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About Cape Town

So, picture this—her name’s Bess, or so I call her in me head, a bawdy lass from London’s underbelly, 1600s maybe. She’s no prim rose, nah, but a wild weed, bloomin’ where she oughtn’t. Got them skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, makin’ coin off lords who’d spit on her by morn. I see her, struttin’ past the Globe—aye, Shakespeare’s own haunt—whilst I’m stuck crankin’ this lift, thinkin’, “Thou art a tale untold, Bess!” She’s got eyes like stormy seas, drownin’ fools who stare too long. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say—Bess too, spinnin’ yarns to survive.

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So, friend, that’s Vredendal in a nutshell. I'm talkin’ genuine, heart-on-sleeve reality, like every brick and park bench speaks in its own erratic, yet profound language. It’s messy, real, unpredictable—the way life rolls. And remember—“We’re not leaving until we get there!” Enjoy the trip, yeah?

Cape Health MEC to visit Vredendal Hospital after a fire over the weekend