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.

Hot pink cooler-box washing machine.

So I've had a chance to test-drive some of the water-sparing devices that have been whizzing around our screens in the last week. The Institute of Good Housekeeping this is not, but you might like to hear about my new cooler-box "washing machine"; and my new garden pressure sprayer "shower". It took me a bit of tweaking to use these with maximum efficiency, so here are my trials and errors for your delectation. 

Lots of chatter about the Sputnik, the nifty gadget that washes your clothes sans electricity, in very little water, every drop of which you can harvest. Alas, the online waiting list got so long, it's now listed as out of stock. So here we go with my cooler-box. I described the basic methodology in this post, but this is what happened in practice.

I got a 22 litre cooler-box, in a cheerful colour, for R129 from the camping section of my nearest big supermarket. I boiled 1.5 litres of clean but non-potable water and put it in with about another two litres of cold water. Then I made a nice soup with gentle biodegradable (and cheap!) package-free washing powder from Glencairn's Wild & Waste-free Market and, er, Vanish Liquid, and tossed in a spoonful of bicarb for good measure. (Herewith a PSA from Stalwart Sidekick Sister: when trying this at home, DON'T use your regular washing-machine detergent. Apparently rinsing a zillion red and blue Skip granules out of a white tutu is no fun, especially not with Day Zero on the horizon. Pick a soap/detergent that doesn't foam. Woolite or any hand-wash laundry soap would be good. And lose the fabric conditioners, which you shouldn't be using in any case.)

Laundry powder in recycled jar from Zero Waste.

I stirred my soup with a wooden spoon. Next, the clothes. I sorted as usual, pre-treated stains (this is NB, as I was to discover), and tossed them in, making a smallish load (see washing-line pic below), but I could have added more -- the box was only a third full. Don't fill to the top. I'd guess the temperature was about 50 degrees, considerably higher than my washing machine setting.

Next I sealed the lid carefully (this is vital), lifted the box in my arms and danced an awkward jig. This shake, rattle and roll motion is a great cardio workout (Pollyanna way of saying I was shattered within 3 minutes). So, as I had errands to run, I put the whole lot in the footwell of my car and headed out. Nothing leaked, and there was a comforting slosh-slosh sound as I went round corners. Three hours later, I poured the water (which was still pretty warm) out into the grey-water tub-cache and added about 3 litres of well water back into the box. This time I HAD to do the cardio workout: I wasn't firing up my car just to rinse my clothes. A few sweaty minutes later, I drained the water out again; it was still pretty dark, so I rinsed one more time with another three litres of well water (taking total H2O usage to around 11 litres, all kept for flushing). Finally, I removed the "DECOMMISSIONED" sign from my washing machine, chucked all the wet clothes in, and hit the "Spin" button. 

Now for the proof of the pudding as I hung out the laundry: how clean were my clothes? I am a famously messy pup; always spilling down my front, and I can usually rely on a snack lodged in my cleavage at the end of the day. (In fact, given that I wear my outer garments until they take on a life of their own, I am seriously considering getting a wipe-clean bib.) I was pleasantly surprised to find the only glaring stain that had survived was a mayo splodge on my T-shirt I had forgotten to pre-treat. So that's good to know.*

The white towel was already on the line, airing. Otherwise, this is what I managed in one load, which didn't even come close to filling the cooler box.

My assessment: I'd give this a C+ for cleaning power if you're not pre-treating stains first; if you do, I'd say B+. Withholding an A because this isn't suitable for those without upper-body strength or cars. If you're strong(ish) and have wheels, welcome to your new washing machine.

Additional laundry tip for knickers, via my clever friend Sally: once you've handwashed your undies at the same time as showering (see below), you can use a salad spinner to rid them of excess water. To which I will add super-bonus-hygiene tip, given to me by my friend Sue decades ago: if your knickers are PLAIN COTTON (no bits of synthetic lace and ribbon), you can put them in the microwave for 30 seconds at a time. This will both dry them out and sterilise them. Watch carefully; you do not want smouldering knickers. Well, not literally.

And now for my Garden Pro Pressure Sprayer, a present from my Smart Sister. Available from most supermarkets, nurseries and no doubt hardware stores.

