“Time of death, 12.59pm.”  When you hear those words you expect a Holby City-style switching off of machines and delicate draping of a sheet, but if organ donation is a possibility, it’s just not like that.

Paraphernalia.  Stuff.  We have a lot of it.  More than we think.  And guess when it really makes its presence felt?  When we die.

“You’re looking really fat these days, you should eat less.”  That’s a pretty nasty thing to say to a woman isn’t it?  It’s likely the conversation would end in tears, or a slap, or both.  But “You’re looking really thin these days, you should eat more” is ok isn’t it?  It must be, because two people said this to me last week without batting an eyelid.

As you may have gathered, I have been well up for trying new things recently, particularly if they fall under the mind/body/soul umbrella.  So when I spotted an advert for a Transcendental Meditation (TM) course right here in Mallorca I thought ‘nothing ventured nothing gained’ and enthusiastically signed up.

I have accidentally given up alcohol.  I know that sounds like the most nonsensical statement ever, but it’s true.

Having fallen hook line and sinker for nutrition, fitness and all that jazz over the past few years (I am a paleo poster girl (not literally) and a fully-fledged member of the cult of crossfit) falling off the healthy wagon on holiday just isn’t an option.

I booked my trip to Cape Town a mere 48 hours before getting on the plane.  I had no time to buy a Rough Guide and hastily Googled essentials such as currency and time zone (I know, sorry) as I threw my sunhat in the suitcase.  I also gave not one single thought to how I was going to stay safe upon arrival.

With a stark disparity between rich and poor, South Africa (and that includes Cape Town) has high rates of assault, rape and murder.  If you don’t believe me, check out this graphic of the World’s Most Violent Cities.  Gulp.  And gulp again.

Going to Cape Town without scaling the heights of Table Mountain would be rather like weekending in Paris without photographing the Eiffel Tower or long-hauling to Sydney without posing in front of the Opera House.  Put simply, it’s got to be done.

As is the scourge of the modern world, you sightsee everything twice – once on TripAdvisor and once in real life. Sadly, as a solo traveller, I see the review site as a necessary evil. I’d rather be forewarned and forearmed about rancid food, belligerent staff and interminable queues, than turn up and burst into disappointed tears without a friend to console me.

After the excitement of the penguins, I was terrified I had started my Cape Town odyssey at the pinnacle and everything that followed would be a downright disappointment in comparison. I half-heartedly flicked through the ‘Cape Town Official Visitors’ Guide 2016’ over breakfast (at THE best accommodation in the northern suburbs, Cape Sunset Villas, directly on the beach with frontline views of Table Mountain) and spied a picture of a cute row of primary-coloured beach huts. Now, I love to show off a good travel photo on social media so my sights were set on tracking down the aforementioned huts – camera phone in hand (I am not responsible enough to own an actual camera with lenses and things).