About Us	Search	Advertising

	Brought to you by:

It was a night of mixed cultures all right. I can't think why I didn't do it sooner.

On Thursday evening, even though it was a school night, my beloved and I hit the town, or the suburbs, in this case, on a rare venture outside the marital nest on the Fish Hoek mountainside where we are now ensconced.

Come to think of it, it's a good thing we didn't pick Friday night for our soiree, because all that was available for viewing were the stars, thanks to Eskom or whoever was to blame this time.

I had one of my better ideas while stuck behind a truck on Ou Kaapse Weg. Instead of slaving away preparing a picnic to feast upon before this year's Maynardville production ? The Merchant of Venice ? I called up the Cape Town Fish Market in Steenberg and ordered an obscene amount of sushi for takeaway. All we had to throw in were two bottles of cheap sparkling wine and the stage was set.

Wynberg Park beside the dam was swarming with activity, both human and fowl, when we arrived a little after 6. We laid out a dog's blanket, devoured the consumables and then sat back to watch the people.

Shakespeare really was a visionary, judging by the cross-section of society that is drawn to Maynardville's annual production. By the time the so-called champagne had hit the spot, we were quite ready for women to dress up as men and for Shylock to exact his pound of flesh.

To tell an story that everyone already knows the end to is a precise art ? one which director Roy Sargeant and his crew have down to a T. Portia was a little more risque than I remember from my school days and, as only a good Shakespeare production can do, I saw humour where I hadn't known there was any. Jeremy Crutchley's portrayal of Shylock was sublime, and for the first time I saw his point of view. He was quite entitled to his pound of flesh, in my opinion, and I was sorry that he didn't have his bond in the end.

But all's well that ends well, as it did, and we proceeded to the only joint open in Fish Hoek at 11pm on a Thursday night. From styling at Shakespeare to slumming it in suburbia ? it's difficult to know what to wear on a night with such range.

It was my first time at the Vic Hotel (though, needless to say, not my husband's) and I was suitably impressed. People who one wouldn?t imagine could still be standing after what had obviously been a hard day's drinking were still managing to put in their orders and chat up a barfly or two.

The music spanned decades I wasn't even born in right up until last century. One wouldn't want to cross any of the locals, but my husband's impressive height is usually enough to keep brawlers at bay, if I do say so myself.

Most intriguing was an octogenarian and whom I thought to be his much younger girlfriend (give or take 50 years), but whom I later realised must have been his nurse.

Forgive me if it seems prejudiced, but I deduced this from the fact that he resembled nothing so much as a shell-shocked war veteran and she a nursing aide from Zimbabwe.

They had little to say to each other ? he drank and she did the crossword in the You magazine ? but they seemed to be enjoying each other's company immensely.

By the time the pair headed out of the bar the red wine had gone to my head and I concluded my cultural night out with a dream in which Shylock relieved me of the several pounds of unwanted flesh that have been plaguing me since I hit the big 30.

*The Merchant of Venice is on at Maynardville until Saturday, 16 February. On Valentine's evening, ticket holders could be in line for prizes. Book through Computicket or Artscape Dial-a-Seat.

	Back to top
©