This week, I was asked to speak briefly to the residents in the retirement village in which I find myself renting (it's a long story), and it was humbling to be reminded that even within the middle classes, one-size-does-not-fit-all in water-tip terms. Some of the water-wise ways I advocate take a degree of physical strength and flexibility we can't take for granted, especially not in older bodies. A physiotherapist I saw commented not just on "bucket back" (here's a brilliant blog by a water warrior laid low by this very phenomenon), but the rash of shoulder and arm injuries she is seeing in the elderly who are hoisting water containers around.

It's not much of a win if your water-saving habits cause you physical pain and injury. I blithely advocate that those unused to heaving buckets talk to a yoga teacher or athlete or physio about how to protect their bodies from injury when lifting anything heavy. However, years of Pilates have taught me that it's not enough just to suck in the tummy and bend the knees when lifting (although this certainly helps); regular work on core physical strength is necessary for maximum protection. (There's an opportunity for a win-win here: strengthen your body and your water-resilience at the same time. There are exercise routines that can be practiced and adapted for any age.)

So the most helpful tip: don't lift anything heavy. If you're not in the first flush of youth, or have a pre-existing injury or condition, physios recommend not lifting anything heavier than a 5-litre container of water. Forget those 25-litre containers. If you're collecting from a spring (and I see a lot of older folk doing this), take along a husky grandkid to do the heavy lifting.

In your home, if you have to move water around, make lots of little journeys. And instead of lugging one full bucket, rather pick up two half-full buckets, so that your body is balanced. Also finagle your water routines so that you're not hefting brimming buckets the whole time. For instance, instead of pouring buckets of grey water down the toilet, fill up your cistern a jugful at a time. (This also makes for a more effective flush.) I've discovered that watering-cans are great for filling toilet cisterns, and there's much less chance of splashing grey water around. (For maximum protection when handling grey water, wear rubber gloves.)

I'd nix my cooler-box "washing machine", too: if you have a washing-machine, rather use the soak and rinse-cycle system: pre-treat stains, soak laundry in a little warm water and low-foam detergent and then put into your machine and turn the dial to the rinse cycle. And it bears repeating, wipe and scrape plates (don't rinse) before putting them in the dishwasher, and run it only when it's packed to the gills.

When it comes to the shower, older people should NOT be stumbling around surrounded by buckets, and should be especially cautious about wet and slippery surfaces. Rather use a wide, shallow flat-bottomed container to catch shower water, and cover the bottom with non-slip mats. Or sit on a plastic chair in the shower and use the pressure-sprayer method described here for a nice, leisurely warm wash that uses remarkably little water.

What you can change, however, is your entertaining and eating habits. Keep up the cups of tea: the elderly are more at risk of dehydration. Continue to have people round, but try potlucks, eat out of containers with your fingers, and toss away your inhibitions about paper plates, napkins and compostable cups. My parents, in their eighties, have taken to religiously re-using crockery and utensils: glasses and plates used for toast, biscuits, etc, are the main target, and they've got the dishwasher down to a weekly run.

It also occurred to me that because I have so much harvested water in my home, I can be quite extravagant with it. If you live in a retirement village, however, especially one of those that did not see Watergeddon coming or prepare for it, you are likely to be dependent on municipal water, which can cause great anxiety. Try to get a little "off-grid" water in, even if this is just 5 litres from a spring, or basins under your downpipes. If you have a neighbour or family member who regularly harvests water, give them a few 5-litre containers and ask if they would mind collecting for you as well. It's a most satisfying experience washing up or creating a hand-wash station or doing the laundry with "off-grid" water. I boil harvested water for heating (you can use the kettle for any water that is visibly clean), or you can order a small electric bucket or tea urn online and stand it next to your sink for washing up. Note that if you get sufficiently independent, you can switch off your geyser for the duration, which will have a dramatically lowering effect on your electricity consumption, even if (to my surprise) you have a solar geyser.

Finally -- and this is for everyone to watch and enjoy -- the delightful Suzelle has created this water-saving video full of wonderful "water recipes" (for hand sanitiser, wet wipes, hand wash and more) that makes this whole adventure seem like fun.

The white one came from the supermarket. The purple one I grew.

