The Inside of the World’s Largest Toaster

Luke "Curve Ball" Turnbull is like a triple Martini, tall, dry, sometimes shaken and spending too much time in his company will get you in a whole lotta trouble. Those who have met Lyall will understand what this means. This wiley Kiwi knew a Good thing when he saw it and wisely married Bronnie (she who makes the TEA), earlier this year. They moved to Cape Town a few months ago and it looks like Luke's Settling In nicely.

He recently attended the Grand Opening of Cape Town's latest and greatest attraction: The Cape Town International Convention Centre. Witness, here on DrF's most excellent site, some of the finest Gonzo you will ever read. Encore, Lyall, ENCORE!

I was lucky enough to score a (ZAR 150) ticket to the recent opening of the Cape Town International Convention Centre (CTICC). The centre is an overdue addition to Cape Town’s tourism arsenal, they now have their own nukes. The convention centre market is big business in Africa. Predictions suggest that conference ‘goers’ often return with their families, and spend loads of cash - although presumably don’t always visit the same attractions 2nd time round.

The wheezing merc pulled up in a slide of gravel - a windswept car park embarrassingly close to home - apparently there are lots of interesting buildings in Kyoto. Onto a belching topless double decker with fellow smart-casual attendees. Homeless people were huddled beneath the overpasses while we giggled, Hank Williams yuletide hits on the stereo.

The queue outside snaked a good 300 yards, afforded lingering views of the calm modern fountain and the VIP’s high above in their special lounge - feathers, effusive hand gestures, large diameter embers glowing from on high, Cuban I would hope.

The building itself is nothing special, large atriums, lots of glass and the ubiquitous white horizontal slat - mental note, pitch for cleaning contract.

So finally inside and through the security after getting back my irradiated phone, keys and boarding pass, ahoy there! drink vouchers in my hand. Better to tank up immediately in case they expire or something dreadful what. Especially before ‘the dinner’ - which I was particularly looking forward to. Hey ! and slap wandering hands away from my drinks tray, - do I look like a waiter sunshine ? and please don’t speak to me in Afrikaans, this is not the UN. I peeked through the large doors into the main auditorium. So this is the inside of the world’s largest toaster!
3-4 kms of scaffolding stretching back to the horizon. Okay stop fucking around this was it and most importantly there was clearly no sit down dinner. Alright then, about face and buy some more vouchers.

Eventually I took my seat and waited, squinting as the last of the VIP’s staggered to their seats near the front. After lots of ebullient clapping, various dignitaries made speeches. President Mbeki showed up and neatly turned an expected entrée-style appearance into a 3 day banquet. Need food. Mbeki was whisked away by his private legion in his bullet-proof space machine and replaced on stage by 100 or so kids playing violins, which was quite a spectacle, mercifully they weren’t playing recorders - and not a blow dart amongst them.
It would be just like those pesky insurgents to plant death squad members in the violin school - but his excellency was thankfully safe.

Immediately thereafter a troupe of local modern dancers performed a typically well-intentioned routine. They gave way to a stunning act by Sth African diva Sibongile Khumalo. She gave a soaring performance that was quite brilliant. As she closed, the moustache next to me leaned over and whispered the rather bizarre confession that he was here just to see Vanessa Mae - quite.

So on came the MC as the applause died away and asked for our patience. There was to be a 20-minute delay. Impatience turned to relief when I discovered the bar was still open! - The lobby was soon filled with fellow concertgoers talking to the nearest person, the gibberish of the undernourished.

Pencil thin Mae took the stage about 40 minutes later (after midnight) after apparently battling food poisoning, presumably in the dressing room. Which seemed hardly likely, (on more than one count) but a stock excuse that everyone has used at least once, so not really up to the audience to pass judgement - she was on stage at last. This, most importantly meant that it was getting closer to the end of the show and a mass opening of fridges all over Cape Town.

Vanessa and her backing band exerted a modern fusion of classical hillbilly rock type stuff that had me wearing a purple horsehair wig in a Viennese drawing room one second and then down at the bayou drinking moonshine and fishing for bass with cousin Dan the next. The keyboardist was the result of a gene graft of Roy Orbison and Adrian Mole but I didn’t bother mentioning this to the moustache.

He and the rest of the row were fixed in a silly grinning state, usually reserved for religious fundamentalists just after a miracle has been caught on camera and they’re getting ready to say ‘I told you so’ ad infinitum. The guitarist was a genius, his sound was unspectacular but his ridiculous theatrics were perfectly judged for the tastes of the audience - but I guess you gotta get your kicks, even on this sort of gig - It was the poor innocent seafood that got the blame as usual.

Here's a photo of Lyall on his way to Sundowners