Roast tomato salsa with yellow pepper, lime and coriander.

True confession: one of the things I've actually enjoyed about the water crisis is the chance to rethink kitchens and cooking. I love cooking for friends and have been incredibly lucky to live for years in one of the best places on the planet to be a locavore (to eat food grown as nearby as possible), so I'm always preparing fruit and veg that's in season in the neighbourhood. I also have no intention of giving up parties and teas and celebrations and retreating into some austere bunker mode, hunched over my water supplies, the cats prowling on sentry duty.

So how can we change our kitchens, our recipes and our entertaining habits so that we can go on having a life, spending time with friends and family, without feeling like collective water Grinches?

51. The obvious tip seen all over the internet: have more braais (barbecues). Get your potjie into the action. I rarely cook outdoors (read: never), so I stand to be corrected, but it seems that you could cook your food on the coals, then burn the paper plates and napkins afterwards. Note that it's possible to have great vegetarian and vegan braais (remember those cheese, tomato and onion braai sarmies from childhood?) -- not just a carnivore option.

Here's what I've done on the kitchen front (I'd love to hear what others are doing).

52. First thing was to retire my goblet blender. It takes way too much water to clean. It got replaced with a cheap and cheerful stick blender, which I use directly in whatever container I'm going to be eating my smoothie/soup in. Proceed with caution: you want something narrow and deep to avoid spatter.

There wasn't enough water in Cape Town to clean up this mess.

53. If rain is forecast, I get out my biggest pot to cook bulk soups and stews for freezing. Depending what your family eats, and whether you have fridge or freezer space, you could cook a week's worth of rice, pasta, pap, etc at a time -- anything that takes a lot of water and leaves a sticky pot. After the dirty pot gets the wet teabag or paper napkin treatment to clean most of the gunk off, I then set it outside to soak in the rain. Once it has some rainwater in it, I dash out with dishwashing liquid and a sponge, wash, then rinse in rainwater. (This is easy because I have a garden for chucking away the dirty water. Not a viable option for flat-dwellers, who may have to proceed to the next tip:)

54. Retire your big pots. Almost all my cooking is now done in non-stick frying-pans and saucepans. Try to get ones with deep, steep sides (surprisingly scarce). I know the magazines all say "get the best one you can afford", but I'd rather recommend that you don't buy the very cheapest, in case the lining peels off the first time you use it (this has happened to me). The one pictured at the top of this usually just gets wiped after use; I wash it about every fourth time I cook in it.

55. Remember the wok craze? If you have one, now's the time to dig it out. Basically treat it as a non-stick frying-pan with high sides. Remember it should be possible to clean all these with teabags, kitchen paper and only then, if needed, a little splash of water and dishwashing liquid. (The teabag tip is at the end of this post.)

55. Your partner in non-stick cooking is a whole bunch of those silicone spatulas. I once got given an indestructible one from Le Creuset (it's in the top pic), and it gets used to stir everything while cooking, to decant food out the pot for serving, to scrape the plates into the compost tub afterwards, and so on. I have several cheapo plastic ones as well, to make sure that every container has every possible bit of food residue cleaned out of them before washing.

One dish meal: stir-fried onions, garlic, celery, leeks, mushrooms, fennel, wild spinach, chard, basil and a purple cauli I grew myself. For vegans, add toasted seeds and nuts. For vegetarians, feta cheese. For carnivores, chicken strips added after the onion and garlic stage. Or just eat as is.

56. Hunt down the best one-pot meal recipes: the days of a separate dish for cooking meat and three pots for the veggies, plus a gravy-boat, are done. There are wonderful recipes for meals that combine protein, veggies and starch all in one pot: I typed "one pot meals" into Google and got "about 81 300 000 results (0,53 seconds)", so you are never going to run out of ideas. Many of these are also budget meals. 

57. Likewise, get everyone in the family to think about eating everything in one bowl, rather than a flat dinner-plate and a side/salad plate.

58. Retire the salad bowl and plates. Instead of big leafy salads with soft lettuces, think about getting salads into meals via fresh salsas and sambals (this time, Google gave me "about 23 800 000 results (0,46 seconds)": for instance, a dish of chopped-up tomato, onion and cucumber, or a salsa of chopped fresh peppers, baby marrows and coriander, or grated carrot with ginger or orange zest or mint. These salad substitutes can used almost as garnishes on top of hot food.

59. I've almost completely replaced lettuce with rocket, which grows like a weed all over my garden. If you're lucky enough to have the same problem, simply take handfuls of rocket, chop roughly and sprinkle over everything savoury you eat. That's your raw greens taken care of.

