Warm buttery Jaguars and a couple of Sirs

Two Sirs, a couple of Ma'ams and a Right Honourable or two... was I in a Nancy Mitford novel? No, indeedy, though it felt just as grand. Yesterday saw a reception to celebrate Queen Elizabeth II's birthday at the British High Commissioner, Dr Nicola Brewer's Johannesburg residence in Hyde Park and the Prince William and Prince Harry were guests of honour, as was the Rt Hon Boris Johnson, the half Russian and Eton-schooled Mayor of London. He arrived in South Africa this week to lend support to London's hosting of the 2012 Summer Olympics, as well as England's bid to stage the Fifa World Cup in 2018.

Things have calmed down a little since the ultimate football Friday and the vuvuzelas have died down all over town since Bafana Bafana were defeated at the hands of the Uruguyans this week and focus is on the games. But famous folk are arriving every day to support their teams, and the "Sirs" (as we were instructed to address them; what if I were to panic and call them Ma'am instead?) came out to support the English team, as Prince William is the head of the Football Association in the UK. The FA has always had a member of the British Royal Family as its figurehead President, since 1939.

The princes had been at the dismal game between England and Algeria the night before and had a busy schedule. Just before our function they had both attended a Fifa lunch at The Saxon and so were somewhat late for the Commissioner's reception, despite all the British insistence on protocol and punctuality. All the formal hobnobbing made a change from their time at the Mokoladi Wildlife Foundation in Botswana where Prince Harry was photographed by my newspaper mock-threating his brother with an African python. It peed near William's feet - Harry's face was a picture.

When we arrived we were sent down the road to Summer Place in Hyde Park where gleaming Jaguars with soft leather interiors the colour of butter, central heating and walnut finishes picked all the gentlemen in their military dress and medals and the ladies in coats and suits up and shuttled us to the venue. Heady stuff and enough to make you feel like a Ma'am, or at least as though you were in a James Bond movie! The warmth made a welcome change from the icy winter air which has slammed down on sunny South Africa. It's bliksem cold, colder than an ostrich's plucked behind. Fans have been shivering in temperatures of -10.5 degrees in places like Polokwane. The travel agents warned the British fans to pack their long johns and prepare for cold weather, but the silly poohs are constantly seen on television looking ferociously pink and pre-pneumonial in T-shirts and shorts.

Before the royal arrival talk focused on the "angry fan" who managed to breach security and slip into the English team's dressing room. He had a "frank discussion" with David Beckham about the team's no-goal performance against Algeria; by "frank' we understood his language was somewhat unrestrained. Fifa's face was even more eggy because the Princes had just left the dressing room and all security had been focused on them. The thing is there have been upsets all round (including us!) and even Germany lost to Serbia. I will put money on the fact that the stoical Germans just drank more beer, instead of weeping and wailing, gnashing their teeth and invading dressing rooms.

The princes were due to circle the room and the guests were instructed to get into "clusters", each with its own "cluster champion". The clusters were tables where groups were expected to gather in groups so it made it easier to circulate. First we got to meet the Rt Hon Boris though. Former journo-turned-politico Boris turned out to be a character, very raconteurial. He looks a bit like an albino-esque, unmade bed and is no stranger to controversy, but seems great fun and obviously good with the press.

He is currently blogging from South Africa on how football can transform lives for the better and even has been seen blowing the vuvuzela. The travel agents did not warn fans about "vuvu fever" which has bitten so many of them. When you hear that incessant droning, it's not just the South Africans, the fans are piling in too whether the BBC likes it or not. Love 'em or hate 'em, the vuvs are going back to Europe with the fans and even flying off the shelves at Sainsburys. So much for noise pollution, just buy it a plane ticket and send it somewhere else!

Prince William was ushered over to our table which was mostly media (The Guardian, Pretoria News, Nadia Neophytou from Eyewitness News, Chris Maroleng "dont touch me in my studio"" from E News Africa) and handsome former footballer Paul Elliot turned football ambassador, looking fabulously GQ in a striped tie and suit. Paul is a smoothie of note and rather hogged the prince but we all finally got a chance to shake his hand. The prince obviously loves to talk football and was quite frank about the fan incident. The English need to get behind their team, he said and the South Africans nodded sagely, agreeing that they need to do the same for theirs. He also let fall the fact that team coach Fabio Capello could be a "bit petulant", which could qualify as the understatement of the year.

It's such a weird thing about people always in the media but you feel as though you know them. I have had a very soft spot for Prince Harry since he was born, but was told that he would only be greeting the other side of the room, not the side I was on. His brother is the future king of England but Harry is the one who touches people's hearts, the "naughty one". He is his mother and is so good with children, in Botswana the children made him a "Chelsy Davy" television set which he loved!

I was told to be "more pushy" if I wanted to meet my favourite prince, so I went over to the other side, greeting Mike Higgins en route. Mike was formerly with Virgin Airlines but is now with Botswana Air. Mike was delighted there were fellow Glaswegians present, such as Brian Gallagher, also of the British High Commission. Brian introduced me to Prince Harry and I was able to tell him that I had seen his cousin, Lady Kitty Spencer, another charmer, this February (in 44 degrees heat, I might add). He looked quite surprised by this information but said they very seldom went down to Cape Town. My prince was looking very tired at this stage, not surprisingly what with the exhausting schedule and the fact that they had probably got to bed late after the game.

The princes moved towards the front as the High Commissioner gave the toast to the Queen after both national anthems were sung. A lot of nice things were said about the way South Africa is hosting the 2010 Fifa World Cup, and about the country in general. After the royals had left we all got stuck into the cupcakes before the buttery Jaguars purred up the front door to take us back to our cars and we all ran shivering for our heaters at home.

