Tales of the Cape

The Crayfish and the Go-Go dancer

Years ago, when The Kid had a site on a ski-boat, he met a go-go dancer.  She had a body that could make a sailorman forswear drink and tobacco, her thrupenny bits strained proudly at the sky and her deaf and dumb was like two chubby wildcats tightly stuffed into a duffel bag.

Having ascertained that this delectable sample of feminine pulchritude (fancy words for a "Right bit of crackling") liked a crayfish dinner, The Kid fixed a date for the gastranomic assignation and proceeded to canvas his friends for a pair of the creepy crawly comestibles.  The offer was a tunny, longfin or yellowtail in exchange for a couple of bugs.  A good deal in anyone's language.

But due to long weekends and the influx of vaalie friends and relatives no-one he knew (and he knew many) could come up with the craved crustaceans.  What to do?  Seeing as how this was indeed an exceptional circumstance, and that the stakes were so incredibly high he went against the grain (and indeed his religion) and decide he would have to buy the bottom-feeding morsels.

Picking up the curvaceous object of his desire he went with her to Lusitania Fisheries where they keep kreef in a tank for just such occasions.  Buying two he returned to the Jag and put the brown paper packet holding the Jasus Lalandii on the floor.  The packet, as is the wont of two tightly wrapped crayfish upon being placed on a surface, began to tango across the floor of the '58 Mark II.  The big, beautiful peepers of the entertainer eyed the gryations of the procured (and purchased) provender and enquired, "They're not alive are they?'

"A little," said the kid realising that the go-go dancer exam was obviously not a written one.

"Well I won't eat them then," said scintillating syren with determination and the cutest pout.

"Why?" equired the kid, seeing a perfect evening vanishing over the horizen like a matelot with the rent money.  "Because it's cruel to put them in the hot water alive," quoth the curvaceous companion, "I only eat the frozen ones."

"Frozen ones" could have described The Kids family jewels as an icy sensation accompanied the vision of a perfect evening ruined by the well-meanng but mistimed moral stance of this purveyor of the dance.

By this time the adrenaline was flowing freely and his ganglia were on a combat status, so quick as a flash and with all the verisimilitude he could muster, The Kid replied, "No, no, no, no!  I wouldn't do that."

"Oh?" says object of his lustful desires turning the limpid, baby-blue headlamps full upon his visage.

"No," says The Kid, "you know I told you that I'm a combat shooter?"

"Yes" says she who must be waylaid.

"Well" replies our hero, "I take them out back and shoot them, humanely," peeping at her peepers with the righteous verve of a of a vacuum cleaner salesmen on a shag pile carpet.

"Oh that's all right then" says the moon of his delight who has chose not to wane.

What the neighbours might have said if The Kid had had to take a couple of seafood specials out into the yard and despatched them with a Colt .45 is left to conjecture, because by the time it came for the cooking of the crays, the delectable dancer was so merry with another of the Cape's wonderful products that she wouldn't have batted a beautiful eye if The Kid had kicked the kreef to death.  Not that he would have, of course.  The kid was, after all, a humanitarian.

 

And so, the kreef were cooked, the repast partaken of and what with a private artistic performance to kick things off, a good time was had by all (except the crayfish).

 

Die Goewerneurs Bredie

Simon van der Stel was seer sekerlik die eerste TOERIS aan die Weskus. Hierdie Goewerneur aan die Kaap was avontuurlustig en het, by gebrek aan georganiseerde toere of 4x4’s sy perdewaens gepak en die Weskus kom verken. Toe sy padkos, wat by die Kasteel vir hom voorberei is, opraak, moes hy self plan sien vir sy aandkossies. Hy was gatvol van gekookte eiers, pap tamaties en koue werfhoenderboudjies.

