Stepping out of my stretch-hummer-limo to the flashing bulbs of the papparazzi, I strolled into the Mayor of Cape Town's Cocktail Reception party at Charly's Bakery. Strolling past an under-age mermaid surrounded by oysters, champagne glass in hand I passed a semi-clad Zulu warrior and his ntombizana. Man, that impi made me feel like a wimpi.  It takes a big man to wear such a small loin cloth. Truth  be told, I was surprised I got in, I had forgotten my entry ticket and my editor had forgotten to get my name on the guest list, but I guess they are not too concerned about suicide bombers having a go at Executive Mayor Alderman Dan Plato.

Outside the venue, city improvement district employees were hastily sweeping the last vestiges of Heritage Day rubbish out of sight of the VIE's (Very Immense Ego's). I couldn't help but think that it would have been a nice thought if it had been completed 3 hours earlier.

A live band entertained us until the obligatory speeches began and then everything kind of zones out as a table of monstrous muffins and chocolate cheese cakes and pink cookies kind of lured me into its diabetic coma causing claws. I can't really remember what happened next, but I work up on the floor of a porta-loo with pink icing smeared across the permanent smile on my face. I left soon after, making sure everybody knew that I worked for a rival publication. Now if only I could find my pants.