60. Microwave foods like butternut, pumpkin and potato rather than cooking them in pots (if this is new to you, do a bit of Googling first -- cleaning exploded spud off the inside of a microwave is a rite of passage to be avoided). In fact, if you have a microwave, use it for as much cooking as possible. You'd be amazed at what you can do -- scrambled eggs in soup bowls, for instance. One less pan to wash.

61. If you DO have a pan to wash, after you've tried the teabag trick, sprinkle a little of your magical all-purpose Swiss Army bicarb on the bottom, add the merest splash of water and let it stand for a while before giving it a gentle scrub. Lifts off even burned-on milk or egg residue with no fuss.

62. All over Indonesia and many other tropical places, banana leaves are used as plates for even wet, soupy dishes -- straight from the table to the compost heap afterwards. Surely this must be possible here (eyes the KZN coast). Any ideas for cheap, clean sources? Let me know.

I got these banana boats (on the right), compostable coffee cups (and a few compostable soup bowls for good measure) from Merrypak in Ndabeni. If this looks like advertising, I should say that while they have some EXCELLENT green and waterwise stock, I was also shaken to discover just how many single-use items abound in the catering industry.

63. In the absence of leaf plates (not everyone will be as enchanted by this idea as I am), I had to think hard about how to serve guests food, especially at parties. I've found a fairly inexpensive solution: the bamboo "banana boats" above. They hold a nice portion of even wet and messy finger-foods without leakage, the sides prevent your falafel from leaping to escape, they work for sit-down and stand-up eating, and can go straight into the compost heap at clear-up time.

64. I also laid in some compostable coffee-cups so I can go on running workshops and training without angsting about cups. These I'll probably burn after use. Good option for workplaces where coffee-cups stack up in the communal sink. I've also added a few to my out-and-about basket to use in place of water glasses.

65. The biggest water-wise tip in the kitchen? Don't. Waste. Food. Ever. And that's a topic for a blog itself. Coming soon.

66. Related to this is the issue of garbage: if you're used to composting and recycling, you need to head guests off before they start hunting for your rubbish bin. Nowadays when people offer to help clear up, I ask them to scrape every little scrap left on their plates into the compost tub.

67. If you're still using your dishwasher (and there was considerable debate about the post suggesting that dishwashers use less water than washing by hand), the general consensus is that this is a water-saving option only if you don't have to first rinse those plates. So scrape, scrape, scrape, wipe with used napkins and those teabags (that tip is turning into a gem).

68. Something else well-meaning folk don't think about: if your host has served you dinner on regular crockery, and you leap up helpfully and start stacking dirty dishes, someone will have to scrape and wash both sides. Aaargh. Carry plates one by one into the kitchen and scrape carefully before stacking. If space is limited, simply stand by and offer chocolates instead.

69. I've sort of said this already, but don't stop having a social and family life because of the water crisis. This could be an opportunity for members of your family to work more closely together preparing meals, to discover new recipes, and to have friends round more often. If you're water-resilient, your friends dependent entirely on municipal water will be especially delighted to get invitations.

And a final random "tester" tip:

70. On the subject of laundry (again), my washing-line experiment, planned to coincide with Friday night's rain, was hugely successful. I stain-and-spot-treated my clothes, pre-soaked them in my trusty cooler-box with with biological washing-powder and just enough warm water to wet everything through, then hung everything out on the line and crossed fingers there'd be enough rain to give everything a thorough wash and rinse. (I also hung out all my used towels, which were getting a bit lively). Now that everything has dried out (it took about a day), I can report that it worked a treat. No stains, and everything is fresh and clean. This, however, depends on the rain actually arriving and then staying, so it's a bit of gamble. We had about 2 hours of steady soaking, so I got lucky.

Trouble-making baths in history: Elizabeth Siddal famously modelled in a tin bath for this Preraphaelite painting by John Millais. She got pneumonia; her father sued Millais for fifty pounds.

One thing about using my bath to store water is the pleasure of climbing in and wallowing now and again. So last night, as I lay in blessed rainwater freshly harvested from my gutters, I considered a question I'd been asked earlier that day: how often DO we need to wash our bodies?

It's February, and as you may have read here, university residence administrators are coming up smack against young adults who believe that the right to shower every day is guaranteed in the Constitution; it's also the biggest water moan I hear from parents of teens (and even older children): how to get them to use less water in the shower. Folk are reluctant to give up washing rituals that are all but articles of religion: "But I HAVE to wash my hair every day! I couldn't leave the building otherwise!"

