Cape Town Adventures And Night Clubs

Some of the various exaggerated adventures, anecdotes and downright lies involving a variety of Cape Town nightclubs.

Oh wait, there are also Cape Town bars and pubs involved too. Because I get around. Some of these adventures include the following Cape Town hotspots:

Alba Lounge Asoka (Son Of Dharma) Assembly, The Cafe Caprice FTV Ignite Bar

Planet Bar Mambos Peddlars On The Bend

It was a tepidly warm Friday evening, and I was knocking back copious amounts of chilled Ken Forresters, as one is prone to do on tepidly warm Friday evenings.

The evening was going well - I later planned on consuming vast amounts of Flings (baked, not fried), finishing another bottle of Chenin Blanc, whilst watching a light hearted comedy - preferably one starring the reliable actor Mark Ruffalo.

Just then the lights went out, leading to a great wailing and gnashing of teeth. Moving swiftly with all the nimbleness of an elegant gazelle, I managed to fend off the initial attack by The Girlfriend, who somewhat irrationally accused me of not paying the electricity bill. More

It was a warm and blustery Wednesday night in Cape Town, the type of night that makes you go, "Hey, let's go down to FTV Cafe, because it's Wednesday and I've already watched the entire season of Heroes", and so it came to pass that I decided to head off down to FTV Cafe, where I planned on drinking copious amounts of Fish Eagle brandy, whilst dancing badly to commercial R&B. More

It was a wet and wintry Friday night when I found myself at Peddlars (On The Bend) a much loved little drinking haunt in the gang-infested suburb of Constantia.

From here, we ventured forth to Sobhar and Wadda Bar in Claremont, as this cleverly written time line will account for. Read on:

21h15 - Arrive at Peddlars. On the bend. Parking space is a problem and I am forced to park in the muddied outskirts of the establishment. This leaves me slightly irritable, as I am wearing a pair of Italian loafers, who I found hiding behind some crates at a nearby shop, having a smoke break when they should have been working. More

When I'm not putting together multi-million rand business deals, negotiating corporate take-overs, or painting my toenails; I enjoy nothing more than sitting around at my favourite pub, Mambo's, for a quiet ale or two.

This invariably leads to a few stiff Jamesons thereafter, and as everyone knows, once that happens - things can get helluva crazy. Over the years I have enjoyed many a wild adventure in that beloved pub, mainly occurring once the sun went down, but occasionally when the sun was shining brightly too.

These adventures would mainly involve Irish whiskey, loose cigarettes and the occasional inflatable sheep, the type of experiences which every exuberant youth goes through in the journey to becoming a man. More

A recent Saturday night adventure we had at Panchos in Observatory, followed by Tiger Tiger in Claremont, was certainly an eventful one. Drinks and edibles were consumed, reputations and good names sullied, and car keys and self respect were lost.

Just another Saturday night in Cape Town then. More

Saturday night arrived on my doorstep like an unwanted ginger-haired stepson. How could it be Saturday night already? One minute I was watching rugby, eating biltong and stressing over my excessive dandruff problem, and the next minute we were at Asoka, as if reeled in by a magnetic force.

My excessive dandruff problem may still be lingering but it was a good night nonetheless. (One word. Not two. Or three.) More

Thursday night was so bizarre. One minute I was lounging on my Dark Bovine leather couch at The HQ, snacking on a Woolworths Tikka chicken meal - whilst picking my nose and flicking it out the window - and the next minute I found myself at Alba Lounge in the Waterfront, throwing back copious amounts of Jameson down my throat.

How did I get there?

Was I drugged?

Who is paying for the drinks?

Why is Some Other Guy wearing that dodgy shirt?

These were the questions racing through my mind. Thankfully we had a camera on hand for dexterity purposes. (As well as for Facebook) More

It's Sunday, and as usual, I am busy reading scripture, observing the Sabbath and meditating in complete silence amid the backdrop of scented candles. The Girlfriend is bored though and suggests we pass on the scripture and rigorous chanting this week. Never afraid of change, we decide to do something different and instead pay a visit to Caprice in Camps Bay, Cape Town.

We take off our robes, throw on some clothes and head on out to Camps Bay which - to the uninformed - is pronounced "Camps Bay", a Dutch name which literally translates to "Beautiful warm place where beautiful warm Flossies can be met, and seduced." More

Thursday has always been my favourite day of the week - after Friday, Saturday and Tuesday. And Wednesday. It normally involves a fun evening of Scrabble, a glass of fine Scotch, and a roaring fire, which if we're lucky would occur in the general direction of the fireplace. With this in mind, I entered the HQ, after yet another trailblazing day of kicking ass and taking names. I was greeted by The Girlfriend and Kim, who quickly informed me that Scrabble would be off the menu that evening. More

The Saturday evening began like any other - myself and The Girlfriend, lounging at The HQ, sipping red wine while listening to "Livin La Vida Loca". Then the phone rings. I pick up the receiver hesitantly and listen. It's someone from First National Bank (FNB), trying to sell me life insurance. I hang up. Then the phone rings again. It is The Gupster. Plans have been set in motion, a JAG (Just All Guys) night had been arranged. I had to be there.

Cue an 80's rock music montage of making myself pretty, handing out a world class foot massage to The Girlfriend and then driving like a demon - I find myself at the doors of Tiger Tiger in Claremont. I immediately fall victim to the club's no weapon/metal policy, eventually having to produce a doctor's certificate stating the unnaturally high level of iron in my blood, a rare condition which causes me to pass South African R5 coins through my urine, a tax-free source of income which supplements my wages working on the old plantation. More

After a few weeks of pacing up and down at The HQ, the time had come to find me a local watering hole. I had fond memories of my previous "local", Mambo's in Plumstead, which served as the starting point for many a wild and crazy adventure, like the time I broke the nose of an obnoxious African Elephant, who came down all the way from the Addo in the Eastern Cape to pick a fight with me.

Then there was the time I threw my drink at Kirsten Dunst, who would regularly fly down to South Africa incognito, to have some of Mambo's famous Long Islands. As usual, she got drunk and started mouthing off about how there are no real men in South Africa, so I stepped in and poured my Kiwi Brutal Fruit down her cashmere sweater, which settled that little argument once and for all. More

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