The ultimate Football Friday

It was an early morning start to what has been dubbed "one of the most important days in South African history", the opening match between South Africa and Mexico, as the vuvuzelas rang out at 5am, the sound that a despondent music lover has described as "the gray drone of the B flat". It may have been the constant monotonous droning, but even the family cat was infected by the soccer spirit. He kicked the carpet with his back legs and played vigorously, looking for new toys and attention.

I decided to go to work early as the highway would probably be choked with 80 000 fans making their way to Soccer City and I was worried I would not be able to make it. Is there anything worse than having to go to work when everyone else is having a huge fabulous party?. Taxi commuters vigorously blew their vuvus out of the windows and pedestrians waved little flags, but otherwise things seemed surprisingly quiet. The freeway was clear, with its four new lanes, and no roadworks in sight, and I sailed into work. Unlike the past 18 months, when every morning produced a new set of challenges and everywhere there was an obstacle and a driving nightmare.

At work things were frenetic. A colleague had brought along her naughty-eyed 12 year old son and his young friend dressed in a British fan outfit. The two ran around blowing their vuvuzelas at top volume all around the harassed journos, and I could see colleagues visibly gritting their teeth. Finally, like a good Afrikaans mother, she put her foot down. "Stephen! That's the last time you blow that thing!" she yelled at him. The vuvus ceased and soon she left, taking both boys with her.

Newspapers have to come out, come rain or shine and most of us were tied to our desks for the day while others had taken leave or were leaving at 1pm. Someone had set up a projector behind me with a big picture onto the wall. Normally it was reserved for news conferences but today it was all ours as our editor was at the match, with his whole family (only editors got consideration, everyone else got kicked to the kerb!). Everyone wore their yellow soccer shirts, which they had been sporting on "Football Fridays" for some months now.

I had two pages to put out but was afraid that things would get so noisy right behind me there would be no way in Hades. But then we got the news about Nelson Mandela's great-grand-daughter being killed on her way back from the World Cup opening concert and that he would not be attending today's match. She had only turned 13 on Wednesday, a few days ago. Devastating for the family, especially her mother Zindi. Her great grandmother Winnie had not been in the car, a friend told me. A close friend of the family, she had woken up that morning to about 30 SMSs and missed calls about the tragedy. It was a blow on both a personal and public scale and a waste of a young life.

Not a good start to the World Cup. Especially when South Africa was on such a high. We need to win this match so desperately I thought, not just for sporting reasons.

A journalist approached me about Victoria Beckham whom she had been tipped off was arriving that morning. It would be a perfect time for Posh to slip into the country, especially when every single press member would be either at Soccer City or reporting on the soccer. It would be like Frodo Baggins going to Mount Doom when the Eye of Sauron was turned away from his own kingdom. I phoned a journo friend at another publication but he was watching the game with his mum and hadn't heard anything. The Queen of the Wags was free to slip into the country during the opening ceremony without any stray paparazzi recording her every move.

702 began to report on the hideous traffic jam which had ensnarled Sandton. Johannesburg has earned itself the unenviable reputation of having some of the worst traffic jams in the southern hemisphere and this was the mother of all traffic jams. The motorists had knocked off from work at 12 (even the Johannesburg Stock Exchange was closed for the day) and were trying to get their cars to the Park and Ride stations so they could take buses to the stadium. Even the Bafana Bafana team was trapped in the traffic and missed the opening ceremony! The Fan Parks at Innisfree and Tshwane, which were to take the overflow, had to close their doors after the first 20 000 fans.

Despite many empty seats the "Calabash" stadium looked quite astonishing from the air as five jets roared overhead. What a beautiful stadium. I was filled with pride over my home town. Soweto was where it was all happening, quite rightly as the soccer culture of South Africa was born here. How wonderful to think that these images were being beamed all around the world.

Finally I finished my pages and could take my seat next to my colleagues and watch the match itself. How the whole place went crazy when South Africa scored its first and only goal against Mexico, the vuvus started all over again! It was an amazing attempt by the 80 something-th ranked team against the 17th top team in the world. The sangomas might not have been right when they anticipated a 2-0 win for South Africa but we held our heads high, defended our goalposts furiously and made the country proud.

Tonight Cape Town will be in the spotlight as the second game, Uruguay against France, kicks off. The Mother City looks gorgeous with the city lights on and the fans are streaming into the Green Point Stadium.

Vuvuzelaland!

The picture says it all!

I have not felt the electric current coursing through South Africa's veins so strongly since I was a junior sub working at the Star newspaper in 1994 when, suddenly, we were the news and the whole newsroom came alive.

The World Cup is one day away and the party is only just beginning. Cape Town has finally woken up and lit up Adderley Street with soccer lights, Durban and Port Elizabeth are going crazy and Nelspruit is completely itself. Not to mention all the other towns, dorpies, farms and countryside where games are and are not being played.

The country is awake with the sound of the vuvuzela, our secret weapon designed to strike terror into the hearts of our opponents and awaken love in the hearts of our friends. All the school children are on holiday and adding to the "vuvu" cacophony which sounds at odd hours of the day and night.

I am still nursing my "vuvuzela mouth wounds" after yesterday's amazing Bafana Bafana bus tour through Sandton. The country turned out to support their team and Sandton was estimated to hold around 500 000 fans in one city block alone. The aerial view must have been astounding. The media bus set off first from the Grayston Drive Southern Sun hotel which is where the team is staying. Foreign and local press alike clambered onto the roof for the best view of a sea of flag waving, diski dancing, whistling, screaming, cheering happy and patriotic fans who had been gathering since 10 that morning. The streets were choked with cars, sitting on their horns in solidarity, and people walking, walking, walking. A bank of vuvuzelas had formed outside the hotel and the crowd grew restless, wanting a glimpse of their heroes. The only problem was that there was no space left open for the police escort and three buses (media, team and local celebs) which was to drive through. A Castle sponsored Combi full of crowd whippers up was accompanying us, together with a whole lot of cyclists. What a circus! I blew away at my vuvu, a newly acquired skill, and started to produce the right kinds of sounds. The crowd responded and blew back at full throttle. My mouth started to feel like it had been caught in the pool cleaner but no matter, I blew on.