In late October 2016, I planted a tiny cauliflower seedling. The drought was biting, but not yet as badly as this summer. At first, I just kept the seedling wet. It soon grew into a magnificent flourish of leaves. And was that the hint of a cauli I saw? So I kept watering it. And it thirstily gulped down at least a litre every other day. For nearly three months! Even though some of it was black water (from the washing-up), there was no getting away from it: to grow ONE cauli (admittedly delish and beautiful – stir-fried with basil pesto in the end) took close on 45 litres of water.

Which brings me to the tip of the week: visit just a few of the websites that tell you how much water it takes to produce food. The figures are sledge-hammering: 1 239 litres to produce one pizza? I couldn't actually get my head around the numbers. But no, the sources explain clearly and in scientific terms how much water goes into growing food, cleaning, preparing and processing it, and it is a hell-no-you-must-be-joking amount. So one thing is crystal-clear: in an era where it's horrendously unfashionable, if not draconian, to tell folk to finish what's on their plates, one of the least water-wise things you can do is waste food.

This is something to discuss with your family, especially teens. It's a good idea to ask everyone to dish up less than they might actually want, and to go back for seconds if they still have a gap to fill. And not wasting food goes double and triple for restaurants. I've lost count of the times I've seen I've seen kids order a milkshake, burger and chips, inhale the milkshake (which arrives first), then eat a few chips and send the burger back almost untouched. Apart from the ethics of dissing the minimum-wage earner in the kitchen who has to clear up, the water tab is gargantuan. How to get around this, especially given the often over-large portions doled out in restaurants? Doggie-bags. Better still, take your own Tupperware containers when eating out and bring everything you don't consume home. Yes, I know what it looks like, but consider this: do this just ONCE and your mortified teenager will never again push away a burger after just one bite.

If you can bear to go back and look at those figures again, something else will hit you between the eyes: the vast difference in water consumption between producing meat and vegetables, with grains coming somewhere in the middle. This alone is an argument for eating far less meat (or going vegetarian or vegan) and making veg a bigger part of our daily diets. Also, production and processing add megalitres more to the water footprint of all packaged and pre-prepared foods. Sometimes this is no bad thing: I now buy cauliflowers from stores, simply because the economies of scale involved in growing veg in large amounts usually means that less water is used.

Nevertheless, we all have to eat; and ever since humans first started making fires, food has been tied up with social cohesion, family rituals, pleasure and celebration. No one hates food guilt more than me. So what's to do? I think it was writer and green food activist Michael Pollan who said: "Eat real food. Not too much of it. Mainly vegetables." As someone who drools over artichokes, aubergines and asparagus (and we haven't even moved onto the second letter of the alphabet yet), this isn't as extreme as it might sound.

These are of course long-term strategies, but now that Day Zero has been pushed back again, and we are all crossing our fingers and thinking that maybe we might dodge a bullet, it's the long-term stuff that will save our hides in the end. Certainly our childrens's hides.

Thinking long-term about tackling the real Tyrannosaurus Rex in the room – climate change – needn't result in hapless despair. Interestingly enough, the only cure for global warming is to generate more water by planting more green stuff, especially indigenous trees. These release moisture into the air, hold it in the soil, and have a moderating effect on temperature. If you want to leave a truly valuable legacy, plant a small forest. We need to stop creating English cottage-style and other thirsty exotic gardens in the arid Cape, dig up our lawns and replace them with beautiful, hardy, indigenous groundcovers and plants.

Indigenous gardening will make you fall in love with spring all over again.

Allied to this, if you want to protect Mother Nature, improve your soil. Feed it and don’t cover it. Earth is a valuable sponge that helps hold our water supplies and is a source for evaporation back up into the air. Concrete, tarmac, paving stones and decks render the soil sterile and dead, and send rain run-off into drains and the sea, where it's wasted – that's if it doesn't first cause flooding.

Now back to cauliflower: when putting in a new veg garden last July, I planted one cauli seedling. "You're on your own," I told it. "No extra water for you." Well, with the scant winter rains and kitchen water poured through a home-made filter, this:

became this:

... which, in the fullness of time, became this:

Lesson humbly learned: plant thirsty veg in the winter, not spring.

PS: Very NB tip, especially with the disquieting news that the City intend calculating water usage when preparing accounts for the next while; you can get around nasty overbilling shocks by registering for e-services, reading your own meter (which we should all be doing anyway) and supplying the results to the City online, or by calling 0860103089, or emailing water.meterreading@capetown.gov.za. Some users are reporting a few hitches, but one of these routes should get your accurate reading to the City. Good luck!