Here's a tip or rather an observation from my magic hairdresser: about a year ago, as her clients were washing their hair less and less, she noticed a steady improvement in the condition of their hair. Then their scalps. Another hairdresser noticed that dandruff was a thing of the past. Then the beauticians chimed in: they were seeing visible improvement in their customers' skins as they spent less time in the bath and shower.

So this is one carrot to be waved in front of those who believe that a daily top-to-toe shower, shave and hair-wash are essential to looking good: the opposite could in fact be true. Once I started mulling this over, I realised how much our washing culture is driven by advertising: all those body lotions? We need them because we bath/shower way more than is good for the natural health of our skin, scrubbing away at our natural protective oils. But beyond entitlement, habit and marketing: how often DO we need to wash ourselves?

Back to the commonsense practiced by our grandparents and many of our close, poorer neighbours, this is the mantra for daily self-cleansing with water: face, pits, bits and feet, and in that order, if we're using a bucket. Even this isn't quite accurate: the body parts we need to clean most often? Our hands. Faces don't actually need more than a dab with a wet facecloth (more marketing: all that cleansing, toning and moisturising is a huge great con, and can be reduced to quick, simple and cheap options, but a post for another day). That leaves bits, pits and feet, and I'll get to those, but for now, the skin all over the rest of our bodies does not need daily washing. Twice or even once is week is fine, and in fact optimal for skin health. There is no rational basis whatsoever for our addiction to daily immersion.

Of course commonsense kicks in here. If you're performing manual labour or you work in dirty conditions (and many of those who do simply don't have the option of bathing daily other than in a bucket), exercising strenuously, having a lot of sex, menstruating, living in a hot and/or sticky climate, working with soil or animals, or have a medical condition that requires strict cleanliness, then you're going to be a lot more comfortable if you can shower often. However: there are workarounds.

I've already written a lot about the joys of bidets, and they are the perfect solution for the pits and bits conundrum -- especially valuable for the sexually active and those having their period, also invalids and elders. One piece of advice people tell me they now regret following was the craze for ripping bidets out of their 80s bathrooms. Ironically, they were often advised to do so on the grounds that they wasted water -- whereas they're by far the most water-wise and comfortable form of washing that involves an indoor plumbing fixture.

But obviously, this is a long-term solution, so the trick is to rig your bathroom so that it works in a similar way: if your shower or bath has a shower hose that attaches or moves, squat wherever you're trapping the water (that's if you're not using your wonder new pressure sprayer featured here) and use the shower attachment on said bits and pits.

Daily strenuous exercise or labour still presents a problem; some dancers I know (and if you think horses sweat heavily, you've never been in the wings helping with costume changes at the ballet) are now showering in their leotards or exercise clothes, washing themselves and their gear in one fell swoop.

I'm still racking my brains about communal shower situations: some of us have humbly knuckled down to bucket baths, the daily washing method used by the majority of South Africans, but they do require privacy or the intimacy of a family situation. Maybe one option is to issue students in residences with buckets or sprayers, or to hang these from the walls in shower cubicles. Any other ideas to make this work?

And more on sudsy matters: spent an hour this morning browsing a local chain pharmacy for water-wise goodies, and I never knew there was such a vast variety of wet wipes: intimate wipes, baby wipes, feminine wipes, hygiene wipes, incontinence wipes, disinfectant wipes: I didn't see any biodegradable ones, though, and aiyiyiyi, that's a landfill problem brewing right there. I use a flannel and a small basin of warm water, but then I have off-grid water to play with. For now, I guess wet wipes trump water, especially if you are now washing your ticklish bits only every other day. BTW, wet wipes are not cheap, and not everyone has a kitchen in which to brew up their own -- recipe here; perhaps residences could issue students with a pack when they move in (but everyone repeat once again, DO NOT EVER FLUSH THEM, EVER -- blocked toilets are never fun, but less so in a drought, least of all when they're communal).

Bathroom design has a fascinating history, and there's a lot to be learned by diving down a Wiki rabbithole of Japanese bathroom design, the hammans and steam baths of the Middle East and Asia, and more. (In some tiny Japanese homes, the bathroom sink is attached to the toilet cistern, for instance.) One thing is clear, though: modern Western bathroom design is insanely wasteful, unsustainable, and not actually always effective. (Apparently showers should spray upwards, not downwards, for maximum cleansing and least water use. Who knew?)

Long-term (and we are in this for the long haul): we need to revamp basic Western bathroom design from scratch. En-suite bathrooms are among the worst (and most unhygienic) offenders: apart from anything else, who puts the source of the most moisture in the house feet away from the place with the most soft furnishings? Duvets, mattresses and billowing steam: this is NOT a good mix. Bedrooms with attached bathrooms belong in guesthouses and hotels, not private homes. The average middle-class two-or-three bedroomed home needs to revert to the system of one bathroom, which contains a bath (optional), shower and sink. There should then be a toilet with a sink for handwashing in a SEPARATE room. A bidet in one or both these rooms would be a damn fine idea. And no more spa baths, ever. That's what spas are for.

