The real story behind the demise of the coffee machine at SALT

The windswept landscape of the Karoo hides many secrets. There are some who speak of these secrets in whispered tones in the dead dark of a Sutherland night under the protection of ridge cloud. There are many murmurs, they say, amongst the Kloofs of old. Long ago they were inhabited by all manner of folk who lived in fear of an enchanter (there are some who call him 'Tim'), well versed in the art of pyrokinesis, who travelled from Kloof to Kloof with relative ease. These folk were dependent on the life-sustaining liquid Coffea arabica, the ambrosia of the gods. Some say their sustenance used to plunge from the sky in a clear bottle, but in more recent times such liquor of life has been dispensed regularly from a machine, shiny and sturdy. Its halted machinations understandably leave a cloud heavier than ridge cloud over all the land. Long has the culprit been suspected but never were they caught in the act. At long last here is photographic evidence of the plunderous pyrokinesis unleashed upon the machine of mojo, the liquefactor of loveliness and the giver of goodness. May it RIP (rest in pieces).

Some say there is a Karoo creature lying in wait deep within its lair that is even more dangerous than the enchanter! So foul, so cruel, that no man yet has fought with it and lived! To be continued...