

Because the truth is, it’s a miserable situation to find yourself with flu, diarrhoea, or food poisoning at exactly the time of year when you should be enjoying yourself most.

Christmas doesn’t pause just because you’re sick. Plans go on, meals are cooked, people visit — and you’re stuck on the sidelines, feeling rotten and wishing you’d been a bit more careful.

You can’t avoid everything. Some things really are down to bad luck. But being aware of the common problems — food hygiene, overindulgence, crowded spaces, and unnecessary risks — can make a real difference.

Landing at Lanseria Airport was a delight. From the air yesterday, Johannesburg looked lush and green after weeks of heavy rain—some of it reaching near-storm proportions. The Citizen even ran a striking photo on page 5: Balancing Act, showing Carlswald resident Digby Hoets on a slackline above floodwater coursing through his property. The photograph, by Sean Christie, captured just how dramatic the rains have been.

I was lucky with my timing. Saturday, I was told, was the first non-rainy day in a while—warm and lovely, with an evening that turned cool in that refreshing Highveld way. That evening, we went out to a new Portuguese restaurant in Ferndale called Cataplana. The food was delicious, made in that unmistakable Johannesburg Portuguese style—often by owners with roots in Madeira—simple, traditional, and deeply satisfying.

Today, Sunday, brought something equally special: reconnecting with people I hadn’t seen for two years at the Life Drawing Randburg session. A fantastic model, dynamic poses, and the genuine excitement of seeing familiar faces after such a long gap. A memorable experience all round.

Of course, it’s pothole season in Johannesburg. Here in Randburg, the recent rains explain a lot of the damage. Residents told me about one giant pothole that had been open for nearly two years, but community pressure finally paid off—it’s now being fixed, and spirits are noticeably higher. There’s something encouraging about that: people coming together and standing up for their neighbourhoods.

Many coastal residents would think you’re mad to come up to Johannesburg over the festive season. But this is actually a special time of year here. The weather is excellent, traffic is lighter, and it’s a chance to revisit favourite haunts and re-experience the friendliness Joburg is known for.

On the plane yesterday, I spoke to a man travelling back from Cape Town with his son. He was full of praise for Cape Town’s cleanliness and organisation—but he was clear: Johannesburg is home. Despite its problems, he loves living here. That sentiment feels increasingly common. There’s a renewed interest in improving life in the city, and fresh green shoots—literal and metaphorical—are appearing everywhere. Maybe not a return to former glory, but a determined effort to get Johannesburg working again.

While some encourage Joburgers to escape to the coast for the festive season, many locals genuinely enjoy staying put. It’s quieter, less frantic, and allows time to reconnect with family and friends. Coastal trips come with higher costs—accommodation, restaurants, liquor, flights, fuel—and plenty of chaos. That’s why staycations aren’t new here. For years, many Johannesburgers have preferred to stay home in December and head to Durban, the KZN coast, or the Western Cape later in February or March, when things have settled down.

Two years away gives you just enough distance to see a place clearly. Johannesburg, soaked by rain and riddled with potholes, is also visibly alive—green, sociable, and quietly determined. There’s work to be done, no doubt, but there’s also warmth, resilience, and a sense that people are once again taking responsibility for the city they call home. For now, it feels good to be back.

I drove out to Cape Town early yesterday morning and was surprised by the low levels of traffic on the Blue Route and then into the city itself. Another thing that struck me on the way to the station, where I was collecting family from the bus terminus near the station, was something I’d never really noticed before.

Along one of the boulevards there were pedestrian walkways named after well-known people in Cape Town — musicians, academics, and others. I thought this was a great thing. There are already more than enough English and Afrikaans names around, and while in other cities politicians have gone about renaming old places in sometimes heavy-handed ways, here in Cape Town it felt different. These were new pedestrian walkways that had never been named before, now bearing the names of prominent people from District Six. It felt considered. Respectful.

When I got to the bus terminus itself, I parked and, surprisingly, it was quite pleasant. Yes, you get people rushing up to you — parking guards, people asking for money, a few dubious characters — but you’ll find that anywhere in the world. Johannesburg station, by comparison, is another story entirely: derelict, filthy, grimy, and frankly intimidating. Here, though, it was clean. Pleasant. Beautiful trees, no traffic problems, no hooting, no screaming, no minibus chaos. Just… calm.

