esCape Town.

I am coming to you live, right from the glorious hotel room with a view of awesome, in the heart of beautiful Cape Town.  Now, I know that I once had the opportunity to live here but I’m so glad I don’t.  If I did I don’t think I would ever appreciate this beauty as much being a local than I do being a visitor.

I’m here on business, mind you, so it’s not all pleasure, although the business side of things could be a lot worse.  I’m here to hang out with Sharlto Copley, of District 9 fame and one of the leading actors in the soon to be released movie in SA, The A-Team.  It’s for one of our major clients and I get to handle the Social Media for the entire thing! Excitement!

Tonight though, I am about to be collected for dinner with Neal, an old friend and fellow online person @BlindCripple.  Yay, I haven’t seen him since before I met Jon.  Neal is the other Jew in my life and I do love him muchly.

Before he arrives though, I must tell you about my experience earlier today:

So there I am, arriving at the hotel which is so impressive I can’t even begin to describe it.  Seriously, high ceilings and lots of lights and loads of mirrors everywhere.  When I have time I will post pictures.  Anyway, so there I am, arriving, as you do.  The hotel staff are all friendly, as they are. And after requesting my room card, I get pointed in the direction of the elevators to take me to my room.

The lift doors close, and I press my floor number, and…

NOTHING.

The freaking elevator is FROZEN!  I try opening the doors calmly, nadda.  I look around me in mild panic for a way out and realise that I am made to be stuck in this little tin of fucking horror, and my lungs decide to kick it in and stop working.  So now I can’t breathe, I can’t see for lack of air, the elevator won’t move, the panic button isn’t fucking working and then, as soon as it all began, the elevator pings, the doors glide open and I’ve been transported to my floor.  JUST LIKE THAT.

Bloody silent ninja elevator.

And don’t even let me get started about trying to get the room lights to switch on.  Clapping loudly, searching the room by gliding hands along every corner and angle of the walls and even pronouncing the word “On!”, “Lights ON”, “Engage lights!”, “Commence lighting”, “Fuckit! Let there be light!!!!” until I located the telephone, called reception and found out that the light switch was operated by means of remote.  Which was in my hand.

Gah.

I’m no country bumpkin (anymore) but this was just ridiculous!

Anyway, I’m hungry, I’m going to log off and call to find out where the hell Neal is.

Loveyoubaaaai!