Last night's rainwater harvest bath. That's the colour it came out the gutters: same shade as champagne.

Pic notes: My papa grew these beautiful spuds. And that emerald lawn? The eastern Free State in high summer, with magnificent storms every afternoon.

I wanted to write a post about being water-wise in the kitchen. I took photos. Food was involved. It was pretty cheerful. And I will write that post, and soon.

But today's post has to be reserved, first and foremost, for a HUGE GREAT BIG GUSHING THANK-YOU to the Groenland Water Users Association (GWUA), farmers who released water from the dams in their catchment area into the Cape Town reservoir system. The reasons they were able to do so are complex – read about it here. But the bottom line is that they didn’t have to make this extraordinary gesture; they are reducing their “water insurance” – their ability to be resilient in the face of drought – for the benefit of their urban neighbours.

One result is that Day Zero has been pushed out by three weeks – incredibly precious time that will give us a bit more chance to prepare. Businesses and schools will be able to stay open for just a little longer. It will take us that much closer to the time the winter rains might start falling.

I’m trying hard not to be scoldy or finger-wagging in these blogs, although there are moments when my temper gets away from me. But a few things are bothering me, and I have to get them off my chest.

First, what are WE doing to meet the farmers at least half-way? Even if we’ve all been living in cloud-cuckooland for the past decades, years and months, we’ve known Day Zero was a stark reality since 18 January, the Day The City Woke Up (Way Too Bloody Late). Why hasn’t our usage been significantly reduced since then? We’re still way over the limits set if we’re going to make it through the rest of the year. Is this because of the panic (and illegal) buying of municipal water, all those people getting Jojo tanks and hastily filling them up with hosepipes? Yes, those of you buying massive tanks which remain mysteriously unattached to your gutters: We see you.

I don't see any downpipes going into that tank...

Is it because we’re just not bothering to save water? That we think there will always be a heroic bunch of farmers to ride to our rescue so that we can go on punching dials on our washing machines and topping up our pools?

I rent a home in a sort of double complex – a retirement village within a security estate. Imagine my horror on getting, on the same day, a letter from the village administration reprimanding us for remaining way above, on average, the 87 litres per day per person (we’re now supposed to be on 50 l per day!); and another from the estate to remind us that tankers delivering water may only do so between 8 and 5. I can understand why a family with small children might struggle to to use less than 50 litres a day, but retirees? Unless someone needs home nursing, surely 87 litres a day is crazy lavish? And doesn’t everyone know by now that it’s illegal to sell water, and you might as well be taking deliveries from your cocaine dealer?

Is it that we just don’t know what to do? Goodness knows, there’s been very little guidance from the powers that be. We’re all being told to save water, but us helpless middle-classes are not being told HOW. Or, if we are, this isn’t being tailored to need and circumstance. I got a rather endearing mail from a group of “60 to 70-yr-old women” eager for tips that don’t involve heaving buckets. (Fear not, I have MANY ideas for you.)

The next thing that has my jaw swinging: the amount of aggression and resentment I see online towards the agricultural sector and its water consumption. To read some commentators, you’d think agriculture was an unnecessary indulgence. Good people: WHO DO YOU THINK PROVIDES THE FOOD ON OUR FRIGGING PLATES? (sorry/not sorry). Once more, for those at the back: food is not mysteriously conjured out of thin air and a few barrels of chemicals in factories, from whence it lands magically in shops. Nearly every single thing you eat began its existence in a farmer’s field, even if big business has subsequently added a ton of additives and packaging. No farming = no food.

Besides, what are farmers supposed to do? Watch their flock of sheep die of thirst? The orchards their grandparents’ parents nurtured wither up? It’s the lack of imagination that bothers me: the water crisis has cost between 30 and 50 000 job losses in agriculture alone. That’s up to 50 000 families – unlikely to have reserves or resources to fall back on – sans income. Children going hungry. I find it hard to forgive the City and national government that consequence of their dual mismanagement. And with our pools and multiple bathrooms, some of us are still whining about water going to agriculture, as if it was some sort of optional extra.

(There are far more expert and experienced people than me writing about this sort of thing at the moment: please follow, for starters, urban strategist Jodi Allemeier on Twitter (@urbanjodi) for sophisticated and realistic analysis of the water crisis, especially the impact on jobs. And this is a piece on gardens and so much more, by the brilliant Rupert Koopman (@RK_ct), that everyone needs to read. And there are many others who’ve been speaking out on these and related issues for years, unlike newbie me. Do send me your best links providing intelligent insight on the crisis.)