Put this on your gift list pronto: I really liked it, although it came as a shock to have a HOT shower after all these months of bucket bathing. Put in a litre of hot water, then top up with cold water. I put in about 4 litres in total. Then I pumped that plunger goetjermachig on top vigorously a few times, then pressed the nozzle at the end of the pipe. Out came a stream of warm water. Ahhhh. You can wet yourself all over, soap away, then rinse lavishly, and it still uses almost no water: I had about 2 litres left over, plus if you stand in a cat-litter tray or basin, you get to save all the water. This does take time, and you have to keep pumping (this could be me being a klutz), but a little practice, and this will change bath night forever. I'd give this an A, and as I've said, it will be a boon for home nursing.

*OMG, am a radical feminist who researches and publishes on gender-based violence, and I am getting excited about STAIN REMOVAL. What amazing things Day Zero is teaching us, eh?

I have a confession to make. Yesterday (deep breath), I had a bath.

Wait! Put down those pitchforks! I can explain! My tub is a water storage container, where I dump water harvested from non-potable sources or that gets sand or vegetation in it during the collection and lugging process. I'd used about half of last week's haul for bucket baths, laundry and flushing, and the remainder was starting to look a little, well, tired. Dead moths and cat hair floated sadly on the surface. So I made myself a vast delicious drink and got in with a book. OK, it was cold. But it was 25 degrees outside, and I pretended I was sliding into a pool. It was bliss, and I wallowed for nearly an hour, thinking about how strange (and wonderful) it is that so many people I've never met should be sending literally hundreds of water-saving tips and ideas. I keep reminding myself this is a marathon, not a sprint; we may even find that we're in for the Comrades. We're going to get water fatigue, especially once the chattering classes get past the shock of having to live the same way many of their compatriots already do. (I was no doubt smackably smug, taking well water to the hairdresser for rinsing last week. Until the gentle young woman pouring it over my head said, "Yes, this is the way we do it at home, too.")

But thanks to your generosity and enthusiasm, it looks like there will be tips for every single day of the long and difficult road ahead. I've already mentioned a brilliant list of anonymous hints that's doing the rounds on social media, but it's taken on a life of its own, and people keep adding to and adapting it, so I'll be doing the same. If I inadvertently "pinch" your tip, please let me know so we can wave gratefully at you.

So how about a recap of the best tips so far? I have a vague idea of hitting 1001 tips one day in the future, maybe with little icons indicating what they're likely to cost, whether they're short- or long-term, whether they save a lot or a little. But let's kick off with some revision first.

1. We need to change the way we think about water. This is especially true for those of us who have running water and flush sanitation piped into our homes. For millions of South Africans, water is already a precious resource that costs sweat and toil to collect and fuel to heat. Our middle-class expectations that water will gush steaming from our dozens of indoor taps 24/7 are going to look as wastefully OTT to future generations as Cleopatra bathing in asses' milk. Our Roman-orgy relationship with water is over. We need to start respecting it.

2. Go green, especially when thinking long-term. So much of what we consume thoughtlessly takes water to grow, manufacture, transport. Saving water feels easier if you're already trying to minimise your jackboot on the planet. Cut down on the plastic (yes, I know, ironic as we all hit the shops for water containers), recycle, reduce, re-use.

3. We should stock up on a small amount of bottled water for emergency drinking and cooking use, at the same time (ironically) that we should stop drinking it if we have access to tap water safe for drinking. It takes far more water to "manufacture" bottled water than just the contents of the bottle. Plus a lot of it is basically expensive tap water dressed up in planet-choking plastic. If you don't like the taste of tap water, filter it, and if you like bubbly water (I know I do), invest in one of those Sodastream thingamabobs. Etiquette note: take your own bottled water to parties. Keep your eyes averted from your host/ess's supply and your covetous thoughts to yourself. (Ideas on how to be a water-wise guest here.)

4. This is a bit doomsday, but lay in some water purification tablets, not because the City is about to let frogs start spawning in our scant remaining supplies, but because (as water harvesters everywhere are learning) it can be hard to keep the supply lines sterile when handling containers, buckets, etc, especially when the southeaster is kicking up dust. (I'm doing fine boiling my well and spring water before drinking; you may not want to take a similar chance with your elderly parent or sick child.)

