It was a humid Wednesday afternoon in Cape Town and we had ABSOLUTELY nothing to do. As you all know, last Wednesday in Cape Town was seriously hot. And when the temperature behaves in such a way, what is a person to do?

Hit Forres!

Forres is more of an institution really than an actual pub. It’s one of the oldest pubs in Cape Town and the regulars who sit and pot away their time are hilarious to say the least. They are easily identifiable because usually they will be eating steak and chips, or a steak roll and drinking large quantities of beer. Their faces will be red( Booze) and they will just sit there checking out the talent that walks through the door.

If your parents ever went to Forres, then there is no doubt that you will go there too. In fact, there will be times when you will know more of your parents friends than your own friends. I called the beach off yesterday because I was just not feeling it…something inside me said “Sean you need inner cooling”

So I asked Charlie V “Whatever shalt thy do?”

Charlie casually replied “Thou shalt drink. Thou shalt drink until the cows come home”

And so we settled in for some raucous Forres action.

Arriving by ourselves we took a moment to scope out the action. Nice. Behind me, two angels. In front of me, two alcoholic looking guys with red faces. ON my left hand side, a kid with the most massive ‘fro I have ever seen in my life! I wanted to cut a little piece out of it just so he would turn around and say:

“Mr. You mess with the ‘fro, you gotta go!”

He would then roundhouse kick me over the table, my bulky frame snapping the table like a twig.

The first beer naturally went down in a moment. As we got settled in we realised this was not just going to be a “We don’t have anything to do let’s just get one drink to cool off and then go home” type of drink. The stage was now set and we were the performers in a bizarre show of food and drink reviewing. Beer after beer, my basic functions were falling out the window. Charlie V was staring at me as though he wanted to kill me, but I realised that he had just totally blacked out.

We started re-creating movie scenes, unaware of how loudly we were speaking.

“Sean go shag a goat!”

“Ha ha I already have! Come and get it!”

Disapproving stares from all around, especially some of the easier on the eye girls. Not to worry, are you aware who I am? No? Me neither but I do know that I AM drunk!

By the time the waiter came around again it was a dog show. It had turned into full on war as Charlie V and me made the most amount of noise ever. Two guys sitting at a table just going full out with the jokes, aware that people might hate us, but also aware that this amount of beer does not warrant us to sit quietly in the corner like naughty school children.

The waiter came round again and I just wanted to eat the menu when he gave it to me. I was close to gnawing at the table. So Charlie ordered some sort of pizza, absolutely no idea what it was because I can’t remember. I was going to go with something or other, but then the waiter recommended something else.

That’s what I put inside me

Absolutely no idea what it was called but it was some sort of a pita bread with strips of steak and rocket. If it was a person, I would have had kids with it. Oh and there was also garlic. I don’t remember this but some girl who I have never met in my life but later joined our table with another group of our friends and sat down and said “Has someone been eating garlic?”

I did the classic reversal saying “Has someone been eating garlic? Have YOU been eating garlic?”

She looked at me as though I had bird flu. Aware now of the state I was in, I think that sentence might have come out like this:

“Has yoooooooo eating gar…..lick? Someone in the pants parteeeee?”

Naturally I was not a hit with anyone in the near vicinity. My excuse was that this was a paid for food review and I had to bend it out of shape. On the one hand it was a food review, on the other hand it was a display of the drinking Gods like no other. It was actually not even a review, it was just a poor excuse to drink on a Wednesday instead of doing constructive and useful things, such as “freelancing” and “working” and “conceptualising over future references to the online media”

When the food did arrive though it turned into a play and we were the best actors around. At this stage, unable to move our mouths, we had taken to other forms of eating the food. Charlie V hoped that the pizza would somehow, through osmosis, enter his body. Unfortunately this did not work and he had to resort to chewing his food like a respectable member of society. The funny thing was, even after all we had drunk, we seemed to be getting more thirsty, and our mouths were getting dry.

Realising that the pizza needed to be washed down with something, Charlie V came to the logical (At the time) conclusion that Tabasco sauce was going to work wonders.

Naturally it burnt him to such an extent that even more beer was warranted to put out the fire. It was about another two draughts before he would be able to speak. But by this time he could actually not speak.