 

Naby Aurora het hy ‘n wonderlike droe boontjie ontdek en toe hy uitvind die boontjie het nie die opgeblase stuwing in sy onderstel gesit nie, het hy die Goewerneursbredie ontwerp met Heerenboontjies as hoof bestandeel. “Skiet vir my ‘n bok!” “Grawe wildeknoffel!” “Pluk suurings” blaf hy die bevele in Hollands uit. Die slawe en soldate kom terug met ‘n Wildsboud, ‘n bossie knoffel, uitjies en suurings en big maar saggies dat daar niks giftig in die pot is nie en dat Natuurbewaring nie moeilik sal raak oor die Duiker nie.

 

Simon van der Stel stel toe die voorbeeld en begin self in die swartpot kook. Eers haal hy sy gepoeierde pruik af en bere dit in die hoededood. Tog net nie Johnson en |Johnson babapoeier in die pot nie.

 

Met Hollandse vrygewigheid kombineer hy toe stukkies wildsvleis, saggekookte Heerbone en groenigheid in die potjie tot ‘n perfekte Goewerneursbredie. Hy vra toe dat die slawe genoeg rys kook uit Maleisie. Ook ontdek hy ‘n kweper tussen die proviand en sny dit netjies in stukkies.

 

Daardie aand eet Simon van der Stel soos ‘n Goewerneur. Daar was niks oor vir die slawe en soldate nie en hulle moes maar rys eet. Op Simon se Weskustoer was daar elke aand Goewerneursbredie op die spyskaart totdat die Heerboontjies opgeraak het ... Toe was dit maar weer hardgekookte eiers en hoenderboudjies (die tamaties was ook op)

 

Gizmo's two drinks

Gizmo was in the bar of the AUC and was down in the dumps about something or other.  As Ever was behind the bar and glancing out the window said, "Never mind Giz, here's your brother, maybe he'll buy you a drink".  This did little to cheer Giz up.  "Maybe he'll buy two drinks" says As Ever.

"My brother has never bought me two drinks in his life and I doubt he'll start now."

"I bet you five Rand your brother buys you two drinks when he walks in" proposes As Ever and the bet was accepted.

The brother walks in greets one and all and say "A round of drinks for these gentlemen here."  As Ever places the drinks before each patron, placing two Castle in front of Gizmo, takes the money proffered and gives the change to Gizmo's brother who takes it without comment, noticing nothing amiss.

Taking five Rand from the money in front of Gizmo Az Ever looks at me, shrugs and says "It's so easy."

 

Ringing the Bell at the AUC

When I bought the good ship Absolutely! I was staying at the Atlantic Underwater Club.  The chaps there did not believe that it was a Bona Fide motor yacht and not a ski-boat.  So we adjourned to The Royal Cape Yacht Club where the vessel was inspected and the contents of the paint locker emptied.  After which we moved on to the yacht club and more friends joined the party to bless the ship and all who failed in her.

One of the group mentioned that he had a box of creepy crawlies that had been in the freeze a while and should be eaten.  So we returned to the AUC where the large pot soon turned out mounds of steamed crustaceans.  Now all this was taking place in the manager's flat which I had rented.  And this was past the hall at the opposite end to the pub.  But it had a interleading door.

At the pub end of the buildng a character walked i and saw two staunch souls seated at the bar.  Seizing upon the chance to ring the bell and buy a round with only two punters present he indulged himsellf in a mighty rattle of the clapper.

Our ears pricked up in the flat.  As one we stood and marched through the hall and were seated at the bar.  To the dismay of the bell ringer 24 new participants ordered double whiskies on his round.

 

 

Trader Horn at The Queens

When Trader Horn or at least the man on whom the book was based came to the Cape many years ago, he got into a Hansom Cab and asked to be taken to The Queens Hotel.  He had recently come into money after a lifetime of struggle and had been advised that the Queens was the best hotel in Cape Town. Arguably it was, being on the seaside in a corner of Sea Point sheltered from the wind atruly delightful spot and with amenities and service of the best.

But the driver looking at this rough-hewn seaman in shabby clothes took hime to the other Queens Hotel, a tough working man's pub not far from the dock gates.  After a two week stay at the pub, Trader Horn left, fully satisfied, and proclaiming it was the best hotel he had ever seen, or so Lawrence Green says.

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