Notes From The Editor

The Readers of St Francis Today – Notes From The Editor

by SFT | Dec 22, 2025 | Notes From The Editor, St Francis

One month, the readership of St Francis Today was minding its own business at around 10,000 reads. Next thing you know, more than 35,000 reads were recorded over a 30-day period, which in a town of this size feels statistically high. Not a surge, exactly. More of a slow, steady increase, possibly fuelled by collective village boredom and a mild curiosity about what might happen next. Let’s have a quick look at some insights as to who you, the readers, are, and what habits you have formed around St Francis Today.

This Is Apparently a Thing Now

Most readers are local, but a growing number are reading from further afield. I was recently introduced to a couple from Holland who were here on holiday and read St Francis Today daily back home. They were particularly fascinated by the groyne project, which made sense given that the Dutch have been quietly holding the sea at bay for several centuries and tend to take an interest when others attempt the same thing.

Around the same time, an old school friend now living in the USA sent me a Facebook message that I picked up about a month late, largely because Facebook is social media for very old people, not me, and I no longer understand how Facebook Messenger works. He also mentioned that he reads St Francis Today whenever he can, which turns out to be quite often, as he retired at 40 and has spent the last 16 years surfing and producing a small range of novelty t-shirts. Retired at 40. One of us clearly made some poor decisions earlier in life.

This Is Not Clickbait

What connects you is not outrage, novelty, or click-baity nonsense, even if we occasionally wander dangerously close for our own amusement. It is attentiveness. You read past the headline. You notice when something changes. You remember what was published last week.

You mostly read from the Eastern Cape, with a growing number checking in from elsewhere, maintaining a quiet, long-distance interest in how this small town conducts itself. You might follow a link on Facebook, or you might type the address directly, which suggests either loyalty, habit, or a refusal to trust algorithms with anything important. You mostly read on laptops, quietly defying the internet’s utter insistence that everything meaningful in this universe must now happen on a phone while waiting for coffee.

There is no manifesto. Interestingly, there is a subscription form, but most people cannot find it. This has not slowed things down. Instead, you return the old-fashioned way, through habit, curiosity, and a vague sense that something interesting might have happened while you were doing something else.

Here’s the subscription form, just in case.

If you are reading this today, you know all of this stuff. You are already part of it, and whether you meant to or not, you are now one of the people who can say with conviction, “I read that somewhere.”

Or, on a less generous day, wonder who the hell keeps letting this thing publish.

—

From our small town to wherever you are reading from, merry Christmas.

the editor.

A Solid Defeat Before Coffee – Notes From The Editor

by SFT | Dec 1, 2025 | Notes From The Editor, St Francis

“Let’s be patient out there.”

I repeated this to myself, trying to summon inner calm, as I drove home after dropping off the kids at school. I was desperate for my caffeine and Ritalin mix to line up properly and give me a fighting chance at getting through the morning. Instead, I found myself rolling straight into a bizarre territorial encounter on that road near the soccer field.

She appeared ahead of me, maybe a visitor. No one local would choose the exact centre of the tar as their personal catwalk unless they believed the rest of us were placed here to applaud. Wrapped in a baby blue fluffy tracksuit and carrying two water bottles, one in each hand, she moved with the slow, ponderous gait of someone who does not enjoy walking, who needs momentum to get going.

The stare-down

The road narrowed. I slowed. Where was I meant to go?

She held her middle line. When I edged forward, at about 1km per two hours, she turned and delivered a look so dramatic, so withering, I felt morning shame, which wasn’t fair. I hadn’t even started my morning, let alone done anything shameful. Not yet.

Then, as I tried to pass, came the head shake. Not the irritated flick of a normal pedestrian. A slow, crushingly disappointed shake. The kind that says she has judged my entire personality and found every part of it severely lacking. All I wanted was to get home, shoot up some caffeine and remind myself that humanity was still broadly manageable. Now it was kombi vs human armadillo, at dawn nogal. This was going absolutely nowhere.

A defeat before coffee

Eventually, she stepped aside with the icy reluctance of someone yielding to a problem creature rather than a person.

I stared straight ahead and continued, crawling past, realising I had started my day by losing an argument that never contained any actual words.

ends./

The Annual Swell – Notes From The Editor

by SFT | Nov 12, 2025 | Notes From The Editor, St Francis

It’s that time again, the Great Swell meandering languidly from Humansdorp. A slow-moving convoy of roof boxes, surfboards, Labradors, and high hopes is on its way to St Francis Bay and Cape St Francis. You can almost hear it now: the whine of roof straps in the wind, the muffled argument about whether anyone packed the charger, and the distant cry of “Are we there yet?” echoing off the dunes.