We’ve been given an extraordinarily precious gift from the farmers: not just water, but a tiny bit more space to install rain-harvesting devices, to learn new skills, to purchase water-saving gadgets like camping showers, water filters and more. (If you’re like me, there’s no way you can buy all of these in one go.) Now it’s time to do our part.

This raises a sticky, if interesting problem: how DO we get, erm, selfish people to save water? Been brainstorming this with a friend who had a relative buy a huge water tank specifically so he could fill it with municipal water ahead of Day Zero. Tank Dude saw nothing wrong with this. His family finally managed to get him to understand how and why this constituted immoral behaviour.

At the same time, my academic colleagues are tearing their hair out over the influx of students starting the new academic year, especially those from elsewhere in SA, who are utterly unconvinced of the urgency of the crisis. At orientation, one lecturer informed her class that they would need to shower only every second day. She had a near-riot on her hands, with many in her audience loudly reiterating that they would be exercising their right to shower every single day.

So I've been talking to folk about psych strategies for getting people to change their behaviour, and they fall roughly into three categories: shaming them; making the change cool; and rewarding them. So: sticks, carrots and basic advertising.

Shaming is tricky territory, and maybe some earnest conversations are needed, as with Tank Dude and his relatives; a lot of folk are not evil, they just haven't really imagined the consequences of their behaviour. The more subtle form of shaming is basically the same as advertising: modelling "best" behaviour so that it becomes the "in thing" to do. I met a lovely first-year student at UCT who's going to walk to the Newlands spring with her water container on an adapted wheeled suitcase, who'll be setting a loud buzzing timer for her showers, making it a point of honour to keep wearing the same clothes, and generally showing her fellows that water-wise is hip. It's become cool in London to take your own travel mug into coffee-shops; we need to make these and lots of other water-conserving strategies cool. Finally, carrots: how about the Cape universities set their residences up in a weekly or monthly competition: whichever uses the least water per person gets a pizza or ice-cream party?

So I managed to get to food in at the end. And once again, Groenland farmers: we are beyond grateful. I am personally so thankful that I am going to share a pic of my three-legged cat with you, as a special reward. Dankie, enkosi, thank you.

We can build bridges across the water (crisis). Truly we can.

Well. That was a week in which we saw the best and the worst in Capetonians. Water-queue fisticuffs, people running hosepipes into their newly acquired rain-tanks, flint-faced men taking water from springs to sell: and it’s still two months to Day Zorro.* But also outbreaks of communal spirit, creative entrepreneurship, and SO MANY new tips flowing in (ha) on how to save water, harvest it, live more wisely with it.

During apartheid years, street committees supported individuals and organised action – all in the days before cellphones and emails. Capetonians are rustling up those skills all over again, and among the best tips I’ve received this week are on how to organise a Neighbourhood Water Safety Net. The basic principles involve lowering the drawbridge as opposed to retreating behind our walls.

22. So once more, with feeling: be a good neighbour. In reports on the water crisis in Brazil’s Sao Paulo (which was in fact the first major city to have its taps turned off), some commentators noted that a creeping disaster turned people against each other, as opposed to a sudden disaster (tsunami, earthquake, etc), which tends to pull people together. And this is related to the next tip:

23: Blame is pointless. Yes, I find myself frothing as the City blunders from one PR gaffe to another. I get furious thinking of all the years I’ve watched people stick their heads in the sand about the coming Watergeddon, who are now panicking and queuing at Woolies to scrum for bottled water and wailing because the waiting list for Jojo tanks reaches halfway to Jozi. IF YOU COULD READ, YOU ALL KNEW THIS WAS COMING. But much as I want to jump up and down shouting “You didn’t bloody listen, I started preparing for this EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO,” there are better uses of time and energy.

So I’ve adapted the next few tips from a friend who’s been running an extremely successful Neighbourhood Support/Watch system for years, which has been able to switch effortlessly into a Water Network.

24. Plug into an existing structure, such as a neighbourhood watch scheme, if possible. Establish where its boundaries lie, so as to eliminate gaps and overlaps. Meet with others in your suburb or complex or estate with maps, if necessary. Make sure everyone at every address is accounted for.

25. Pick one central means of communication, with cellphone/WhatsApp back-up. Email is a bit laborious, but it’s better for the elderly, who aren’t necessarily au fait with social media. There is also one huge advantage to email: it’s less likely to generate trollery, racism, conspiracy theories, etc, as people have time to think a bit before reacting, and their own names are attached to their mails. But start the old-fashioned way: a letter delivered to every home. A few volunteers will need to do the admin in collecting everyone’s email addresses and cell numbers and generating a list.