The police had to walk in front and literally part the crowds inch by screaming inch. The media on the roof had the bird's eye view: South Africa in unison as it has not been since 1994. Old and young, all colours, all political affiliations, soccer or rugby supporters, Chiefs or Pirates, construction workers who downed tools for their lunch break, stockbrokers who peered out of their rooftop offices, gogos, madalas, babies till on the breast, school kids, tourists, fans, visitors, Sandtonians, Capetownians, all of them going absolutely Bafanas. The music was pumping out and streetfuls of people were dancing. "Make the circle beeger, make the circle beeger!"

Coach Carlos Parreira waved merrily at the crowd in the bus behind us, blowing kisses. The team beamed and waved. The vuvuzelas sounded out, triggering the response in the crowd. The police took pictures of each other, presumably to Facebook later. The whole of Mexico had just arrived at OR Tambo, we were told, but only saw one lorn sombrero in the crowd. One cheeky Brit lad had sneaked into the parade with his father and held up a banner reading: "ME AND ME DAD". Another had a banner saying: No, I am not David Beckham, so please stop asking." A cute fellow in a South African flag jumpsuit did a striptease in front of the bus, revealing his soccer shirt below.

We are all so happy that Madiba has decided to join us for a few precious minutes at the opening ceremony tomorrow. With support like this and the ole Madiba magic behind them Bafana Bafana can go to their game tomorrow against Mexico with the hopes and dreams of the country backing them.

You see, it's not just about soccer. It's about two years of economic misery, it's about the disillusionment of our political situation. It's about needing something to believe in, something to make us happy again, something to unite us, something to make us believe in the rainbow nation again. The event was organised by Primedia who wanted originally to confine it to the hotel but something spoke out and said bring it to the people. The World Cup is going to be about everyone, not just all the famous people who are coming. It's not about whether you have tickets to the games, whether you have accreditation, whether you are a bigwig or not. It's about everyone. The mood and spirit will infect everyone, it will heal everyone. It just proved once again that when it comes to the crunch South Africans pull together as one, forgetting all about colour, divisions, hatred. It's what makes us such a unique, special bunch of people. We are AMAZING!

PS: Let's hope my mouth feels better so I can blow my vuvuzela some more tomorrow. Hands up everyone who is going to the opening concert at Orlando Stadium today!



Standing room only!

South Africa's 'A list'

I always carry my trusty little black book around with me to record the names of those who are making their mark in my world. As you know I am a self-avowed enemy of the ""oxygen thief", so the A-LIST that I have come up with does not contain any residue of the OT. Be warned ...

The celebrity world is a ruthless one and those who are "in" today may be "out" tomorrow. Some survive to become icons of their time but many a celeb bites the dust after their 15 minutes of fame. Here is who's currently who in the South African zoo, honorary South Africans for the months of June and July included (I realise that everyone is going to copy me now and do their own A-Lists, no doubt):

IN

SPORTS A-LIST

Obviously socceris the flavour of the month so anything related to the beautiful game is high up in the alphabet.

Aaron Mokoena, Bafana Bafana captain, and all his team (South Africa has got firmly behind its teamand is united in its support).

Goalkeeper Itumeleng Khune, the star of the show of the SA-Mexico match. Why did they have to red card him??

Siphiwe Tshabalala, who scored the sole goal against Mexico.

Defender Matthew Booth (nicknamed "Booooooo" by his adoring fans. No, they are not booing, it's an acknowledgement of his undoubted skills). Carlos was mad to leave him on the bench for the only three matches we did play.

Danny Jordaan (looking much tireder after the weight of the past four years).


Carlos Alberto Parreira (although he has been grossly overpaid as the Bafana Bafana coach. The next coach will get about a third of what he earned)

Daiiiii-vid Beckham (sorry about the injured tendon, but he's is still hot at his age. Has anyone spotted him around town?). Even though the English team did not do as well as the Brit press have predicted in their first two games, Wayne Rooney and feared striker Michael Owen are still their top players.

Portugal's great hope, Ronaldo

2018 World Cup bid ambassador Paul Elliot. Got a great GQ look.

Lucas Radebe (the perennial soccer hotty).

Blue Bulls captain Victor Matfield. Victor and his boys rock! Thanks for beating France, your win was appreciated!

Our very own Proteas for coming back from the brink (South Africa is so bipolar that we love em when they are winning and threaten to change the captain when we lose).

"Blade Runner" Oscar Pistorius (the girls love him).

Caster Semenye (keep running).

Human polar bear, swimmer, environmental campaigner and amazing speaker Lewis Pugh, whose epic swim at Mount Everest went out on Carte Blanche. He is married to a South African girl and is now based in Cape Town.

OUT

Seth Blatter (for obvious reasons, as all the stories about Fifa are going to come out after the World Cup. City Press already ran a brilliant expose of how much money Fifa is making off of South Africa, none of which will find its way into the local coffers or help the poor in this country. Fifa were described by a senior government official as as "mafioso". And the local press have been kicked to the kerb by Fifa's "embedded journalists", all 2000 of them, who are getting preferential treatment. Despite applying for accreditation at the end of last year many South African journalists will not get to see any of the matches and will be forced to use Fifa's pictures and stories). Andrew Jennings is one journo you will never see at an opening Fifa match thanks to his brilliant book Foul.