The bus was late — there had been heavy traffic coming into Cape Town on the N1 — so I decided to head up to Roeland Street. On the way, I was surprised by how good the gardens around the Castle of Good Hope looked. The parking was packed. I know the Castle has had its share of trouble with vagrancy and neglect over the years, but it seems to be a real tourist attraction again. Something has clearly been done to restore it and preserve its historical significance and place in the city.

On Roeland Street I stopped for a coffee at one of the cafés. With time on my hands and the bus getting later, I remembered there were two small businesses nearby that I wanted to speak to — owners or staff — about projects I’m planning for 2026. I couldn’t remember the name of one company, but through the other I eventually tracked it down and went to visit the owner. We had a good chat. She was very helpful, which I appreciated.

The office spaces in that part of Cape Town, especially around Roeland Street, are fantastic — really smart, well kept. You get a feeling of safety there. I know Cape Town isn’t completely safe, but in certain areas it really is fine. What a pleasure.

The Roeland Street Fire Station is still there. I remember it as a kid, driving past and seeing the fire engines — big and gleaming — from the back seat of my father’s Studebaker. That was a long time ago. But on a beautiful summer’s day, it was simply great to be in the city, which is by far the cleanest city in South Africa.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t problems. There’s a lot of vagrancy, and shacks have been built in places. The tension between the city council and an ever-growing homeless population is real. But at least in Cape Town there’s an attempt to keep a grip on things. In Johannesburg, by contrast, nothing is done, whole areas become no-go zones, and things simply fall apart.

It was a wonderful day in the city, even though it was hot. The car read 27 degrees while moving, but once stationary it climbed to 31. Proper heat. I was relieved, after collecting the family, to head back over to the other side of the peninsula and feel that fresh south-easter as you come over Boyes Drive.

I’m going to get into a bit of obscure stuff with music. If it’s of no interest to you, close this page and find something else to do. I always like digging into areas of music where I find out so much that I tend to get lost. One rabbit hole is a Beatles song that has, in recent times, been covered in a fresh way.

Now, look, I wasn’t a great Beatles fan growing up with rock in my saurian ’70s. But I still respected them, and later on I got to enjoy a lot of their songs. I suppose it was learning to appreciate what they were actually doing — especially their studio work.

But the one song I want to talk about is Come Together. I’ll get to the history of this song just now.

I was in the Striped Horse in Muizenberg about a year and a half ago. It was my first encounter with a Cape Town band called Uncle Righteous. Their lead singer and guitarist is Jude Burger. Anyway, I was standing there enjoying their music when they played a song — and I just couldn’t believe the heaviness of it, the sheer rock of it. It turned out it was actually Come Together, but an amazing heavy rock, wild version of Come Together.

And this is what I thought to myself: imagine if the Beatles had heard their song played like this. They would have been astounded. It was at such a high tempo, just wild. And it’s a pity, in a way, that they never played it with such fury and vigour. But, you know, the Beatles had their style and their audience. This would maybe have rocked the boat. Nevertheless, I’ll come to a few other versions in a moment.

I must say — and I’m a great believer in this — that rock music, or any music for that matter, played live is the best I can ever experience. There’s nothing like it. Nothing to compare. No CD, no radio, no car radio, no sound system. It just doesn’t compare with live music.

So when I’d heard this version of Come Together by Uncle Righteous, I searched over the next few days for versions in a similar vein. The only one I could find was by an Australian band called Godsmack. I’m not going to get into it here or describe it in detail, but it is absolutely amazing.

Forget trippy, hippie vibes. Godsmack’s version is the original song fed through a factory press. It trades the Beatles’ cryptic, swinging groove for a menacing, industrial stomp — all down-tuned, chugging guitars and a piston-like rhythm. Sully Erna’s guttural snarl replaces Lennon’s drawl like a command shouted through a megaphone. This isn’t a cover; it’s a hostile takeover, rebuilding the classic from steel and concrete for the arena-rock era.

The main point in raising it is that it will give you a taste of the Uncle Righteous version I heard live at the Striped Horse in Muizenberg.

Now, it was quite interesting: the other night I happened to see the leader, guitarist, and singer of Uncle Righteous, Jude Burger. We were watching The Uninvited Guests, the fantastic local band originally from Limpopo. But anyway, getting back to the story — I told Jude that about a year and a half ago I had absolutely loved their version of Come Together. He thanked me, and I said I’d found a version by some obscure Australian band that sounded similar to his band’s take.

Anyway, he then gave me the name of another artist who’s covered it. I listened to that version and it’s also fantastic — not as heavy as the Australian band, and not as heavy as Uncle Righteous perform it — but nevertheless very good.