26. Ask people to share information about their water resources/resilience. Are those with (unstressed) boreholes, wells, big rain-tanks and pools prepared to share water with people and families who are clearly vulnerable (the elderly, the unwell, single parents, those with no money for water-harvesting and water-saving devices, families with small children, etc)? See what capacity you have if resources in your neighbourhood are pooled (sorry, cannot get away from watery puns). You may find that if everyone is super-thrifty about water and generous about sharing it (especially in wealthier or less built-up areas, where it’s easier to install tanks and swimming-pools are plentiful), you might not have to queue for water.

27. But if you do, establish networks for those as well. Who has transport? Who has the physical ability to carry? Who works flexitime or is their own boss? Who would be prepared to collect water for others? Don’t guilt or shout anyone into agreeing to do this: ask mildly who has what resources and wait for them to volunteer. I think we’re going to be pleasantly surprised.

28. It has been pointed out about a hundred times by now that if every residential building in Cape Town harvested rainwater efficiently off the roof, it would meet our need for domestic use almost entirely, and we would not now be in this pickle. So gently suggest that to avoid this kind of crisis every time we have poor winter rains, people think long-term about fitting up their homes or complexes for water-harvesting.

29. I personally am allergic to committees, but you will probably need to form one to deal with awkward and tense situations: Mr Twitwiddle down the road has been sneaking his hosepipe into his pool; Dr Leakey has been spiriting away water from the tank installed at her block of flats to keep her roses going, and so on. I don’t know what the solutions to human selfishness are (if you have the secret, PLEASE share), but one rough rule of thumb that re-established order at a local spring: each person could take 25 litres at a time ON FOOT ONLY. Lugging that around goes some way to curbing water abuse. Further hint: take cake to all potentially tricky committee meetings. I know carbs are supposed to be the enemy, but they DO have a tranquilising effect.

Tips related to responding thoughtfully and with kindness on community networks:

30: Please, please, please don’t share fake news via social media. I know there’s an atmosphere of panic, but still. Never share a link on the basis of the headline alone. Never share a report that doesn’t include the actual original documents supporting the claim. There was distress this week about proposed water by-laws that assumed we were all going to have to “get permission” to install rainwater tanks. It didn’t help that the language of the actual proposed legislation was woolly, unclear and open to misreading, so that’s the next tip:

31: Dear authorities, everything you communicate to a frightened populace about the water crisis needs to be in Plain English, absolutely clear and simple to grasp. In the UK, by law, all public information has to be easy to read and comprehend: please catch a wake-up call. (Everything I’ve seen so far from you Has Needed Editing. Bit of an in-joke. I’m an editor by trade.)

32. Don’t get angry or self-righteous about people who need water for their animals. Every time this comes up on social media, there’s indignation about “caring more for animals than human beings”. Please use a little imagination: what is one supposed to do when animals are experiencing thirst and dehydration? Say “Sorry, we were mind-blowingly selfish and stupid not to plan for this, and now I’m going to watch you suffer on principle, because, you know, humans are more important”? And I say this in the knowledge that some farmers, especially indigent ones, had to watch their livestock (and their livelihoods) die during the recent Free State drought, and it is likely happening down here, too. Unbearable to contemplate.

33. Likewise, putting out a tiny bit of your water allowance each day for birds and insects is not a hippy-dippy luxury. No birds and bees = NO FOOD. It might be time for a refresher course in the vital role of pollinators in our food chains.

Bee meets butterfly.

Now back to laundry (I was clearly a washerwoman in a previous life):

34. I’ve already mentioned that visitors to Cape Town should bring their own sheets, and take them away again for washing. Make arrangements for this ahead of time with your hotel, host or guesthouse.

35. Guesthouses could offer this option on their booking websites: offer a small discount or a reward to visitors who bring their own linen.

36. In the further interests of lowering the laundry load, one of the best tips I spotted was the decision by some schools to let pupils come to school in gym clothes for the duration (appropriate where kids have PE outfits – not every family has the budget for this). Another option would be to allow pupils to wear T-shirts with their pants or gym-slips instead of shirts that need daily laundering.

37. Businesses should be doing this too: every industry that requires staff to dress in a professional uniform for reasons other than safety (banks, call centres, etc) should issue staff with branded T-shirts that they can wear for the time being, and once it gets colder, tracksuits to replace professional outfits (those white shirts!) that need regular washing and ironing.