Jerome Valcke..

The French coach.

Benni McCarthy (shame on him that he didn't have the self-discipline to want to get into shape and play for his country. We NEEDED him)

Rowan Fernandez, such a naughty boy. To think that Patrice Motsepe, another business A-lister, was after him for years for Sundowns.

Jose Wotisname, the coach before Carlos or between Carlos (I cant keep up). Oh yes, my favourite band, Santana.

Irvin Khoza (lock up your daughters, man, for God's sake)

Leonard Chuene (plain ole shame on him for lying and bringing our country into disrepute over the Caster Semenye story)

Ryk Neethling (past his sell-by-date, except in Potch)

Bad boy of rugby, Joost van der Westhuizen

SOUTH AFRICA'S A LIST SOCCER WAGS

Princess Diana's niece, Lady Kitty Spencer, still dating footballer Larry Cohen.

Sonia Booth, fabulous model and mother of two cute dimpled baby hotties!

INTERNATIONAL QUEENS OF THE WAGS

Victoria Beckham, whose hold over the WAG throne is undisputed. We hope she will come out to SA if England go through.

Colleen Rooney.


Fabio Capello makes my COACH A-LIST .

POLITICAL A-LIST (always a thorny one and tends to start heated Facebook debates, all over South Africa where everyone has a good vent).

IN

Madiba (he is the reason why we got the World Cup in the first place and we pray for his good health. Check out the Madiba banners all along the Nelson Mandela bridge)

Helen Zille for telling the truth about the "toilet wars" in Cape Town. And for having the biggest balls this side of the southern hemisphere.

Mosiuoa Terror Lekota,

OUT

Julius Malema (this stupid little dude can stand on his head and wave his naked butt around for the next week and no one will take any notice, thank heavens. The soccer is much more newsworthy. Anyway he is off to The Hague for singing That Song)

The Tripartite alliance (guys, plse stop squabbling like Tweedledum and Tweedledee about your nice new rattle. It's embarrassing. I cant keep up with who is sueing who or who doesn't want to speak to whoever, and as for all the death threats ...).


Eugene Terreblanche and his murderers.

STRUGGLISTA A-LIST

Tselane Tambo (honorary vote because the airport is named after her father)

Winnie (good for her not liking the movie about her. Damn Americans!). Winnie's kids, grands kids and great grand kids. Our hearts go out to the family for the tragic loss of great grand daughter Zenani, the namesake of her aunt Princess Zenani Dlamini, who captured the hearts of then nation last year when she handed over the Confederations Cup.

That perennial and venerable strugglista Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

OUT

Madiba's grandson, Mandla who wanted to sell the rights to his grandfather's funeral. Ouch.

FASHION A-LIST

IN

Thula Sindi (making some lovely stuff, cant
wait for his collection at Africa Fashion Week. Has a great shop in Parkhurst)

Dr Precious Moloi-Motsepe (given up her practice for fashion)

Malcolm Kluk (must stop stirring, though).


Francois Rall (one of South Africa's undiscovered secrets.

New York milliner extraordinaire Albertus Swanepoel, whose relationship with Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez in 2005 saw his famous turbans. the next day he was bombarded with emails Barney's and Neiman Marcus, and the rest is history.

Cape designer Stefania Morland

OUT

David Tlale (hasn't done anything good for years. There was a time when he was young and hungry and creative but not any more)

Gavin Rajah (except in Cape Town where he seems to get away with it)

All the pretentious fashion crowd who only promote each other. All the fake celebrities and all those vicious queens...

SOAP OPERA A-LIST

IN

The saga of President Zuma's second wife Nompumelelo Ntuli, the prettiest and naughtiest looking of all his wives. Did she really have it off with her bodyguard? Bad girl! And what is he ging to do to her when they get back from their official trip to India? Do naughty wives get stoned like in some parts of the Middle East?

Scandal and Rhythm City (doing terribly well in the ratings I hear)

OUT

Isidingo (so boring and politically correct these days. How I long for the days of Barker Heyns and Cherel de Villiers when men were men, there were women like Cherel and the baddies were real bad. I have been told by my fellow scribe that Michelle Botes is returning to the series, so she will be IN)

All the other soapies. They are boring, kitchen sink, badly acted crap.

MUSIC A-LISTERS

IN

Well, of course the Blk Jcks who have made such a name for themselves in international circles and performed with Shakira, Alicia Keys and the Black Eyed Peas at the opening concert.

Lira, Lira, Lira, queen of the stage.

Andrea Bocelli, performing at the final concert organised by Primedia. The man gives me eternal goosebumps.

Danny K, who is sporting a very cool new mohawk. The king of reinvention has moved on from his Leanne Liebenberg (OUT: her pregnancy is going to wreak havoc with that famous FHM figure) days and is getting the female sympathy vote. Danny's dad, Daddy K, also gets an A-list vote for his part in the creation of Shout SA, along with Crimeline. Maybe I need an activists' section? Also royalties for giving Daddy K his name? In that case Yusuf Abramjee of Primedia and Crimeline also gets the A list thumbs up.

Jesse Clegg, a very cute version of his dad with his own musical style and a brand new album from Gresham Records. Vive le fils Zoeloe Blanc (my French is non existent, sorry)

Zebra and Giraffe

Kwela Tebza (snappy dress sense)

The Showstoppas

OUT

PJ Powers (sorry, stop dusting her off and resurrecting her for every opening ceremony. After 25 years it's time to give someone else a chance)

Louise Carver (good for Christmas singalongs these days, but hasn't done anything new)

A LIST TV PRESENTERS

IN

Pabi Moloi (a bit of a brat but she's got staying power. And All Access is a very cool programme)

The perennially classy former Miss South Africa, Joanne Strauss (the best MC in town).