Who else is finding that having to think about how we live with water is reframing the way they think about MANY other things? As we tackle some of the issues attached to the water crisis, I find I'm questioning certain ideas, or finding that certain views that have always been swimming around at the bottom of my mental fishtank are rising to the surface.

The other fascinating thing is talking to psychologists, social workers and activists about the big emotional swings we're seeing. There's something about fear of loss of water that presses all sorts of buttons. In the last month Cape Town has swung from panic to denial (with no doubt all the other stages of loss still to traverse), but with lots of "can-do" spirit as well. People who've had the money to install alternative water systems (adapting their gutters, putting in tanks and pumps, using their pools to harvest overflow) have been telling me how more confident and in control they feel as a result. Part of the price we pay for a so-called "civilised lifestyle" involves handing power over to the authorities and trusting them to take care of us. Taking that power back, when we can, can be incredibly liberating. The day I realised I could go off the water grid if I had to, simply by dint of hauling water from springs and wells (like millions across the globe) felt like strings loosening.

And so I've realised that being water-wise is more than accumulating tips and putting them into practice, even though these are super-helpful (and thanks to all those who keep sending them in -- my favourite this week, from my editor, was "Stick your sweaty gym clothes in the freezer instead of washing -- kills all the odour-causing bugs").

I've been setting my sights on those communal villages -- retirement complexes, gated estates, life-right villages, etc -- who, having failed to prepare their buildings or grounds for a water-scarce future, are now throwing bureaucratic obstacles in the way of those frantically trying to make their homes less dependent on municipal water. (This entire crisis has made me even more than usually allergic to red tape.) Among many other annoyances, I am rendered almost speechless by objections to rain-tanks on the basis of their appearance. "But they're an eye-sore!" scream some of the neighbours. "Must meet specifications as to colour and appearance be screened off preferred suppliers plans submitted to and approved by variance committee rabbit rabbit" drone the managing powers. This is a bit like objecting to the installation of blackout curtains on the eve of World War 2 on the grounds of "unsightliness".

And this got me wondering: what's the most beautiful city in the world in terms of built environment? (The pic at the top of this blog is a bit of a giveaway.) Why is Venice so breathtakingly beautiful? It's what you DON'T see. Not a car, truck, garage, parking lot, parking space, stretch of tarmac, road marking.

I don't think I've ever seen an attractive garage. They ruin the symmetry of houses, they're blocky and disproportionate, their lack of windows makes them look blank and sinister. But people would send for straitjackets if I lodged objections to them on the grounds that they made a property look ugly. What's more (and this will no doubt have folk storming my house brandishing pitchforks), I've never seen a 4X4 that wasn't hideous. Some cars (a very few) are indeed things of beauty: the vast hulks of metal and plastic I see parked everywhere in driveways are not. (I grant that a dusty bakkie or Landie on a gravel road is inoffensive.) Yet we take for granted that we're free to litter the landscape with our automobile paraphernalia; but a dark-green, pleasingly shaped Jojo tank is an offensive object that needs to be veiled. 

One water activist speculated that people object to seeing water tanks because they have uncomfortable associations with them: that upward mobility, keeping up with the Joneses, etc, means the status of a house with multiple bathrooms and water at the touch of a tap; a return to tanks and wells and windmills is somehow "primitive" or old-fashioned. If this is true, we should rather see these as signs of healthy independence and self-sufficiency.

Meanwhile, in the interests of knowledge as power, here are some of the interesting links on fresh thinking about water coming my way: here's information about an upcoming hackathon in Cape Town. I know nothing about it beyond what's on the website, but I like the emphasis on new ways of thinking. There's a preponderance of pale male faces among the keynote speakers, but I see Dr Bernelle Verster up there, and she's one of my favourite water warriors, with a great blog you can visit here.

And if you're have a great green water-wise idea or business you want to launch, Groundswell Africa, an initiative of Fetola, is looking for projects to mentor and help develop, but hurry, you need to apply and soon: all the details are here.

There are also some intriguing videos at this website: I dipped in and out (water pun done), enjoying the combination of water-saving ideas and the sight of sustainable lush gardens and pools.

And concerning the cessation of water for agricultural use, this report by the reputable Kerry Cullinan on Coke's use of water right here in Cape Town raises questions. If farmers have had their supply for growing food cut off, if workers have been laid off, flocks sold, orchards dug up -- surely the same sorts of principles should apply to the manufacture of non-essential foodstuffs, like soft drinks?

