Forty years ago, almost to the minute, Ingrid Jonker filled her dress hem with stones and walked to her death into the sea off Three Anchor Bay. Until this morning, I had no idea who she was or why, indeed, I had been invited to a dinner in her honour at Mesopotamia Restaurant. Baran Kalay, the owner of Mesopotamia, is a friend so I agreed to attend the evening because of my connection to him, without really knowing what was going on.

The place was jam-packed by the time I arrived and I usurped Steven, a photographer, to get a seat next to Anoeschka von Meck, who is fabulous and a senior reporter at Rapport. She is ebullient and friendly and introduced me to the crowd - Peter, a psychologist (working in the analytical psychology paradigm) on my left and Cape Town's Afrikaans cognoscenti around us. Madulet du Plessis, a famous copywriter from Jo'burg, Tanya Metlerkamp, a model and Dozi's first wife (?), Manta Brosck (a writer from 7d Laan) and a string of others. Many had written their own poems based on Ingrid's Die Kind, which I'm told Mandela quoted in his first speech as a free man. 

Hauntingly beautiful

Don't miss the Whiffenpoofs, performing from July 20 at The Cape Colony restaurant. I'm writing this from my room - 671, the newly refurbished presidential suite of the Mount Nelson Hotel. More will be said in another dispatch but for now, this suite of interleading rooms that could accommodate the entire cabinet and their aides is the most stylish hotel suite I've seen.

The 14 Whiffenpoofs, Yale's 95-year old acapella group, are fabulous. Picture a semi-circle of Clark Kents with a smattering of Supermen. They sing wonderfully and aren't bad to look at. I had the pleasure of hearing the King's Singers, surely one of the UK's best known vocal ensembles, years ago but these voices are charming, gentle and so pleasing, in fact, I bought the CD. The accompanying food, a selection from a set menu, is good - especially the poached red snapper (on a rosti with caviar butter sauce) and the duo of Springbok shank and ostrich fillet. A most enjoyable evening. Phone 021-483-1000 to book. 

It was refreshing to meet a straight man at the launch of FIBO STEEL at the glam offices of Uwe Koetter. Martina Barth, looking even more fabulous than usual, competed only with Mrs Koetter for air kisses and “fabulousity”.  Only the finest grade A, well-hung fillet was there. Even though Sascha Polkey oohed and aahed at how trim I was (which was thankfully echoed by paparazzi Andrew Brown) compared to the company, I felt like Orson Welles without the talent. I was cornered by Heino, one of a twin, who remembered me from my time as chairman of the Sea Point Ratepayers Association and bemoaned his bad luck with Romely Park and the association. 

Rod Stevens, former planning chairman of the aforementioned, was there too, looking dashing. Aside from the owners of Monolo restaurant who are gorgeous and those of the Metropole who aren't, it was flashing smiles and gym-formed butts. The indifferent sushi was made by two blond boyz and I chatted briefly to two house models, one a delicious caramel, the other just dull stubble.

Butch stars

Despite knowing many people in London, it wasn't until I heard that a bomb had blasted Edgeware that I realised the enormity of what had happened. As the cameras panned across the then-shut station, I remembered the coffee I had had adjacent to the entrance, and my brother and his family just 10 minutes away. Then the full impact of what had happened hit me -- neither the shock and empathy I felt at watching 9/11 on TV nor the Spanish Train bombings in March last year but a real fear for our collective future. When London -- a symbol in my mind of much that is desirable; and home to my family who left South Africa for many reasons, with security being paramount among them -- is attacked, few things in the world seem secure.