Debora Patta of Third Degree. Love her or hate her, Debora always gets people talking and respect to e.tv for doing their jobs and going where angels fear to tread (same goes for City Press editor Ferial Hafajee. The South African press need to be free, independent and vigilant even if they don't win popularity awards)

The coolest hottest weather man around, Mr Derek van Dam (he makes the weather interesting).

OUT

Penny Lebyane

The SABC, who have zero credibility or news cred

Basetsana Kumalo (She was nice about 12 years ago but seems to have had a personality transplant since)

Michael Mol (great for the ladies who lunch and his own wife but perhps it's time to hand over the reins)

Jeannie D The double DD list. (yeuch. How far up your own butt can one person be? Even the Philip Treacy hat which she wore to Royal Ascot failed to make a silk purse out of a sows ear. And the Errol Arrendz dress she wore failed to go with the hat. It was, as usual, too tight and too short)

RADIO STARS

Nadia Neophytou of Eyewitness News (flies all over the world to get her story and digs deep to get the sponsorship to do it)

Pabi, again. Though we still don't know what happened with her contract with Highveld? Hmmmm.

OUT

Jenny Cryws-Williams (change the channel unless you are an old fart)

SOUTH AFRICA'S MOVIE STARS

The stellar Charlize Theron (pity she is such a snotpoppie to the SA press, though!)

Gavin Hood, of Oscar winning Tsotsi fame. He needs to move on from Wolverine though and make another gem of a movie.

Actress Terry Pheto. Pretty and fabulous.

Oliver Schmitz, director of Life, Above All, which got such a good reception at Cannes this year.

The stars of Life, Above All, first-time-actress Khomotso Manyaka and Lerato Mvelase. This is a movie to watch.

Athol Fugard, now and for ever.

Janet Suzman, Helen Suzman's daughter. What a voice.

Actor Stevel Marc, appearing at the Market Theatre in Zimbabwean director Tendayi Nyeke's production. Tendayi is telling fabulous African stories.

FOOD AND WINE RAVE REVIEWS

Vicky Crease, caterer du jour. Her clients read like a who's who and she was voted Best International Caterer. Her events beat out anything I have experienced overseas and she thinks completely out of the box.

Party maestro Otto de Jager, recently put together a no-expense spared dinner for Fifa delegates.

Floral couturier Franz Grabe, does the flowers for the Cartier boutique in Sandton.

Anthony Hamilton Russell, of the Hamilton Russell Estate in Hermanus.

Michael Fridjhon, for his fabulous Wine Experiences. Long may they continue.

Juliet Cullinan, who always finds the best boutique and garagiste wines in the country for her annual wine festival. Juliet really knows wine.

Justine Drake, editor of Eat in and foodie writer extraordinaire.

Michel Morand who attracts the A listers to Auberge Michel week after week.

AYOBALICIOUS A-LISTERS

Former CNN anchor turned World Cup spokeman turned lingerie businesswoman, Tumi Makgabo. Way to reinvent yourself girl! And thanks for finding a niche in the lingerie business!

The ever wonderful actress-activist Rosie Motene. My photographers always linger over her cleavageous pictures and say: "That Rosie, we smaak her .."

Miss South Africa Nicole Flint. Goes everywhere with her brother Jeffrey these days and he puts his foot down on her behalf. Nothing like a bit of brother power!

Publicist Jill Grogor, whose brainchild was the Style Awards, celebrating South Africa's most stylish people every year. She puts this fabulous event together every year, along with the Glamour Oscars.

Geoff Rothschild of the JSE, who is one of the busiest people I know but always has time to answer his emails. Now that's manners!

Businesswoman extraordinaire Wendy Luhabe.

NOT AYOBA

Ray Mccauley of Rhema Church (comes across as seriously dodgy)

The Big Brother inmates from 2000 (seriously folks, how desperate are you to invite these people to anything?). Also people who were on any season of Survivor South Africa. All of them are so forgettable.

Miss South Africas from ten years back or more (unless it's Amy Kleynhans Curd)

Girls in sashes, in general.

Social climbers and wannabes

Bad boy bands

'Sunny bananas' from a soccer-befok South Africa

Even fashionable Parisian ladies will be wearing the colours of the South African flag this season! Check out these Christian Louboutins.

When the Fifa World Cup Soccer took place in Germany in 2006 it sparked off an unexpected reaction in the Germans. They had been too ashamed to fly their flag since the end of the Second World War, but when every visitor unashamedly waved their flag around the Germans decided to join them and every house and business sported the German flag in a display of unparalleled patriotism and national pride.

With just EIGHT days to go until the opening ceremony of the 2010 FIFA WORLD CUP the eyes of the world are on South Africa in a way that hasn't happened since 1994, and the South Africans have outdone themselves in the patriotism department. The country has began in short to resemble a giant flag. The South African flag, naturally, with its distinctive colourful, Y-front underpants design. In a word, we are soccer-befok, to use a South African expression (it's not as bad as it sounds, it just means obsessed with something, mad in other words)!

This burning patriotism is putting to shame any bad media reports about a lacklustre response from soccer fans, Fifa's thoroughly unprofessional handling of the ticket sales, and general malaise over our political situation. A friend of mine who has relocated to far-away Dubai expressed sadness that she could not be here for the World Cup and I sympathise as the madness from Matjiesfontein to Mapumalanga is completely infectious. That said, the flag vendors are also selling enormous Blue Bulls flags for the diehards.

The airports are looking gleamingly spick and span. The stadia are truly beautiful, masterpieces of architectural engineering. The Gautrain will be working, we are told. The teams have started arriving. The giant screens are going up at the fan parks. It is a reality. For once we are not going to let the woes of the world get us down: ash clouds, terror threats, accommodation fall-throughs, British Airways's strike, soccer hooligans, the Israelis behaving like hooligans,etc, etc, etc.

