I’m in grey, wide-legged trousers that have four perfectly placed buttons – two on either side of each hip. These trousers also have turn ups which I love; truly the reason for me buying them in Top Shop while holidaying in Kuala Lumpur. I’ve got a simple white T tucked in and black pointy heels. I’m looking pretty smart but tonight even though I’m heading out to Long Street (pop art central in Cape Town), I’m doing so with accountants… Lots of them. Oh, and a guy who I call “Matt with the stars” who looks like he should be in rock band. Matt with the stars (MWTS) has recently quit smoking, taken up vegetarianism (“It’s not forever,” he tells me) and is currently channeling Johnny Cash – in a way that’s pretty scary. They look so identical that I keep staring and embarrassing myself.
We start off at the Big Daddy. Bigger, classier brother of the Grand Daddy a little further down long street. The Grand Daddy have these fabulous custom caravans on the roof of the building and each one is funkier and crazier than the next. It’s simply fabulous. Accountants and MWTS head there first and I catch them walking out while I’m driving past in a tiresome effort to find a damn parking. To veer off the topic for just a moment: I’m convinced that Cape Town has the lowest parking spots to cars ratio in the whole entire world.
Next we head to Neighbourhood. Where waitress after waitress tells us that our crowd is standing in “their” spot at the bar. The place is so packed that there’s no where else to stand and so we stay put. Crazy waitress with the asymmetrical black cropped hair gets more and more irate us with. Eventually, we’re just doing it on purpose. More than half our group downs their drinks and declares it’s time to move on. And not a moment sooner… This waitress chick is starting to bug me.
Cape To Cuba is our next spot. We have to walk up stairs and then more stairs and then through a restaurant and then ask for directions before we eventually find the damn bar. The walls are red and the place reeks of hubbly. Before you know it though, you’re so intoxicated with the fumes that you barely notice it… Thinking about it now however, that could also be because of the tequila. This is where the night really starts to go pear and MWTS and I start to laugh hysterically over blondie who keeps telling us how much she loves Sloggi bras (loudly!). She notices that we’re canning ourselves and asks us why… I tell her that we have a secret language and she buys it. In fact she looks jealous and for a moment there I was almost expecting her to ask us to teach her. But lucky for us, blondie has the memory of a goldfish and she turns to continue throwing herself at my poor friend. He’s a bit trashed, but not that trashed. On the way out, someone tells me she’s from PE… And then suddenly it all comes together.
Next up is Waiting Room – the jol I’ve been waiting for all night. They’ve got electro jazz buzzing and the cool kids are all chilled out and lounging on old couches that like to swallow you up once you sit on them. The music changes and Billy Jean blasts out loud. Everyone “woooohoooos” and I hit the dance floor before landing on the softest, most comfy couch ever.
I look at my watch and it’s 3.30am.
That’s Long Street for you… It gulps you down, shows you a little craziness and then it’s time to make your way home but not before 25 Nigerians hustle you all the way to your car asking you if you’d like to call it a night with a guy named Charlie. My suggestion is that you say ‘No’.
Gawk your heart out 