38. The above two tips might take a bit of planning, but something every business and school could and should announce TOMORROW: unless you need closed shoes for safety, everyone who wants can wear sandals or flip-flops to work. NO MORE SOCK WASHING.

And about laundering your own person:

39. Adapt your personal grooming/beauty/hygiene routines so that they’re water resilient. I’m seeing a lot of folk sporting beautiful new shorter hairdos, plus beards sprouting everywhere. Beards are an excellent idea, and those with lady-gardens might consider dispensing with their, um, foliage (via electric shavers and waxing), given that we’re all showering less.

40: Tiny and probably silly tip, but I use only mint/tea-tree/fir/eucalyptus shower gels and soaps, and it just makes me feel cooler.

In the interests of continuing to support local businesses:

41: Take your own travel mug, water and ice (in a thermos) to restaurants and coffee-shops. Trust me, they are GRATEFUL when you do this.

42: Hurrah to the local restaurant I spotted online today that is going to be serving meals on biodegradable plates. (Look, it’s not an ideal solution, but the need to save water trumps all.)

43. One of my favourite waitresses tells me that certain items are coming off menus just because they’re too water-intensive to prepare. Be mindful of jobs like hers: she tells me that some customers are still making wasteful requests for water, the worst offence being asking for water that then goes undrunk.

44: For those who are able to go off the grid, it’s no good being smug about this if you’re still using the toilet or generating dishes to be washed when you’re out and about. If you have well or spring water or a rain-tank, lug along 5 litres of water everywhere you go. If you don’t need it, leave it in the toilet. Someone will love you for it.

45. Speaking of those plastic 5-litre water containers, here’s a very handy link on how to avoid creating a landfill nightmare or overwhelming recycling centres. There are also small businesses and NGOs that need these bottles for their repurposing ventures: here’s an example.

46. Woolworths, I’d like a word. Presumably you sell salad, fruit and veg that is prepared to high standards of hygiene. What is this “rinse before using” on your packets? If it’s based on the tiny chance that there is still a grain of sand in the spinach, we are grown-ups and we are not going to fuss. Ditch this instruction, please.

47. If your business is water-resilient because you have a well or similar, consider time-sharing with colleagues dependent on municipal water. A hairdressing salon or graphic design studio with a well could operate from 9-3, then have colleagues come in from 3-9. People really do need to keep their jobs.

OK, I was going for 50 tips, but this is already way too long (a good sign, I guess). So I will close with this wonderful tip from someone I have dubbed the Teabag Elf – who is also responsible for the phrase “Day Zorro”.

48: Use damp teabags to wipe dirty plates and dry teabags to polish them further. My friends in catering have all confirmed that this is by far the best method to get the worst of the grease off pots, pans and plates, also to mop up cooking-oil spills. And the teabags can go straight into the compost afterwards.

49. Just for luck: don’t panic.

And once again:

50: DON’T PANIC. In the words of Good Neighbourhood Network Guy referred to above: “Our community is on a path to a shared solution and one that brings people together to care for the most at need and then the collective – very cool outcome for a crisis.”

Looking after each other. Because the alternative is unthinkable.

During World War II, lipstick sales soared. There was something about that bright splash of colour that made folk feel better. It reminds me of something Shirley Conran wrote decades ago: that when undergoing a sudden and huge change in standards of living (e.g., bankruptcy, eviction, running out of water -- OK, I added the last one), try to hang onto one small treat or luxury. In her family's case, it was real coffee once a week. Having one little thing to look forward to boosts morale tremendously.

So as I've been preparing to jump off the water grid, I've been wondering what one frivolity I could keep without feeling too much like Marie Antoinette. And I'm afraid it's my hair. Having it washed, cut and dried is something I love. And I colour it. At first, I decided that come Day Zero, I'd crop it short-short and finally embrace the grey. But I confess I quail at the thought. So instead, I'll try to harvest enough non-potable water to allow me to indulge in this one thing: hair-rinsing at the hairdresser.

This leads to worry about how hairdressers are going to keep going in the months ahead: one I know is planning, at vast expense, to pump well water up a hill, filter it and run it into her salon. But it got us chatting about glass-half-full scenarios: I suggested that she offer weary Capetonians the chance to get their hair washed, not even dried, for a modest sum -- they could arrive with their own towel, and it would be one less drain on the groaning municipal supply. I bet she'd do a roaring trade. Being an angel, she's already thinking about ways to offer her space to colleagues, on a time-share basis: those dependent on premises with municipal water could temporarily relocate to her salon, say, from 3 to 8pm. A barber colleague could come by for the late shift -- a lot of schedules are going to be thrown out by water collection, and businesses offering flexitime services are going to hang in there and even thrive -- I hope. People need to keep their jobs in the challenging months ahead: the losses in the agricultural sector alone are already nightmare-inducing.

