OUT TO LUNCH

Now that spring has finally arrived in the Western Cape we are spoilt for choice when it comes to social events. It hardly seems possible that on 29th September I was posting on X (formerly Twitter) that I had lit a log fire in my humble abode to prevent hypothermia affecting the two pensioners who live here and four days later we were casting off our winter raiments and cavorting in 32C heat. You really have to love South Africa.

Weekends don’t mean very much to those of us of a certain vintage because the days of school runs and going into the office are long gone. I often wake in the morning and haven’t a clue what day it is until I look at my iPhone because, once you're into the twilight zone of that part of life known as retirement, the days just blend into one rather as a well constructed freshly made mayonnaise blends. No lumps, just smooth and delicious. ___STEADY_PAYWALL___

However, I like to keep my ear to the wireless to find out what is going on over the weekend for those wage-slaves who still revere the two days of freedom they are allowed. Last weekend was a bonanza and you could either go to a queer musical in Cape Town, turn up at Simonstown for the SA Naval day, drive out to Stanford for what I heard was a spectacular floral display of what SA showed at the Chelsea Flower show this year, drive out to Hermanus to look at Southern Right whales breaching, attend the Classic Car Festival in Franschhoek or join the pro-Palestine march to Parliament in Cape Town.

I had already planned a lunch for eight in Franschhoek so I opted for the Classic Car Festival having ‘done’whales the week before. The very bottom of my list (and a good reason to stay in bed) was the ludicrous march for Palestine in Cape Town. I say ludicrous because since I was a university student in the UK in the 1970’s I can’t remember a single protest march that has made the slightest difference apart from satisfying the virtue-signalling needs of the marchers.

Let’s take climate change (which used to be known as “global warming” three decades ago) for example. If you throw a can of Campbell’s tomato soup at a Van Gogh painting is it any more effective than throwing a can of Heinz tomato soup at the same painting? These are important considerations because the ever present spirit of Andy Warhol is a dominant factor.

Obviously Campbell’s soup has greater gravitas than Heinz or Woollie’s own brand (delicious though it is) and if you are trying to stop these oil companies from drilling and fracking you want as much influential heft as you can muster. So have any of them thrown their hands up in the air and exclaimed?…”Oh goodness gracious me…they’re throwing upmarket soup at art works. We really must cease drilling immediately”.

Well, not that I have noticed. Even the ‘Just Stop Oil’ idiots who have nothing better to do with their day than glue their hands to the road to block traffic or chain themselves to an overhead gantry have only criminal convictions and, in some cases, four year prison sentences to show for their efforts.

Back in my university days we were marching for an end to the war in Vietnam. Well, when I say we, I mean some of my more politically aware fellow students who had nothing better to do with their spare time.

As an English and Drama student I was more focussed on drink and sex at the time and, with hindsight, I wouldn’t count that as wasted time. But my point is that the Vietnam War didn’t come to a juddering halt because a bunch of bearded, slogan chanting students in clothing that could have done with a good wash were marching in the streets.

In fact, I would put good money that many of those on the march couldn’t have put their finger on Vietnam if presented with a world atlas. But apparently it made them feel good about themselves and allowed them to grow up with a middle class, sanctimonious glow that eventually blossomed into wokeness.

If you have even a semi-functioning brain you know that marching for anything is largely a waste of time. This is where many of our compatriots are way ahead of us colonialist settlers. While we politely march with slogans scrawled on the top of the torn off lids of cardboard boxes, more seasoned demonstrators are out stoning cars, burning tyres and setting fire to the local municipality building: equally pointless but obviously far more satisfying when it comes to an adrenaline rush.

So while I was shuffling about looking at the Alfa Romeo display at the Franschhoek Classic Car Festival last saturday some very serious people had hauled their keffiyehs out of the back of the wardrobe, grabbed their Palestine flags and popped down to Cape Town CBD to demand peace in what’s left of Gaza and, increasingly, Lebanon.

Judging by the news reports I read on Sunday morning their demands fell on deaf ears as the Israeli Defence Force continued to bombard an almost deserted Beirut in what the BBC described as its “worst night so far”.

So what on earth was the point in marching in hot weather and waving a flag popular among terrorist groups when you could have been watching whales breach in Hermanus or doing a number of other things (I’m guessing the ‘queer’ musical would not have been on the ‘to-do’ list)?

I imagine it all has to do with cultural identity and, more important, bragging rights on social media. If you can attach a Palestinian flag to your profile on Twitter and add a video of you chanting ‘from the river to the sea etc etc’ then we’ll all know what a deeply caring person you are even if you are a bit on the naive side. We’ll also know that your plans for weekend entertainment leave a lot to be desired.

***

On a slightly lighter topic, the subject of nouvelle cuisine or what is sometimes known as ‘tweezer food’ (named after the ludicrously minimalist portions) came up at lunch last week. Around the table were eight of us, all dedicated foodies with a smattering of professional chefs and a wine estate owner thrown in for good measure.

I nervously broached the subject of what is becoming a pandemic of ludicrously priced set menu venues in the Western Cape and asked if any of my fellow lunch guests felt it had all got too much.

Instead of being pounded by bread rolls my comment met with universal acceptance and a general feeling that ‘tweezer food’ is about as hip as bell bottoms these days. A restaurant in Franschhoek has recently announced that you may be allowed to dine there at a communal table for R3 200 a head.

I think that may include wine but there are similar venues who aren’t shy to charge R1 700 a head with wine extra. Been there, done that and I’ve generally felt royally ripped off and imagined them dancing a celebratory jig as my credit card payment was accepted. What, in the name of all that is holy, can they put on the plate in such miniscule proportions that justifies a price of R3200?