Clare gets attacked.

Angel is probably going to kick my ass for this.

We went to Sevruga last night, Cape Town's trendy new restaurant. Or probably not that new since he's been there 6 or 7 times already. Let me just say that it is beautiful. No qualms there. But first they lost our reservation. Then they seated us at a table jammed into a row so close together that I felt I should have introduced myself to our neighbours. I certainly knew a whole lot more about them by the time we left the place. Not that I was eavesdropping, just that it was impossible not to hear their conversations.

Angel kindly offered me the seat facing the crowds so I could see the action. But the banquette is so low that I could hardly see over the table. I felt like a kid sitting with the grownups. Then he promptly deserted me to chat to friends at the bar. Sigh. I guess the honeymoon is over.

The sushi is pretty much the same of Beluga's. And I enjoyed it. I worried a little about our wine. They keep it somewhere else and top you up when they have a minute. Obviously our waiter hadn't counted on how quickly we can quaff.

Then I was involved in a vicious and completely unprovoked attack. The toilet doors are double doors, like a saloon. Easy to close, but with no handles on the inside, much harder to open. So I put my hand on top, pulled and in the process lost the pad on my left index finger. Chopped in clean off. There is nothing quite as elegant as walking back into a restaurant with bloody toilet paper wadded around your finger and a glimmer of tears still showing around the eyes.

Angel was very sympathetic and offered me his chilled wine glass to clasp to ease the swelling. It was not very cold after I swigged it.

I have a whole lot more sympathy for Dusty now. Do you have any idea how hard it is to work one handed? Wash you face? Wash your hands for that matter? I invested in some sexy yellow kitchen gloves and hopefully they'll see me through the weekend.

And just on another note. I don't want to talk about the dismal rugby today, but how hot is that Dan Carter (or whatever his name is), the useless NZ place kicker? I know, I know. Not very patriotic, but I would so go there. I'd just kick him out of bed just as he got comfortable.

My blood is green and gold afterall.