No, this isn’t the title of a new song for the 2025–2026 season.
Nor is it an AI-generated track that might become a hit in 2026.
It’s simply about going back to school and going back to work.
After many sunshiny days, the Southern Peninsula gave holidaymakers one last generous gift this weekend. Seawater temperatures climbed above 20 degrees, the summer sun showed no mercy, and people were everywhere — in the water, under umbrellas, beneath small tents, all determined to stretch the festive season just a little bit further.
It felt like a whole army marching down to the beach and then marching back up again, all day long. Yesterday, the last day before work and school resumed, Mother Nature certainly delivered — for overseas visitors, up-country travellers, and locals alike.
But then reality returned.
The news and radio have been full of reminders that this is a tough time of year for parents. School uniforms, stationery, sports gear — all requiring deep pockets and brave faces. And that’s before school fees are even mentioned. Years ago, when I was paying them, they were shockingly high. I don’t even want to imagine what they are today. Shame, parents. Shame.
Thinking about school made me think about samis.
Yes, those sandwiches wrapped in brown paper bags or packed neatly into Tupperware containers. My mother often made me snoek sandwiches, and I remember feeling slightly embarrassed when other children pulled out pristine Tupperware filled with peanut butter and jam sandwiches, little Melrose cheese blocks, and tiny packets of peanuts and raisins — while I sat there with snoek.
Little did I know I was probably eating the most delicious sandwiches possible. All they needed was cracked black pepper and a squeeze of lemon juice.
What did you have in your samis? Some children dreaded polony. Others couldn’t stand peanut butter. Apricot jam was an all-time favourite. And Marmite — well, Marmite on its own is a bit of a poor cousin, but add cheese and suddenly it earns its place.
And whatever happened to biltong spread? The powdered kind you sprinkled on bread to create an instant biltong sandwich. It was surprisingly good — even better with Marmite. I rediscovered it once when I moved into a new place without a fridge. It didn’t need refrigeration and saved the day.
Cheese and chutney samis? Timeless.
Then it was back to work — with the familiar mix of backstabbing, brown-nosing, quiet knifing, and HR reminding you that you’re less a human being and more a line item on a spreadsheet. Add the occasional restructuring, transformation target, or “realignment,” and suddenly job security feels like a festive-season myth. So you grind it out for the rest of the year, counting down to the next December, hoping you’re still employed — and that there’s enough money left to escape for a few days.
The only consolation is that everyone is in the same boat. What softens the blow are the holiday stories — overseas adventures, coastal escapes, or “doing the Garden Route,” which sometimes simply meant watering the plants in your own backyard or feeding the birds in the aviary.
If you’re feeling the blues when you get home, listen to some blues. A favourite radio station or a Spotify playlist will do — preferably without a presenter talking over the music, explaining all evening how much they know about the genre.
The blues have changed over the years. It’s no longer just about longing for a lost love or a dusty American town. These days it’s raw and edgy — songs about bad relationships, bad decisions, and still plenty about whiskey, although beer has finally made an appearance.
So do whatever helps. Someone yesterday suggested deep breathing. Maybe they’re right.
At the end of today, take a deep breath and tell yourself:
you’ve made it through what might just be the worst day of the year.