But all this got me to thinking about "beauty" routines, and how we can adapt these so that they're water-wise and hygienic. Y-chromosomes: now may the time to grow a beard, if you use water to shave. Those who shave their legs with soap and water: switch to waxing, if you can afford it (or go gorilla). If you have a high tolerance for pain, consider embracing the full Hollywood wax: the hygiene advantages this offers, now that we're showering only twice a week (WE ARE, AREN'T WE?), are obvious.

And now I must tell you something equal parts funny and horrifying. A friend decided that she needed lady-grooming topiary tools. All the research told her the shaving bingabobs for "lil ladies" were crap (this is absolutely true, in my limited experience), and the best by far for the job would be a small travel electric shaver for men. I'll let her take over:

So I make my choice and call the tannie who works at Clicks over to unlock the cabinet. The men's, being more desirable, are locked up, whereas the women's are just on the shelf.

"What kind of beard does he have?" she asks.

I explain that it's for me, not a man. She tells me men and women have very different skin and she can't advise me to buy that one. Instead she points to the shelf of pink useless lady shavers. I explain that I've read the reviews for each, and they suck. Still, she insists on pointing out each and every one to me. I tell her, again, which one I want. To which she replies: "I'm not allowed to sell it to you."

She tells me it's store policy not to sell men's shavers to women. Let me repeat: she says it's Clicks store policy not to sell men's shavers to women.

Why any store or store employee would think that a grown-ass woman can't make a purchasing decision for herself is beyond me. So, dear women, if you're ever in the market for an appliance the tannies at Clicks think is for men, order it online. Because no store, or store tannie, has the right to decide what women can or can't use on their own bodies.

Well, now that your minds are totally boggled (c'mon Clicks, you have some explaining to do), back to that NB issue of feeling fresh: given that we're showering ONLY TWICE A WEEK (looks round with basilisk stare), try using a shower gel or soap that's cool and tingly -- mint, tea-tree, pine. Or maybe something citrusy, but it's not really the moment for "honey coconut" or "amber musk".

It's a bit of a hop to the next topic, but I got a lot of laundry feedback, and I'd like to dedicate this tip to all businesses that require staff to wear a uniform or "professional" outfits for reasons other than safety. Inspired by the news that some schools are letting children wear PE or sports clothes to school to save on washing, I want to suggest businesses do something similar. I'm thinking especially of those (also schools) that require the wearing of white or "uniform" shirts that require daily washing and ironing if one wants to avoid that dingy look (or growing a little whiffy). This is cruel in the current conditions. At the same time, many families don't have the budget for extra clothing, especially not for their kids.

Here's a branding tip for free: take the money for the T-shirt you were going to issue at the team-building conference, and make one instead that says "[insert business name here] Water Ninja" (or similar) and give to all your staff to wear for work. With colder weather coming in a few months, start planning to issue similar tracksuits: you can wear those puppies all week without washing. Same goes for schools: let kids wear T-shirts with gym-slips and grey pants. And have a little pity: we have the two hottest months of the year ahead and strict water rations: unless your employers or pupils need to wear closed shoes for safety reasons, allow them all to wear sandals, flip-flops, whatever -- as long as it doesn't need socks or stockings. Or just make EVERY DAY "Casual Friday".

Finally, and this has nothing to do with either lipstick or laundry, here's the cutest tip I've received so far, from someone called Mara: "i keep all used teabags to wipe dregs, oil, foodstuffs from plates, forks, pots, peanut butter bottles ... many kitchen items can be cleaned by wiping all food gunk off with one or two damp used teabags and then drying with one or two dried used teabags. i'm uncertain about any bacterial health hazard but i have been doing it for a couple years now and (i think) i'm not ill or dead. [HM note: I especially loved this detail.] i sometimes reuse the cleaned item (same plate and cutlery for several meals) or else let these wiped dishes pile up for awhile unstinkily and have a marathon dish wash in as little water as possible. wet bags clumped together can get mouldy so separate them out. or maybe design a special teabag line? with used dental floss. and used ... toothpicks? ok enough!"

The last detail (the dental floss washing line) made me wonder if I was having my leg massively pulled by a rather sweet elf with a penchant for lower case, but I tried her tip, and ... it WORKED! Certainly with the wet/damp teabags, and it feels much better chucking them in the compost bucket afterwards than kitchen paper. However, when I tried the dried teabags follow-up, they fell apart. It may be that I lack elf technique. Let me know how you fare.