To go back to Venice: with hindsight, I'm astonished to see how many pics I took of fountains and wells because I thought they looked pretty or quaint or historic. Independent water sources or storage spots need to become things of beauty because of what they represent. A mental shift. 

Here's a licorice allsorts round-up of the tips and topics that floated in on the tide (water pun: tick) this momentous week, which saw a new South African president sworn in.

Many of us are feeling more hopeful, both about the nation and the water crisis. Day Zero has been pushed back again, this time till June, by which time it's not unreasonable to hope that winter rains will come to our rescue. The improvement in our water status is for multiple reasons: the cut-off of agricultural supply, shorter days (so less evaporation from reservoirs) and strenuous efforts by Capetonians to limit their use of water.

However, along with cautious optimism and general celebration, two responses are troubling. The first are the claims that the entire water crisis has been manufactured by the City/ the government/big business/ evil PR companies/ [insert villain here] for nefarious purposes. The fact that the crisis has been mismanaged and even manipulated doesn't make it any less real. It's beyond reason to suppose that hundreds, if not thousands, of environmentalists, scientists, journalists, farmers, climatologists, economists, NGOs, urban planners and more secretly banded together for over two decades to concoct a systematic tissue of lies to hoodwink the public. It's common sense that dwindling supply (courtesy of climate change) + increasing demand will eventually = shortfall.

What worries me more is the outbreak of magical thinking seen all over: the assumption that we'll be fine "once the rains come". IF we get good winter rains (by no means certain), and IF they fall in the right places, and IF they’re the right kind (we need soft and soaking – rain that falls in a sudden downpour tends to rush away down drains and out to sea), we will indeed be off the hook – temporarily. But a major underlying contributing factor, climate change, is not going away anytime soon.

When São Paulo ran out of water in 2015, residents cut their usage dramatically, largely in response to financial incentives (something for our municipalities to consider), but after good rains in 2016, at least half their households went back to their old ways. Today the city is once again teetering on the brink of water collapse. We may banish our Day Zero bogeyman for now, but it will be back, and soon. Weather patterns are becoming increasingly unpredictable, and the only thing we can be sure of is that we’re likely to face this scenario again and again in the near future, and need to adapt accordingly.

If this sounds scary, here's a tip that sounds even scarier, but is in fact comforting. Practice “water-fasting”: seeing just how little you can manage on for several days. This will make you feel more in control, and will help you develop a “reserve” for times when you really need more water: for example, when experiencing a heavy period or post-partum bleeding, doing particularly hard or dirty labour, struck by illnesses like diarrhoea, night sweats, eczema, and so on. Most healthy adults find they can live comfortably on as little as 30 litres a day (including laundry, cleaning and water for pets), and much less for short bursts. If you can, use less than your allotted 50 litres a day, so that those who need the extra – small children, invalids, the incontinent and so on – can benefit. Within families, parents can use less daily water so that their small children or elderfolk can have a bit more.

Experimenting, I've found I can get down to 10 litres a day: 3 for drinking and cooking (including drinking water for my cats); 2 litres in a bucket for a flannel bath and for handwashing the day’s undies (all saved for flushing); 2 litres for doing dishes, washing my hands and keeping the kitchen clean (if you keep grease out of this water by licking plates and scraping pans, it can be added to the flushing ration); an extra 3 litres for flushing (I used dirty rainwater, taking daily water use down to 7 litres, but not everyone has this option). Remember, there's no rule that says you have to blow through 50 litres every day.

My nearest chain pharmacy, with a vast display of water-wise goods outside its doors.

I also toured my nearest chain pharmacy to investigate their water-saving products on display, some of which were rather surprising: there's something called "Got 2 Wee", a "personal disposable urinal". Who knew? Is anyone brave enough to tell me that they've used this, and how it works? I picked up a pack of disposable knickers (sensible navy but with the fun addition of polka dots) and will report in due course. I was also intrigued by this tiny but mighty bottle ("Pure Drop") which promises to purify even "dirty rainwater", and I had no idea there were so many variations on wet wipes: for babies, for kitchens, for bodies, for faces, organic, biodegradable, gentle, tough, e-coli-killers, feminine, intimate and dozens more. Remember that NONE of them can be flushed, not even when it says you can on the packet. I just hope the planet doesn't collapse under their weight.

