Wobble wobble toil and trouble

It’s been a wobbly week.

Last weekend we jetted off to the kingdom of Swaziland for a wedding that featured bottomless pink bubbly and some of the most fantastic beef fillet I have ever eaten. OK, it is an imperfect memory, since my tastebuds were probably already bubbly-wobbly. But the meat is seriously good in Swaziland. ORGANIC! GRASS FED! (You listening, Michael Pollan? We living the good life down here in Ah-frica.)

After the meal I wobbled very enthusiastically (and mostly successfully) on the dance floor until we were all wobbled out and got in a wobbly taxi to take us “home”.

Back on the road the next day for a 3 4 hour trip to Jo-hannes-burg, for which we were rewarded with yet another fantastic meal and some rather fine wine.

(Puff pastry with caramelised figs and gorgonzola: a “snack”)

(Lovely lamb stew, cooked by a man who calls himself Jamie in the kitchen)

(Me, not yet wobbling)

The next day we wobbled back to Cape Town, which, as it turned out, was the best place to be in the country on that “Freedom” Tuesday, given that most of Jo-hannes-burg was suffering a power cut (from about half an hour after WE left, mwahahahaaaa).

And then the short week wobbled along, including an evening at a surprisingly charming restaurant in a town where the Philosophe went to give a talk to a bunch of mostly Ch-ermans about the rational life without God – they found him Ch-arming (but mistakenly referred to him as the Doctor. He politely corrected them but he didn’t ask the real Doctor to stand up). We finished the evening with an Irish coffee. So rare these days. And a little wobbly.

But nothing’s over till it’s over, and yesterday was Saturday so we donned our fabuloso gear and headed into the night, which was Myoga, and where our “Jamie” friend joined us for a 6-course extravaganza – at the ridiculously wobbly price of R150. Ha! That’s like $20.

Ah-frica rocks. Or wobbles.

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