Hanging Like A Tweed Jacket.

This morning found me waking up with an interesting flavour on my tongue - the unmistakable taste of feral cat wee. This could either mean that a great celebration was had the previous night, or that a wild feline somehow slipped into The HQ and really did urinate in my mouth.

Seeing as that it was the great 23rd Birthday yesterday, we will go with the former. Or is it the latter? Christ, I just don't know anymore, I used to be able to explain the difference between the former and the latter, but now I can't. It's really embarrassing as that used to be a favourite dinner party trick of mine, together with explaining the difference between irony and coincidence, and making farting noises with my mouth.

Anyhoo, the point I'm trying to make is that I don't think it was a cat, I'm pretty sure my fresh breathe and sunny disposition is due to the increasing familiarity I developed with a certain Fish Eagle Brandy the night before, who I spent quite some time socialising with at Cape to Cuba's Cigar Bar.

I never knew Cape to Cuba in Long Street had a Cigar Bar section, but I do now, because I was there last night. It's spacious and inviting, and resembles a large study, with leather bound books and shelves that smell of rich mahogany. The couches are deliberately old looking ( I think) and the whole place gives off quite the little Cuban vibe, which is ironic (coincidence?) as the place IS in fact a Cuban establishment.

The Cigar Bar section was also much livelier than the restaurant in the front, which wasn't full at all. In fact, I would suggest ditching the whole restaurant vibe and just chilling at the bar section, which could well become a permanent Monday night fixture for the Cape Town cool people.

So anyway, as mentioned, I'm not in the greatest of spirits right now, so will just keep this short, as I'm feeling quite grumpy and don't feel like hurting anyone else today. Who did I hurt?

Well let me tell you - this morning, whilst trying to remember where I parked my car, a guy with a luminous yellow bib suddenly appeared out of nowhere, in a puff of sweet-smelling smoke.

"Jesus Hernandez, where the f*ck did you come from?" I shrieked in a lady-like manner, as the brightness of his yellow vest caught me off guard, and left me feeling both uneasy as well as slightly depressed, as "Yellow" had been the name of my first imaginary dog, who had died of old age many years before.
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"Yes boss, my name is Jesus," he said smugly "and I would like a R5 for watching your car."

I didn't have a R5, and I wouldn't have given him one anyway, as I lived there and didn't see the need to pay him so that he could watch someone casually walk off with my car radio, as I already have ADT for that. Instead, I decided to bite his head off, as he pissed me off with that remark about being Jesus, and if there's one thing I hate more than over-eager car guards, it's over-eager car guards who claim to be the Messiah. He had quite a small head, so I was able to get a good mouthful, but I did feel some empathy for him thereafter, as he couldn't really see very well after that, and people started slipping passed him and sneaking into their cars without him noticing.

So that's kind of been my day thus far. I don't really know why I shared that last bit with you, it really made no sense in the greater scheme of things. In fact, let's not tell anyone else about that then, shall we?



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