Within weeks, the village will double in size. Supermarket shelves will empty (and then be restocked) at record speed, coffee shops will discover what “pressure” really means, and someone will always be in the wrong queue at the Spar. The petrol station will turn into a social experiment. Locals will try to maintain composure while visitors debate whether diesel is cheaper in Jeffreys Bay.

When Two Tribes Go To War

Shoppers will divide into two tribes: the early birds who arrive as the doors open, and the evening strategists who sneak in five minutes before closing to avoid the chaos. Both groups will swear their method is superior. The same applies to those who stock up on booze “early to beat the rush.” Everyone knows it’s a trap. You don’t drink less when you plan ahead; you just start earlier. In the month, not in the day. Although that too. It’s a trap, buying booze early. A vicious, cyclical trap. A nice trap, but a quagmire nonetheless.

Out at Seal Point, the contest for car parks and waves will be fierce. Expect the usual ballet of reversing SUVs combined with faux SUP diplomacy in the lineup. But this year brings something new to the village. The groynes are rising, sand nourishment is about to reshape the beaches, and the coastal project will begin to reveal its first tangible results. St Francis Bay will have more beach to argue over, and that’s progress. Something we’ve wanted for a very long time.

Cape St Francis, with its Blue Flag status, will again prove why it’s the calm eye of the summer storm. The beach team runs a tight but friendly operation, keeping things clean, safe, and cheerful. The Beach Kitchen will be open to help feed the hungry masses, and extra security and law enforcement will keep the summer circus running smoothly.

Billys Beach

Then there’s Billy’s Beach, the annual rite of passage for over-18s and the young-at-heart who descend on the “beach” to dance, debrief, and test the limits of endurance. This year features Goldfish, whose two members both happen to surf, which feels like a good omen. Billy’s has long claimed the title of South Africa’s best New Year’s jol, and few would argue once the lights start flashing and the bass rolls across the bay. Because, you know, I’m all about that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble, I’m all about that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble, I’m all about that bass… etc.

Except for those who don’t like the bass, and there are a few of those in St Francis Bay. The bass makes them feel “giddy” and “impulsive,” apparently, although there are far better ways for older people to get giddy and impulsive, said a friend of mine, once.

For those seeking something slower, there’s the Flash Float, where people drift peacefully down the canals armed with inflatable unicorns, coolers, libations, and questionable navigation skills. Over at Sunset Rocks, the daily pilgrimage continues. Every evening, a crowd gathers to film the sunset, a glowing orange ritual that has become a national phenomenon. It’s our own version of Uluwatu, minus the cliff bars and Bintang singlets. There are singlets, though, the kind everyone used to call “wife beaters,” a term we’re definitely not allowed to use anymore, that I didn’t just write, that you only imagined you read, that was written in invisible ink, and was actually supposed to say “wife eaters.” Or is that worse? It’s so hard being woke.

The Flash Float / photo from Facebook

Ribs and Ginger Beer

So here we go again. The traffic will crawl, the waves will be crowded, and the queues will stretch past the tills, past the energy drinks, past the frozen lasagna, and end somewhere between the ribs and the ginger beer. But there will also be laughter, tan lines, familiar faces, and that unmistakable feeling that summer has arrived.

Take a deep breath, smile at the chaos, and welcome the annual swell of visitors. Come mid-January, our village will be quiet again, the smell of roasting chicken fat at KFC will have mellowed, and we’ll find ourselves wondering where everyone went.

Editor

More reading: Get Ready To Rock For Rescue – Rock Quiz Thursday 13 November

One more: A Little Off the Lip – Notes from the Editor

A Little Off the Lip – Notes from the Editor

by SFT | Nov 2, 2025 | Notes From The Editor, St Francis

A minor procedure, a major comedy of errors, and one editor learning that hospital humour is not for the faintish.

There comes a time in every coastal resident’s life when the sun quietly stops being your friend and starts billing you for damages. Mine arrived a while ago, when I found myself in a hospital gown being told they were about to carve a decent-sized piece off my bottom lip. Skin cancer. Aggressive, apparently. Occupational hazard.

My surgeon, we’ll call him Michael (not his real name, though we’re on a first-name basis), tried to reassure me. “Don’t overthink it,” he said, which is precisely the kind of thing that makes you immediately start overthinking it.

