The Honeymoon - Day 1 - Cape Town

BA have gone all technical so unless you have the power to hack into their computer systems getting an upgrade to first class because it's your honeymoon is nigh on impossible. Mr Jones assures me that his computer skills don't including hacking so I make do with economy.

However we clearly look like we're on honeymoon (perhaps it's my haggard 'I've been planning a wedding and haven't slept for a week' look - or the fact that Mr Jones keeps calling me 'wife'.), because the air hostess asks us if we're going on holiday (why else would we be on the plane?) and when we grin inanely at her and say we're on our honeymoon she reappears about five minutes later with two glasses of champagne. I chase this down with a G&T and two sleeping pills and the next thing I know we're landing in Cape Town - marvellous.

We're picked up by Kurt - who is Cape Dutch - he looks just like you'd imagine someone called Kurt to look. His South African accent has a very Dutch twang and I feel almost put out by the fact that he isn't wearing clogs.

Now, I will confess to a pretty hefty preoccupation with the weather, but I have nothing, absolutely nothing, on the Capetonians. Kurt immediately insists that today is the day we should go up Table Mountain because it's cool, clear and sunny with very few clouds.

When we reach the lovely Cape Cagoden Hotel the receptionist tells us that we should go up Table Mountain because it's cool, clear and sunny with very few clouds and because yesterday it was misty. We warm ourselves by the open fire (it's winter in South Africa at the moment) and then check into our room (all very nice).

We decide that we will indeed go up the mountain and we call a cab. When we tell the cabby where we're going he tells us that it's a brilliant idea because the weather is cool, clear and sunny with very few clouds, that it was misty yesterday and they had to close the cable car and because he hears there is a 60 per cent chance that it may rain tomorrow.



I'm all for walking up the mountain but Mr Jones (who doesn't believe in Gin with sleeping pill chasers) says he's too tired and flatly refuses. I feel we're missing out on part of the experience - until half way up in the cable car I see two tiny, weeny looking people, staggering up what looks like a giant staircase - I realise that actually the mountain is probably bigger than it looks.



At the top we indulge ourselves in a burger with wedges each - the wedding is over let the eating begin. Mr Jones then spends the next 30 minutes naval gazing and asking me if he looks fat. I begin to worry that the pre-wedding diet might have gone too far and point out that if we'd have walked up he could have had two burgers without gaining an ounce! We stare at the views, tut at people letting their children get too close to the edge and get a bit snap happy with the camera.



I'm on snake watch thanks to a helpful "Beware of Snakes" sign and my over active imagination and pathological reptile phobia combine into immense paranoia. Every twig, root, leaf suddenly develops scales and a forked tongue and Mr Jones gives me withering looks everytime I leap behind him on the path. I see two real lizards, no real snakes and about 25 imaginary ones.



We head back down and get a cab to the V&A Waterfront. It's pretty, but we're unimpressed - just a few boats, beggars and big shopping mall. We could take pirate ship out for a spin in the harbour but decide against it. We eat Tapas for dinner and drink a few too many cocktails.