Learning about Pretoria

Right now, our dashing hero is gallavanting about in Pretoria, Johannesburg's itty baby brother (or sister – can never remember the correct term, really). Things have been interesting so far – having spent the better part of the past three years sitting in quiet ol' Grahamstown (home of the National Arts Festival), I've forgotten about some of the more quintessential facets of modern society, including the idea that people actually need cars to get from place to place, and that said cars have a nasty tendency to get broken into if you leave them unattended for more than half an hour.

Security concerns mean that I stop carrying around my beautifully adorned HP laptop, leaving it to rot in one of those maximum-security forts that the Pretorians call 'average suburban households' while I go off impressing men and seducing women.

If you look carefully, you'll see a small sticker on the side. That's a kitty.

This leaves me feeling somewhat naked, however, and the missing five kilograms on my right side (my laptop case doubling as a carry-everything-you-own manbag at most times) has left me rather unbalanced and dangerously stooping to the left.

Pic unrelated.

Some of my recent activities have touched upon the more chilled-out sectors of Pretoria's night life, including such environs as Tings an' Times and a Cool Runnings hangout in Hatfield. Both have a distinct Jamaican vibe, and the latter also sports a pool table, foosball table and hubbly (hookah) rentals from the bar. This is pretty awesome, mainly because you don't have sweaty, gel-spiked jocks brushing up against you on a near-constant basis. Just be sure to get in when it's not too busy – especially if you want to benefit from Cool Running's sweet little extras.