Dr Evil

Then the anaesthetist wandered over. “If you don’t make it,” he said, deadpan, “I don’t get paid.” A pause. “Actually, that’s not true. I still get paid.” Then he let out a Dr Evil laugh. Everyone joined in: anaesthetist, surgeon, nurse, assistant, four out of five people laughing. So statistically, it was funny

“Apologies,” said the anaesthetist, recovering. “Just joking. Tell you what, to make up for it, I’ll give you a lekker double-brandy.”
“No thanks,” I said. “I’m on Sober October.”
“Oh no, you’re not,” he said, and started laughing again.

Quick, nice, then scary.

And then suddenly, I also started laughing. For about three-tenths of a second, everything made perfect sense, and I giggled: the joke, the universe, the whole ridiculous business of being alive. I really felt it.

Then I saw the trees coming for me. Then nothing.

Next thing I knew, I was awake again, missing a small piece of myself and feeling like I’d been kicked in the pie-hole by a polite horse. They told me they’d “got it all,” which was both comforting and slightly unnerving.

The post-op rules were simple: no alcohol, no sun, no hot drinks. I failed all three at a café on the N2 on the way home. No, it wasn’t a glühwein, in the sun, but close.

People keep asking what happened, which is fine. I tell them it’s a surfing injury. It’s not untrue. I’ve been surfing in the sun for 35 years.

— —

Further reading: Hallucinogens Fact Sheet

Domestic Silence, Background Howling – Notes From The Editor

by SFT | Oct 31, 2025 | Notes From The Editor, St Francis

A brief, noisy experiment in solitude.

Being home alone in paradise sounded like a dream. It wasn’t. While the family was off at a surf comp, chasing glory and sunburn, I was left to run the show: me, two dogs, and a cat who actually owned the house.

The dogs soon realised that walk times were “negotiable,” meaning never. They took turns glaring at me like unpaid interns. Basil, the cat, sat on the counter and watched with the cold detachment of someone who’s seen the CCTV footage.

Dinner devolved into a toast-and-baked-beans rotation, consumed straight from the pan to reduce admin. The toast went on top, sometimes buttered, sometimes not, depending on morale. It was oddly freeing, like camping in your own kitchen, if camping came with remorse.

To fill the silence, I played music at unhealthy volumes. Not good music, the kind you thought you loved in 1987, but looking back, you realise you were just sad at the time. The dogs howled briefly, then left the room side by side, in unison, as if walking onto Noah’s Ark. The cat relocated to the windowsill. I was undeterred.

By day three, I was talking to the appliances. The Jack Russell tilted his head whenever I spoke, which I took as a sign of encouragement. Basil rolled his eyes because he was the owner of the house.

The rest settled into a routine: strong coffee on an empty stomach, the odd leftover painkiller for no reason, and long nights lit by Netflix’s glow. I’d start a show and forget to finish it, or finish it and forget why I’d started. Sleep came in random bursts on the couch. A few KFC boxes may have been involved.

But solitude had its perks: no small talk, no school lunches, no towel avalanches. Just me, the two dogs, and the owner of the house, and a growing sense that civilisation is overrated.

They’re home now. The noise is back, the fridge is empty, and apparently, I can’t be trusted alone anymore.
Harsh, but fair.

Temporarily Out of Order – Notes From The Editor

by SFT | Oct 19, 2025 | Notes From The Editor, St Francis

St Francis Today will be going a little quiet for a few days while the editor undergoes what doctors cheerfully describe as a “minor medical procedure.” That’s “minor” for them, of course, they’re not the ones being introduced to the fascinating (trust me) world of hospital-grade ketamine while someone checks your pulse and says “you might feel a little strange.”

Mental Sharpness

I’ve been assured it’s nothing serious, but I may be slightly out of action for a short while. Between hospital visits and a cocktail of both over-the-counter and under-the-counter painkillers (some prescribed, others recommended by well-meaning friends who “swear by them”), my mental sharpness may not be entirely publication-ready.

In other words, yes, I am using a minor medical procedure as an excuse for a week-long party-of-one, or a Ménage à Une, so to speak. Thus, in the interest of responsible journalism and avoiding any late-night editorials about the meaning of life, I’ll be hitting pause on the daily updates for a few days. Think of it as a maintenance window: same software, temporary reboot.

Medical Jargon

While the inbox will still be open, replies may arrive in a curious mix of medical jargon, misplaced punctuation, and gratitude for your patience. Please don’t take it personally if your press release gets a response like “Yes, excellent, please and good day.”

Normal programming will resume shortly once the fog lifts and I’m cleared to operate heavy machinery again, including the keyboard. In the meantime, take care of yourselves, support your local news, both print and online, and remember that life, like Wi-Fi, occasionally needs a reset.

See you soon.