Service: * * *
Food: * * * *
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Babe Count: * * * * * <\/i> <\/p>\n
It’s the opening night of Eduard Claassen’s exhibition at Guto’s gallery. Awesome work. All digitally originated and manipulated. Very ironic stuff about Afrikanerdom, and the fall of the right wing.<\/p>\n
Eduard has made koeksusters, bobotie, jam tarts, and lemonade in little brandy bottles specially for the evening. He’s also packed biltong in little brown paper bags. Everything is individually labelled, “A Product Of The New Colony. Est 2005.”<\/p>\n
I’m standing on the balcony, and I see two hot blondes and a short dude heading for the Colour Bar. “Hey!” I shout. “Don’t go there! Come here! It’s an art opening! Free food and drink!”<\/p>\n
I’m milling around inside, and the two hot blondes and the short guy arrive. “You made us come!” says the tall gal with beautiful hair. “Anna,” she says, and grips my hand. She has some kind of accent.<\/p>\n
“Bwwwb,” says the guy, and shakes my hand.<\/p>\n
“I beg your pardon?” I say. I cannot penetrate the accent. Can’t even place it.<\/p>\n
Anna says, “Bob.”<\/p>\n
The shorter girl with the immense breasts says, “Gretchen,” and shakes my hand. She’s got an American accent.<\/p>\n
“What is this food?” asks Anna.<\/p>\n
“This is bobotie, a traditional Cape Malay dish, made of mincemeat. This is a koeksuster. Very sweet ginger syrup. And this pie is filled with jam. That’s biltong in the brown bag. Where are you guys from?”<\/p>\n
Bob says something. I couldn’t tell you what.<\/p>\n
Anna says, “We’re all journalists, foreign correspondents. I’m from Sweden. Gretchen is from America. And Bob is from Ireland.”<\/p>\n
Braam Kruger arrives. “Hey Braam,” I say.<\/p>\n
He squints over his glasses at me. He recognises me, but can’t place me.<\/p>\n
I say, “Roy Blumenthal.” <\/p>\n
I’m about to add context, but he says, “The poet! You still making poems?”<\/p>\n
I tell him I’m making art as well now. He tells me something Jeanne Goossen said. “Poete is mense wat in halwe sinne dink.” (Poets are people who think in half sentences.)<\/p>\n
I say to the foreign correspondents, “Meet Braam Kruger, one of South Africa’s most famous artists.”<\/p>\n
Braam shakes their hands, “Not famous at all,” he says.<\/p>\n
I wander off and mingle. Aryan Kaganoff arrives. We talk shit for a while. Then a dude with a funny beard arrives.<\/p>\n
Guto introduces me. “Hey, I know you,” says the guy. “Weren’t you a copywriter at Hunt Lascaris? We were on a radio writing workshop together!” His name’s Theo, and he’s now Creative Director of the entire African wing of Lobedu Leo Burnett. Spent half a dozen years overseas in advertising, and is really flourishing. We swap cards, and I’ve gotta leave. I’m off to the Bloggie Awards at Cool Runnings.<\/p>\n