On the other side of the table from Charlie V, sat the editor, in all his glory. Unable to chew normally, and with a serious case of cotton mouth, he had resorted to playing with the food in his mouth like a silly little child who forgot his Ritalin that day.

Why don’t chicks dig me?

With a display like this from two grown men(Ah yes) people literally thought that we had just escaped from the insane asylum. Which was partly the truth, as work in the vicinity of SLXS has been known to release the child in all of us.

There was one intelligent remark from Charlie V though, and it was something that intrigued me. When girls are out at places such as Forres, how do they manage to sit there, in deep conversation, without once looking away from each other?

There were two smoking hot girls sitting outside, and we noticed that not once did they look around. Like seriously, we were there for hours and they stared into each others the ENTIRE time. And it’s not like they were diesel or anything, they were just really interested in the conversation.

On the other hand, at our guys table people were talking to me and I was chatting on my phone, drinking beer and not listening. I only heard selected words like “What a belter” and “Would you like another drink?”

When asked if I would like another drink I would just pinch my skin. The signs of dehydration include skin that does not spring back, but rather slowly goes back into position.

The waiter looked at me and realised that I was in dire trouble. I had pinched myself all over, and the skin refused to return to it’s natural position. The waiter, who had clearly worked in the trauma unit at a hospital, knew that I needed to hydrate, fast.

Before I could fall off my chair, an ice cold Hansa draught was waiting for me. As I sit here now, I am thankful because I could have died last Wednesday if it were not for his quick thinking. Not every waiter can look at a “patient” and know, without the patient saying a word, what medical attention is needed.

Back to the girls not looking around. We were constantly looking around, just seeing what sort of people were coming in and out of the beer garden. I might add here that the DNA pool at Forres was a good one. Nice touch of fitness, a fair amount of good looks and some very naughty smiles. Oh and that green dress. Thanks for that. Not to mention my table which looked like we had been hit by a freight train.

I was back to basic functions of staring, eating and drinking. I was at this stage unable to string a logical sentence together and was also unable to count my money to pay the bill. I just took out money and threw it at Charlie V. He passed maths in school and I failed. I think he took about R600 from me, and I’m pretty sure the entire bill only came to about R400.

Strange.

On a more serious note I tend to think that Forres do overcharge on certain things. Like R49 for a chicken burger. Then again, they are catering to a more well off crowd(The students there just drink, and if they do eat it’s pizza) I suppose it’s like saying “Caprice is SO expensive” It’s the crowd they cater for. People want to pay to be there and they want to pay for the atmosphere as well.

The rest of this review is lost in translation somewhere as I try and piece my life back together and try and reclaim some of my former reputation. To the people at Forres last Wednesday, we are not always like that. It’s just that we need to celebrate the little things in life. What these “little” things are tend to elude me.

I actually can’t write anymore as the rest of this is a blank. Come to think of it, I think Charlie V tricked me.

You see when I got one of the rounds of drinks, I conveniently slipped him a roofie. However, I think he double tricked me back. He pointed behind me and said “Looks it’s a leopard”

My head shot backwards and then I realised he was just fooling with me. Leopards don’t drink at Forres! But it took me a moment to turn around again.

And that was the moment. Charlie V had pulled the “Switcheroo” It’s that moment when you know a friend has slipped a roofie or a viagra(It’s a good laugh) into your drink, and you swop drinks with him. I fell victim to the switcheroo yesterday.

But Forres as you all know is more of a lifestyle than a pub. It’s a place for alchoholics, for students, for little minxes and for all the old people in between looking for a nice place to relax and blow their pension funds.

Words cannot explain to you how at home I feel at Forres. It’s a place that makes me feel safe, even safer than home. It’s like my caretaker, the place I go when I’m happy just to reassure myself that I am in fact happy. It’s the place where I go when I’m sad, because it makes me happy.

It’s a place for all ages and all seasons, all drinks and all food, all guys and all girls…but more important is the fact that it never changes. It’s always the same vibe and always the same sort of crowd.

Forres you’re my true love.

*tear*

Forrester’s Arms

52 Newlands Avenue

Newlands

Cape Town

021 689 5949

Sean Lloyd

Editor