5. Likewise, stock up on all the medical supplies needed for tummy bugs or bladder infections -- anything that might have you or your family members trotting more urgently to the toilet than usual (anti-emetic, nausea and diarrhoea meds, rehydration salts, Citro-Soda, probiotics, charcoal tabs, etc). Perhaps pharmacists could make up and sell little #WaterCrisis packs of OTC medicines for tummies and bladders -- would be good to have the lot in a single basket.

6. And while we're talking clean water (I discuss water hygiene here), assemble your scrub buddies now. My favourites are bicarb (I use it to deodorise grey water that's starting to smell stagnant, as a dry shampoo,  laundry agent and more), vinegar (for cleaning surfaces, soaking pots, deodorising) -- and along with these gentle aids, good old deadly bleach. I use the thick kind for the lavatory, the thin kind to sterilise kitchen and bathroom cloths.

7. I've been washing my veggies for cooking in well water, but am going to start using Milton, which is also good for wiping down surfaces where germs must be bopped on the head (inside the fridge, chopping boards, microwaves, etc). Remember: tummy upset + water shortage = perfect storm of misery.

8. You should be letting your yellow mellow (although in truth, you shouldn't be peeing into a toilet AT ALL, and here's a post about the insanity of piddling in drinking water), but for those who sit to pee, paper should be dropped in a little bin next to the toilet. You can sprinkle in some bicarb to prevent whiffs, or break a little piece of incense into the bin. I burn my paper in a special compost/fire pit; obviously figure out a system for disposing of it that works for your lifestyle (and hopefully, the planet) and doesn't involve burning down the neighbourhood. Your dustbin might be the likely candidate.

9. The mellowing can be hard on the nose. I haven't used it, but my Stalwart Sidekick (aka my sister) says that Wee Pong (the name of this product gets a special "in-your-face" award) is brilliant, works instantly and keeps the loo clean. (It's an enzyme rather than a cover-up perfume.) It's pricey, but she says it's worth it, and you can apparently get it from nurseries or here.

10. Put on your grown-up broeks and start researching composting toilets NOW. I erred when I first mentioned them here, thinking they were an expensive investment. I was thinking of those posh ones that have chimneys, solid and fluid separation systems, and the ability to answer emails. (This straightforward one with disabled access is still my favourite.) Apparently you can bang a rustic but perfectly functional one together with some wood off-cuts and a bucket. A friend made one with a POOL NOODLE. Another ingenious local writer has dreamed up a system that includes a large pot plant, newspaper origami and a composter (I am on the edge of my seat -- HA -- waiting to hear if it works). Google is your friend (this is one of the best links I've found so far), plus there is a rash of courses/talks/lectures/demonstrations (the mind does a quick boggle) on this topic breaking out all over social media.

11. If you have a washing-machine, check which cycle uses the least water. In many makes, it's not the economy or the speed wash, but the synthetics cycle. Laundry uses a LOT of water (anywhere between 40 and 70 litres per wash, yikes), so try to collect it all for flushing. Or replace your machine with this device (called a Sputnik), which has become so wildly popular overnight, there's a waiting list. Or you could try the cooler-box method (a report on this coming soon to a screen near you -- instructions for use in this blog).

12. If you're relying on your taps for things like washing up and showering, fit them all with aeration devices/filters/heads that slow down the water flow. Guesthouses drawing on municipal water should fit these immediately, if you haven't already.

13. There are plenty of options for showering (including hair-washing) that use 5 litres of water or less, and also enable you to make use of harvested water (rainwater, well water, etc). You can stand in a child's paddling pool or builder's cement tray or bath and sluice buckets over yourself; you can get one of those camping "bladder" showers and hoist it up over the bath; you can use the pressure-spray tank (see pic above) familiar to gardeners and farmers (everyone who's tried this raves about it, and it would also be a water-wise way of bathing someone in need of nursing care). Or you can simply rig up a 5-litre water bottle and use it as shown here -- a beautician who surfs came up with this brilliant idea. Remember to catch all shower water for flushing.

