We had been fantasising about breakfast even before we started the walk. Now, halfway up Chapman’s Peak, the thought of the impending meal was running through both of us.
“It’s a full, full plate,” I said, gasping a little at the steep gradient. “There’s no chance you’ll be hungry after.”
“Speak for yourself,” grunted Daniel, my son, clambering up the side of a rock in front of me, his 16-year-old back like a man’s beneath his clinging T-shirt. Beyond him lay the curve of Hout Bay, a bowl of wind-tossed blue where pleasure boats churned out to Seal Island and its barking seal pups.
“Did I tell you that I took a trip to De Rust in December?” I asked.
“Yes, you did.”
“I went for a walk there, just…