I met up with The Artist Formerly Known As The Granny Wrangler yesterday evening. She’s in South Africa on a book-signing tour+ and was able to pencil me in to her busy schedule. I suppose I could regale you with tales of her charm, good looks and wit, but I have limited space here. Also, my fingers get tired when I type too much++.
Dinner was over in flash. It was about the third or fourth time that our waitress came to ask us if “everything was still alright” (we were in the middle of a Deep and Meaningful Conversation on the Croyden Facelift phenomenon) that the penny finally dropped…
“Are you saying you want us to fuck off?” The Artist sweetly enquired.
“No. No. Nonono“, squawked the hapless innocent and fled, blinking tears of frustration from the corners of her eyes.
We never saw her again. A little bit later, one of her male colleagues arrived and very pointedly asked if we “wouldn’t like to settle the bill?”
Amateurs. This is Cape Town – the Paris of Africa. You expect the service to be shocking and the waiting staff to be surly. If you’re all demure and polite and stuff, people are just going to take advantage.
+ or attending her best friend’s wedding. Something like that. God, I meet so many celebrities these days, it’s hard to keep track
++ and this severely impacts on my nose-picking ability. It’s all about priorities