14. It may sound off-track, but if you have a garden, set up a compost heap or pit. There are many systems, some involving worms, ash, rotating drums: I sommer dig a hole about a metre deep and a metre across, and dump everything biodegradable in it, including kitchen paper. Why? Well, there are a thousand reasons to keep garbage out of landfills and put organic matter back in the soil, but for now: washing up. If you are shaken by the notion of licking your plate, or getting the family dog to do so, then scraping your plate into the compost bucket after meals is the next best thing. Wipe with a paper towel (better still, the paper napkin you used while eating) and chuck that into the compost as well. A compost pit is also a suitably earthy place to dispose of blood (from a mooncup, for instance, or biodegradable sanitary pads) or vomit. Sprinkle a good layer of soil or mulch over afterwards. (PS: urine is great in compost heaps, but for reasons too complicated to go into here, this is not a place to dump your dump.)

15. If you are reliant on municipal water for washing up, and you have one, a dishwasher uses less water than washing up by hand. Treat it as a storage place for dirty dishes and don't run it until it's absolutely full. If you run it at a high temperature (60 degrees), this should kill bugs left by Fido's tongue (although human mouths are apparently filthier than those of most animals). But if you have access to harvested water, use this to wash up by hand, and mothball your dishwasher.

16. We need recipes and meal ideas that generate as little washing-up during prep and after the meal as possible. (Watch this space for one-pot meal and Buddha bowl suggestions. I am going to have FUN here.) Eat directly out of pots, pans and containers. Lay in paper plates and wipe-able chopsticks. Each family member gets a mug, glass, plate (for dry food, like toast) they have to keep going as long as possible before washing. If you need to cater for big events, these bamboo boats (used at a wedding I recently attended) are a great alternative to plates, and can be composted or burned.

17. If you have a chest freezer, now would be a good time to cook large batches of rice, pasta, soups, dhal, stews, curries and veggies that need plentiful water for cooking. Freeze them in microwaveable containers (my parents have used marg tubs for this purpose for 40 years, with no discernible ill-effects) and note that cooking in the microwave, if you have one, is almost waterless.

18. Stock up now on the following: dry shampoo, antiperspirant (I'm not into brand recommendations so much, but Mitchum is worth every penny), leave-in hair conditioner, hand sanitiser, wet wipes (remember that you shouldn't flush these NOT EVEN WHEN IT SAYS YOU CAN ON THE PACKET -- try to get biodegradable ones that can go in the compost or make your own), hand lotion (all the hand-washing gave me fearful itching at first).

19. This should perhaps be the Golden Rule: be a good neighbour. Talk to those around you, your staff. Find out what resources you can share (a bakkie, a well, muscles to help carry water, tech skills -- get everyone with a cellphone or an internet connection hooked up to a water-saving group or onto a WhatsApp list, and show people how to get reliable information: explain the concept of fake news). If you're rich or lucky enough to be able to harvest water from an unstressed source, identify those you might want to share with, according to how practical this is and how vulnerable they are.

20. If you're rich, it's not enough to conserve water: you need to spend a bit of capital on water harvesting. And no, I do not mean all those I've seen this week installing 5000 litre tanks and then filling them with municipal water, or buying 100 litres at a time from the water shops (you do know that's two days' municipal water allowance gone, right?) [INSERT VERY SKEEF LOOK HERE] Install tanks by all means; rejig your gutters; look out for every possible means of harvesting rain (yesterday I spotted a brilliant rain-gathering contraption like an upside-down umbrella, designed by a tentmaker, that could even be used on a balcony; here's another version); if you have limited space, but plenty money, get rainchains and these elegant pot-tanks. And once your tanks are brimming, scoop up the overflow and drop this water off at the nearest elderly neighbour, or vulnerable family, or animal shelter, etc. Note that these are not just crisis measures: we're going to need to do this for the foreseeable future.

21. Here's a bonus tip: DON'T PANIC.

These 21 tips are the tip of the iceberg (wouldn't an iceberg be nice right now) of ideas that have come pouring into my DMs and inbox. More (and more and more) coming soon to a screen at your desk. *Soothing video clip of the world's coolest owl here*