The main highway leading into host city Joburg is lined with the flags of the participating countries which flap energetically in the wind as well as Fifa banners (sleepy Cape Town is naturally a little behind and hasn't started putting up their decorations, I hear) and giant national flags adorn businesses and townhouse complexes alike. Flags are huge business at the moment,and of course there are those rear-view mirror covers which look like abbreviated underpants in the colours of the SA flag, "makarapas", vuvuzelas, beanies, scarves, jerseys and everything else soccer-related. It's all a bit mad and in your face. Schoolgirls wave giant England flags at the side of the road and shoppers wander the aisles with their Italia shirts on. Football Fridays have been in vogue for some months now and yellow and green Bafana Bafana shirts are everywhere.

The "entrepreneurs" at the side of the road who can sell you practically anything under normal circumstances have got positively aggressive in their marketing techniques. They are doing a roaring business so I don't understand the pressure tactics. I was returning from my grocery shopping the other day when I had to stop at the robots (that's traffic lights to those who don't speak Seffrican). About 20 vendors ran up to my car and assessed the number of flags and various soccer paraphenalia (or not) which I had invested in, in a vocal and very collaborative manner. I felt quite threatened, especially by the scary dude in the wheelchair with sunglasses. I have since done my bit, and adorned the bead and wire monkeys made by the Zimbabwean craftsmen who live in my treetops with various tiny flags which they wave at all the passersby.

It is interesting to see the ways in which people have interpreted the soccer theme. A nursery has put out an array of seedlings which were designed to flower in the colours of the South African flag. Another favourite is water features done out with the distinctive black and white shapes. My favourite shop, Ilovecupcakes, has placed iced cupcakes in the appropriate colours in a rectangle in their shop window. R450 for the lot - a bit steep for cupcakes, I think. Local is lekker store Woolies are selling "do it yourself" makarapas (the makarapas originated from mining hard hats which people wore to matches to stop being hit by flying bottles, and have now developed into artworks which had taken their place in soccer lore. I even saw an American fan wearing one in his own national colours). Beaded vuvuzelas of every nationality abound in the African craft markets. The French companies are on board and Total has enorrr-rrmous balls tethered outside each one of its garages (the French are delighted to be playing 60th (?)-placed Bafana Bafana). The guy that I call the "Mime of North Riding" has dressed up every day with a soccer theme, he is quite brilliant (I want to interview him, but how do you interview a mime?) Even the expensive designer shops have window displays, including 2A at Hyde Park Shopping which is selling distinctive "six-color", stacked Christian Louboutins platforms. Even the new Sex and the City movie had a reference to the World Cup and featured some of the gorgeous Argentinian players who will be heading here next week.

A South African publishing company has come out with a Hello South Africa Phrase Book which has common phrases and phonetic pronunciations in each of the 11 offficial languages. The national anthem is a scream, in itself. I can just see those British tourists greeting everyone: "Sunny bananas, do you know the way to So-wet-toe?"

The Striding Man awards

My favourite function of this week was the JOHNNIE WALKER STRIDING MAN AWARDS, held at Turbine Hall. On arrival I met decor magician Rudi de Wet, who had done the tables, settings and food.

The Turbine Hall is one of Joburg's best spaces, interestingly because I remember it in the 90s as a derelict shell populated by squatters, with every single window broken. It has since been transformed into a fabulous venue, next door to solar-powered AngloGold Ashanti's offices, and Rudi's touches did justice to the space. I have been to several events here, and loved every one because of the light and shadow, the artwork, the nooks and crannies and industrial infrastructure of Turbine Hall. Rudi had set up two long tables inside the venue, set with tall perspex candles, silver tableware and the most fabulous floral arrangements (for example sections of equisitum aka horsetail, bent and twisted in interesting shapes in bulbous white ceramic vases, and then leading into secondary vases). The place glowed with light and reflections and images from the ad campaign flickered on screens on the wall, a black and white shrine to the brand.

Johnnie Walker could have chosen to make the event a conspicuous consumption affair - a party for the likes of the ANC Youth League and their tenderpreneurship cronies all guzzling up the Johnnie Walker Blue and Gold, a la Big Bad Bob. Instead the brand chose to be socially responsible and had four categories: business, environment, art and design with three finalists in each, all powerful players in their own fields.



Arts category winner ... Welcome Msomi, an accomplished author whose name has become synonymous with Zulu literature. He is the founder of the IZulu Dance theatre and Music and responsible for launching the Zulu version of the Lion King, which he launched for Ster Kinekor.



Business category winner ... financial rights activist Max Maisela who pioneered the formation of an independent company, NBC, to help protect and best benefit the unique retirement needs of black employees in apartheid South Africa.

Talented photographer Andrew Brauteseth had been commissioned to shoot the portraits of each finalist, as well as stills for the Striding Man ad campaign - a mammoth task which involved ten locations around the country in two days, from the lofty columns of UCT to the poorest townships of the Cape,



... from the urban landscapes of our cities such as the interior of the Market Theatre to the wind whipped coastlines.



These are his pictures that you see on my blog ... I just love them!

The wonderful thing about the awards was that each winner received a R125 000 prize package was he spends, not on himself but on beneficiaries of his own choice.

Simon's bursary fund will cover tuition for course work programme or M Phil degrees in the environmental and geographical studies, urban design with emphasis on sustainable cities, architecture with emphasis on green buildings or engineering or science to develop sustainable technologies.



Winner of environment award ... planner and urban designer from Cape Town, Simon Nicks. He is a committed environmentalist whose aim it is to “design places that are nice to live in with minimal impact on our planet's resources”.