The best thing was discovering that one can donate bottled water to those in need simply by adding to purchases at the cashiers' station. Thank you, Dis-chem. Let me know what other chains or stores are offering this or similar services, and I'll mention them here.

One of the famous pies from a beloved local deli. The roast tomato and rocket salad is my handiwork.

Thinking about being water-wise in the kitchen reminded me that a local chef and business owner sent out an email with some very good tips on what steps she's taking to save water in her small restaurant. With her permission, I'll post most of her advice here, but first some thoughts on keeping hospitality businesses -- significant providers of jobs -- open in the face of the threat of no running water.

I believe it's important to continue supporting local businesses, especially coffee-shops, pubs, restaurants, at the same time as not sponging (H2O pun of the day out the way) water off them. For this to work and to keep staving off Day Zero, they and we need to adapt our habits and expectations a little. I tend to hang out and work in local coffee-shops where everyone is very chilled (this is Noordhoek, after all; it's no longer hippy central, but incense still lingers in the air) and the yellow has been mellowing in our public toilets for at least a year now.

So I've been surprised to hear some Cape Town restaurants don't have hand sanitisers and "mellow yellow" notices in their bathrooms. Clearly living behind the tie-dye curtain has made me a bit naive. The other issue that keeps coming up has been the matter of serving tap water in restaurants, with some now refusing to do so, and giving the water crisis as their reason. If ever there was a Middle-class Problem, this is it, but it seems really contentious. On the one hand, I have waitrons telling me that their current pet hate is patrons asking for tap water with ice and then not drinking it. On the other, it seems that some establishments are using the water shortage as a reason to strong-arm their customers into ordering bottled water -- an expensive habit that doesn't even save water in the long run.

So here's an NB tip for restaurants, pubs and coffee-shops: your clientele are feeling scratchy, and they've all just put rain-tanks on their overdrafts and credit cards. So DO NOT GOUGE or appear to be exploiting a genuine emergency in order to gouge (this goes for all industries). If you genuinely no longer want to serve tap water, tell folk they're welcome to bring their own.

I solve the problem with my Red Riding Hood basket: I arrive smiling sweetly and say "Hello! To help you out, I've brought my own boiled well water, and look, here's the thermos with my ice, and I've brought my own napkin and compostable cup, and here's the travel mug for my coffee. You don't mind, do you?" So far, so very good, although I admit I still have to try this at a super-posh place.

Restaurant survival kit. (I leave the herbs and teapot behind.) The bottle of non-potable water is for use in the restaurant toilet.

Now for Anita's tips. As we went to primary school together (even though we met for the first time in over 40 years only months ago!), I won't name her restaurant except to say it's in Simonstown.

"With the all-consuming thoughts on everyone's minds on how to exist on 50 litres per person per day and how we can avoid Day Zero, we have done some real head-scratching on how XXX Restaurant can contribute to saving water.

"We have decided to reduce our water usage by serving our meals on biodegradable, compostable plates, made from sugarcane fibres. They are water and oil-resistant, hygienic and completely compostable within four weeks, so they will be taken home each evening, to be dug into the garden, thus assisting with mulching and enriching the soil. 

"This is not compulsory -- we will offer our patrons the choice -- traditional plates or disposable! If this step is supported by our community, we will bring in compostable cups for coffee and cold drinks.

"We will not be offering municipal water at tables, but have reduced the price of our bottled water. We take care to ensure that our water is not bottled in drought-stricken areas -- our favourite coming all the way from KwaZulu-Natal, where water is abundant.

"We will also restrict the usage of ice, which we make ourselves from bottled water. All our drinks are refrigerated and ice will only be served if requested. We have invested in wine skins to replace ice buckets, or we offer to keep your wine in our fridges and top up your glasses as required.

"We will also put buckets of grey water in the toilets, which can be used for flushing. We are testing  and supply a hygienic, waterless 'handwash'.

"We ask patrons to assist us in saving water by using these alternatives, but point out that this is purely a request -- not compulsory at this stage."

That all sounds most sensible, and fairly easily adoptable by other restaurants. I'd add, ditch  tablecloths unless they're the wipe-clean kind.

How is your small business or restaurant coping with water restrictions? Are you finding tensions between hygiene requirements stipulated by law and keeping water use to a minimum? Let me know.