Europa, Rosebank

Thursday, February 17, 2005

Service: * * * *
Food: * * * 1/2
Ambience: * * * *
Babe Count: * * * *

I've been on hold to Telkom for 11 minutes now. I'm waiting for one of their technicians to help me sort out my wifi connection. Europa in Rosebank is a hotspot, and I thought I'd treat myself to a birthday supper WITH free internet access.

I've also just bought myself a cool book for my birthday. It's called WRITING THE BREAKOUT NOVEL WORKBOOK by Donald Maass. I've got the book it's based on, but haven't read it yet. I've been eyeing this one for months. I figure that my credit card is able to support this little indulgence, and I actually want to honour the fact that I've finished a second draft of my novel by treating it to an expert third draft. This book is the real deal. It's about dedicating a languid year to fixing the book. I'm keen.

The decaf cappuccino is delicious. But the phone call isn't. I hang up, and ask the waiter if he knows anything about wifi. He calls Vasco, the owner of the place. "Nuh!" he says. "Telkom has stopped the service. It's finished. Trial period only. Now they want us to pay."

I presented a near-final cut of the video to our clients this afternoon. They liked the work, but there are inevitable changes. Which is cool, cos that's how this strange industry works. We'll be presenting the next semi-final cut to them tomorrow morning.

My Fettucini Avo Rock arrives. It's got fresh rocket, avo, sundried tomatoes, goat's milk cheese, sweet basil, cream and roasted almonds. If the pasta were a little less well-done, this dish would be sensational. It's hugely tasty.

Karen calls.

"Hey, birthday boy," she says, "where are you?"

"Rosebank, Europa," I say. She's my ex-girlfriend, the babe who introduced me to the delights of D/s. Ah. Bondage. Tying her up. Indulging in the odd bit of perversion. Hmmmm. "Where are you?"

"Mugg & Bean, Rosebank," she says. "I'll pop in and say hi."

She's going dancing tonight at the studio upstairs at the Rosebank Mall. Her date hasn't arrived, and there's nothing happening at the venue. So she's on the move.

"Happpy birthday!" she says, and gives me a huge kiss. "Here's something I made for you."

It's a card with a hand-drawn bare butt on the front. Inside, she's written, 'Thought you'd like a piece of ass for your birthday!'

Turns out it's a voucher.

"I owe you a birthday shag," she says.

Hmmmmm. I haven't been getting any for a while. Tempting.

She says, "But not tonight, birthday boy." So Saturday it is. Hehehehehe. Her phone rings. It's her date. She gets up. We hug. Kiss. With tongue. "Seeya Saturday," she says, and breezes off in her mini-cargo skirt.