The musician is Gary Clark Jr., and he recorded the song for the Justice League movie. He’s said that he never even considered covering Come Together until he was asked, and that recording it felt like being in a garage band again.

That comment is the key to understanding his version.

Gary Clark Jr.’s take is a raw, blues-drenched resurrection of the song. He strips it back to its swampy, rhythmic core, turning it into a gritty, improvised jam. Dirty, overdriven guitar riffs snarl and wail over a primal, hypnotic groove. It feels instinctual and live — that garage-band energy where a classic is ripped apart and reassembled with smoke, sweat, and soul. He doesn’t just cover it; he reclaims it for the blues.

And just for a bit of background: Come Together started life as a campaign song request from Timothy Leary during John Lennon’s 1969 bed-in for peace. Lennon later reworked it entirely for Abbey Road, slowing it down into that strange, funky blues track we all know.

And I want to leave you with this. Just imagine a full heavy rock band starting out with a massive instrumental intro — drums, bass, lead guitar — before breaking into those surreal, half-nonsense, half-psychedelic opening lines about a strange, swaggering character drifting into view.

What a crazy song. Psychedelic, playful, slightly unhinged — wrapped up in the era of Tim Leary and acid experiments. And yet today it’s just as fresh as ever, especially when rock musicians pick it up, pound it hard, and squeeze every last drop of juice out of it.

Short story by Chesney Bradshaw

“Isn’t it just wonderful to be in a place like this? It’s just fantastic. Imagine living up there against the mountainside and having the sea down here and coming to this harbour. It must be fantastic. I wish we could live here,” said Janine Bennet to her husband, Jack.

Running in front of them were their two daughters, Emma and Amy, enjoying the walk on the Kalk Bay Harbour breakwater. They were coming back from the red lighthouse.

“It is fantastic here for a holiday,” said Jack. “I don’t know about living here, but it’s nice to come down here for a holiday. All of this is relaxing after all our work — all my work — in the big city.”

“That’s all you think about,” Janine said. “Work, work, work. Anyway, let’s go enjoy supper at that wonderful little fish restaurant there at the harbourside. I’m sure the kids are hungry.”

“No, we’re not!” said Amy. “We want to play more. It’s lovely walking around here. I want to have fun with my sister. It’s lovely. I want to have fun with my sister.”

“Come, come now, girls. It’s supper time. We’re going over there to the restaurant now.”

Jack trailed behind his wife and daughters, off to Kalky’s at Kalk Bay Harbour. They waited in the long queue because, at this time of day — being a public holiday, 16 December — the restaurant was packed. They placed their orders, found a table outside, and waited for their food. The girls left the table and roamed around in the nearby vicinity, pointing their mobile phones at boats, seals and gulls.

“This is wonderful. What a place to eat outdoors at a harbour like this. You know, Jack, if we lived here, we could come here any time we want. It would be lovely. The girls love it down here. I think I could find them schools. Shouldn’t be too difficult. I could bring my art business down here,” said Janine.

“Whoa, whoa,” said Jack. “Aren’t you running a bit ahead of things here, wanting to find schools for the children already? I mean, you know, we’ve lived in Johannesburg — Bryanston, actually — most of our lives. You know I’m from Johannesburg. I was born there. I love it there. And you are from there too. What’s the attraction with Cape Town? Yes, everybody’s coming down to Cape Town now, but you’ve got to think of work. I’m in mid-career here. To find a job in this place would be very difficult. It’s a very tight market. Maybe you could do better with your art, but I’m not so sure about that.”

“What do you mean you’re not so sure about that?” Janine asked. “I can start my business in art anywhere. Look, I’m just teaching people to do art. And I can sell my art. I don’t need a studio to begin with. There are a lot of artists here all over Cape Town. It’s an art community.”

“That’s what you say. But you need to check things out. It might not be so hunky-dory as you’re explaining. If there are so many artists here, it’s competitive. You need to look at some galleries, speak to people,” said Jack.

“I could come down here and live with the kids while you’re still in Johannesburg, and I can set up my art studio and teaching here. It won’t be too difficult to find some students. Art is booming at the moment. Art is thriving down here. And I can easily find enough people to support me. And I can sell my paintings. You know I only work in oil, so people want oil paintings and they sell much higher than acrylics. And watercolour — please don’t tell me about that. No, I’ll stick to oils. That would mean I’d be away from you, but you could come visit us while we’re down here, and you’re trying to find a job here in Cape Town,” said Janine.