Welcome's prize money will help resuscitate a community art centre and theatre in Durban called the Stable Theatre. The funding will help rejuvenate the centre which offers performance and rehearsal space as well as an easily accessible venue for workshops or seminars. The venue is a home for all arts and allows artists to present exhibitions, writers to host book launches, film-makers to premiere their films and poets to entrance audiences with their work.

Max on the other hand is using his R125 000 prize money to pay for tuition fees for eight elected pension fund trustees for a Graduate Diploma in Trusteeship at Monash University South Africa.



Design star ... young architect Mokena Makeka, who is currently redesigning Cape Town Station for the new public transport system. His first professional assignment was to design a series of police stations at key railway stations. He will use all his prize money to create an Academy for Creative Excellence to help others succeed.

PS: See my column in The Citizen next week for more on the Striding Man awards!

Falling in love with real leopard print

A leopard? Ha ha, fooled you, it's a cheetah!

There are times when Joburg is a Sodom-and-Gomorah city, when the daily smorgasbord of nastiness served up in the news illustrates the limitless depths that human depravity can sink to. Times when the Orc-ish neighbours wake you up with night after night with their doors slamming over and over, with their visitors, loud voices and saucepans crashing at 12.30am, 3am, 4am. When you do nothing but sit in traffic, sometimes for four hours as fights break out around you between frustrated motorists. You toss and turn, hoping for some respite from the ambulance and police sirens, the alarms, the dogs barking, the loud squinch-squinch house music that doesn't stop, the endless demands of work, cleaning and cooking and paying the bills. Every body cell screams for you to go back to the bush ...

There is a hunger and thirst for the bush bred in the bones of anyone who has grown up in Africa. I remember crossing the Zambezi River as a child and hearing the great steel bridge flick-flick-flick-flick past the windows of the car as we left Zambia en route to the Kruger Park. We drove with our windows wound tight in those days, in a sun-drenched car and no air-conditioning. What excitement when it was me who spotted the first animal of the trip: an enormous giraffe. We stayed in bush chalets in Skukuza Camp which had curtains with the animals which we had seen that day on them (some of those curtains are still there!). The wide open spaces, grass the colour of bone, the sharp acrid smells of territorial urine and dung, the taste of the dust, the sweat of the high midday sun, and the bush quiet.

So when CEO of THE THORNYBUSH COLLECTION Nic Griffin said to me at a party: "When are you coming to stay with us?" I couldn't wait to pack my safari bag. My second cousin once removed was coming out from Cologne and what could be a better opportunity for a long weekend break and to introduce the Cuz to the real Africa, with all the trappings of a five-star lodge? Nic organised a weekend for us at SIMBAMBILI GAME LODGE, two private suites with their own plunge pools and, wait for it, a daybed.



Five star luxury .., time to relax on the deck while the monkeys watch!

The drive down was pretty torrid as the heavens decided to open and poured liberally. I took the Dullstroom road, thinking it would be prettier but you couldn't see much through the rain-smeared windows. After lunch in the town which consisted of hot chocolate shots, followed by trout pie, like a seasoned Grand Prix driver I dodged potholes as big as an elephant's watering hole until we got past Lydenburg. And then like a fool I decided to go on to Ohlrigstad, thinking it would be quicker.

Past Hoedspruit, ten hours of driving and now it was dark. Trying to avoid drunken Saturday night revellers and speed bumps from hell at Acornhoek, we phoned the lodge to try and find our way as the signage was non-existent. Finally I found an incredibly corrugated dirt road and hurtled down it at high speed, praying my tyres would not burst, for what seemed like forever. By now I was having a minor meltdown and my city-locked neck was burning ... was this the wrong way? And no one was answering the phone!

Then the Gowrie Gate appeared in the darkness. In the Kruger Park at last we "hugged the fence" until the lodge appeared before us, all the lamps and candles lit in the driveway and entrance hall to welcome us in. The young couples who ran the place were waiting with glasses of port and a roaring fire as the rain mizzled down. We were finally at our destination ...



Port in a storm ... the lounge area.

We were shown to our rooms by our guide, Amos, who went ahead with his torch flicking through the dark and along the pathway. The water buffalo found the grass at chalet no 3 the sweetest in the world, we were told, and a leopard sometimes passed through the camp like a shadow. Then he stopped and told us to listen. "Lion," he said, with the faintest smile. The roaring was coming from ten kilometres away - not enough time to come into our camp and eat us before dinner, even though there were no fences. The males were moving to the next camp, we found out in the morning.



The big boys ... Mapogo lions at Simbambili.

The lodge is renowned for being one of the most romantic spots in the Kruger and did not disappoint. My room had a mosquito net pulled around the bed, gauzily tied on bamboo canes hung from the ceiling, which was lit softly from within by two bedside lamps. Outside the plunge pool was lit and beckoned seductively. The bath was enormous and stone, with a big saucer of crystal bath salts. I decided never to leave my room again, but I was starving after the long drive so Cuz and I decided to drop our bags in our respective rooms and brave the pathway back.

Supper was glorious: kudu served up by Nico the butler for Cuz (who had struggled with a rather tough meal of gemsbok the night before at the Intercontinental Hotel at OR Tambo) and a lamb curry served in a poppadum with sambals for me. Cuz had a chat at the fire with a couple from Dusseldorf (who knew there was a rivalry between Dusseldorf and Cologne that rivals that between Cape Town and Joburg? It's so bad that there are no signs for Dusseldorf from Cologne!) but it was time for my head to hit the pillow. Why is it that pillows at a five-star lodge are always plumper and enticing and the linen whiter and crisper than anything you could ever buy? And the mattresses softer and more sleep-enducing? Especially after a long hot soak in a never-ending bath tub.

Only one problem ... "We'll knock on your door at 5.30am for a game drive," said Karen who was manning the reception desk. Oh no, you won't! Cuz went off early in the morning with the Dusseldorfers but I died until 8 the next morning when I found it very difficult to get out of bed. After finding out that the doors to the bedroom and bathroom folded up completely, opening up the whole space to the heavenly smelling air, I staggered off in a big fluffy robe to my daybed, overlooking a dried-up river, where I devoured all the peanut brittle, dried mango and other snacks on my tea tray, plus two cups of hot chocolate, and lolled around like the Queen of Sheba waiting for the monkeys to come and try to steal my sunglasses, as I had been warned they would do. Perhaps they were watching me quizzically from the trees waiting for me to snooze off again.

Closing my eyes I succumbed to the absolute quiet. Not quiet really, but completely different sounds from those in the city. The sounds layered one over another and I tried to distinguish each one. They all seemed so far away. The fan whirring in the room, a little fountain playing at the next-door spa, the staff going about their business in the distance with armfuls of linen, the sound of the wind in the trees and a fine rain falling, a door shutting and, best of all, all the different birds singing liquidly, their tunes overlapping like a fine choir. Something barked in the trees down below.

It was hard to leave but time to go for breakfast, wielding a snazzy Burberry umbrella against the mizzly rain. A little duiker was grazing near the main lodge, as tame as can be. No sign of the water buffalo, although one guest said he looked out of his window at 4am and saw one right outside the chalet.



En route to chalet number 3 ... a water buffalo.

In the breakfast room the staff shivered dramatically, saying it had been 45 degrees a week ago. Twenty degrees seemed cold for them. Everyone was back from their game drive and boasted of the leopard they had seen, courtesy of Grant the ranger and Mumps the tracker. The foreigners, who consisted of a jolly couple from New Zealand, a quieter duo from the UK, and the Dusseldorfers, seemed disappointed that there were no lion, but for a southern African the thought of leopard was excitement beyond measure. And I was in for a treat. The SABIE SANDS GAME RESERVE, where Simbambili is situated, is home to the world's biggest leopard population. Leopard are my favourite animal, and up till now something I had only glimpsed in half-shade or in a tree on a night drive. It is a combination of their gorgeous markings, their exquisite elegant shape, the white tuft on their tails which they carry always erect like a weapon, their silence and stealth, their grace and endangered status. How could anyone kill such a beautiful animal for sport or even wear its fur?



Breathtaking ... a leopard in repose.

After lunch overlooking a well visited waterhole...



Wallowing at the waterhole ... water buffalo heaven.

... and a wonderful neck massage at the spa it was time to see the leopards for myself. We were given green blankies with rain ponchos to match, and after a few hours on the trail looked very much like a bunch of lappet-faced vultures huddled bedraggled in the game drive vehicle. But we did see leopards, three of them, one after another, walking openly in the road, looking as at home in the attention as Mandela at a state banquet, but flinching a little at the constant flashlights.

Our first was an 18-year-old female, a Grizabella of the leopard world who had lost one eye and sustained various injuries over the years. Still beautiful with her one milky eye she stared in bored fashion at the game drive vehicles which pulled up for a better look. One vehicle bumped over the horizon with each inhabitant wielding an enormous camera with an even more enormous zoom lens and flashes going off like the Oscars. The scene was material for a cartoonist's pen. They were a photographic club who went off to various lodges every month and took piccies of wildlife. This was hitting the jackpot, even for them.



Not another photoshoot ... such a bore, all these cameras going off all the time!

After we went off road onto a dried-up river bed, thorn tree branches whipping at our eyes, hooking our ponchos and making us lie flat on our seats, our tracker Mumps found fresh paw prints in the dust (how do trackers do that?) and told us he was off to find the next leopard, armed with a slingshot. Before we knew it he had disappeared into the thick bush while Grant swung the vehicle round and went round back on to the road (all the roads have names, you could find it with your GPS system). I was terrified. "Oh he's completely mad," shrugged Grant who was explaining all the dead-looking trees to us. They were called leadwood trees and were kinda tough as they just refused to keel over, or let the termites eat them. Fortunately we picked Mumps up again safe and sound after ten minutes and we saw our second leopard, a young male with much paler markings this time.

Leopard number three was not far behind and we followed him for a short distance, trying to get the foreigners not to stand up in their seats (leopards recognise the "man shape", but see the game drive vehicle as one big animal. Who knows what they could do, they are so beautiful and deadly). I asked Grant if there were hyenas around and they said yes, they were always around and were his favourite animal. Not mine though, and the sworn enemies of leopards. A case of the ugly and the horrible threatening the beautiful and special. Happens in the human world, too.



Lapping up the attention ... leopard number three.

The hippos were yawning pinkly in the river bed, one enormous male with a bum like a Putco bus, as the rain made ripples in the water. The waterbuck huddled under a tree, their distinctive markings on their rear "looking like a toilet seat", said the Kiwis and the Poms. We saw elephants moving through the bush, their trunks snapping at branches. Time for sundowners, and more snacks, biltong and nuts with liberal gin and tonics (did they pour me a triple by any chance?). It was getting dark and Mumps had disappeared again. For a wee break, this time. We set off for the lodge, a hot bath and dinner (a three-course meal of soup, fish and fresh fruit, that wonderful Lowveld pawpaw) followed by another heavenly, Orc-less sleep.

I thought of how my grandparents lived and how the things which were necessities in the bush have become part of luxurious bush life. The hurricane lamps, the mosquito nets, the open verandahs, the sundowners, the rifle in the vehicle, the anti-malaria tablets, the little cool breezes at night ...and was glad that modern living has improved the human lot while allowing us to still enjoy Africa.



Bye bye baby ... see you next time.