“I don’t know about that, Janine. You’re running ahead of yourself here. You know it’s not so easy in Cape Town. It wouldn’t be easy for me to find a job, I can tell you that. It’s best to come down here when you’re retired. The main jobs are in Johannesburg — that’s where all the work is. Even though Johannesburg has got its problems at the moment, it’s still where people work. It’s the big economic hub of the country. And it would… I mean, if you had to come down here, it would be lonely. I know you’ve got your parents out there, and if you want to stay this side it’s going to be a lot more difficult. And you can’t stay with your parents — their place isn’t big enough for you and the kids. I don’t know. I’m not even entertaining this thought. I don’t know about this. Here we are, we’re on holiday, we’ve just come down — let’s enjoy ourselves.”

Across from where they were sitting, two young men — one in his early 30s wearing a T-shirt and a peak cap over his black hair, the other about the same age, blonde and muscular, a windsurfer perhaps — found a table and started a conversation. They were eyeing Janine and other women sitting outside the restaurant. They seemed free and easy, and snatches of their conversation drifted across with the wind.

“Wow, there’s a lot of talent here,” the one with the blonde hair said.

“Not too loud,” the other murmured, though he kept looking.

Jack’s eyes flicked towards them, then back to Janine. She hadn’t noticed. Or perhaps she had, and simply didn’t care. The men laughed at something private, relaxed in a way Jack hadn’t felt in years — not with deadlines, commutes, and the weight of Johannesburg on his shoulders.

“And you know another thing people have told me — look at Bill and Karen. They came down here, you know they’re best friends of ours, and it’s two to three years and they haven’t made any local friends with any local people. The only people they know are from Johannesburg who moved down longer ago. Cape Town people are nice and all of that, they’re friendly, but they won’t invite you to their homes. Bill and Karen haven’t been invited to one person’s home here in the Cape, despite knowing people now for already two or three years. It’s like that. It’s a closed circle. They used to say Cape Town is cliquey — well, it is cliquey. Anyway, we should just concentrate on having a good time while we’re down here, having a great Christmas with your parents in Somerset West, and let’s go back and think about it more when we go back home. It’s a big thing. It’s a big decision.”

“Jack, you’re always saying this. You’ve always been the responsible one, never wanting to make a move, never wanting to take a chance. I hear everything you’re saying and it all makes sense, but it’s got no heart in it. It’s not something that’s exciting. I’d love to live in a place like this. I know what you’re saying about friends — I mean, I feel terrible for Bill and Karen — but that’s what it’s like, yes, people aren’t forthcoming, it’s not easy to make friends. No wonder they are friends only with the people they’ve known from Johannesburg.

“Well, you know, we’ve got to make a decision sometime, and I suppose you’re right, it’s not something that we can make overnight. One of my oldest friends came down here and she seems to be doing pretty well, but you’re right, it was hard for her to break in. But when you’ve got a choice, it’s different. She didn’t have a choice. I think she was running away from an ex-husband, wanted to get out of Johannesburg and start a new life down here,” said Janine.

“Well, I don’t want to dampen your spirits about this. You know I need to think with a logical head. Yes, if I come up with something and we could move down and we could all move down together at the same time, then fine. But until that happens, I wouldn’t want you to rush into anything. And how could I live without you? I’d be very lonely there without you and my children — Amy and Emma — I love them, I want to be with you guys. Yes, I know sometimes you need to make sacrifices, but it’s very difficult. Look, it’s a week before Christmas. Let’s just enjoy our holiday here, keep it in the back of the mind. Anyway, here come the girls, and yes, I see our food’s arriving.”

“Well, that’s what you say. I’ve heard you out. But I still want to explore it and see what I can find out while I’m down here. I’ll go have a talk to Veronica — I think you’ve met her. She’s that artist who used to be so successful in Johannesburg and she’s doing well down here. I’ll ask her what it’s like. Perhaps you can drop me off at her place, at her studio, one of the days while we’re down here, and I can have a nice long chat with her. You can take the girls to the beach. I don’t want to let this thing go. You know, time’s running out, Jack. Before we know it, these children are going to be big and out of school. Then what?”

“The girls are not even in school yet. What’s this rush all about? I can’t believe it — when you get your head around something, when you start like this, you won’t stop. It’s worse than having a dog chewing on a bone. No, I think that’s the wrong thing to say. It’s probably like that seal we saw earlier — it’s worse than one of those seals hanging onto a snoek carcass and thrashing it about on the surface of the water.”

“Oh, Jack, you love pouring cold water on things, don’t you?”