So I was in Cape Town the other week. Nice bit of South Africa, that. I take much pleasure in pissing Cape Town off (it’s not like you’re not asking for it, though, the way you lot dress), but honestly, it’s a delightful bit of real estate. The year I spent there in 2007 was rather good. And on my most recent visit I was pleasantly surprised to see that a lot of things were still there.

I should probably explain at this point that I spent my time at the University of Cape Town in 2007 almost exclusively on my laptop playing Fifa08 (which I’m chuffing good at, though I say so myself) or frolicking somewhere in the city at night. Though far too many of those nights were spent halfway up the Absa building at Hemisphere, I did get to see other bits of Cape Town, which I miss.

Cafe Sofia is still there. I have pleasant memories of an evening when one of my friend’s had a birthday there. He had neglected to hire out the entire place – black diamonds ­are notoriously stingy with anything other than Möet & Chandon – so half of Sofia was populated by inebriated Teutons of an indeterminable age. The one who pinned me back that night had hair like Sting in the 1980s and a face like Jeremy Clarkson’s. Scary.

If my eyes weren’t deceiving me too much last Friday night, I see that Rafiki’s is still there too. Another place where way too much weirdness happened in one night. Is the Roosevelt on Bree Street still there? I didn’t go look, but I imagine not. It was way, ahem, way too Kenny Kunene for its own good back in the day.

What I wish you Capetonians had done something about is the ridiculously narrow roads. Especially around Gardens. Don’t miss those at all.

What I also don’t miss is the sort of hipster hangouts which offer just the right amount of randomness to “appear dangerous” but are within jogging distance of safety. Check, there’s this place in Braamfontein (we’re back in Johannesburg now) called 44 Stanley. I actually really like it. Places like Bliss @ 44 Stanley have really great food and you won’t see a wifebeater for five kilometres in any direction. But these places attract the sort of people you imagine to be named Darren. You know, they drive a Subaru, live in a barren house, wear trucker shirts, have David Beckham hair and always fold up their shirt sleeves.

And yes, I know. These places are supposed to be very “Doobee-doobee-doo new South Africa” by gentrifying previously inaccessible places (Main Street Life in Joburg also leaps readily to mind), but I can’t help feeling like I’m staring at a place that pushed poor people out to create a new playground for the middle class. But maybe that’s just me.

The places I’m thinking about in Cape Town aren’t exactly like that. But they could be, for attracting the same type of glorified yuppies. And all I want is a drink and a chat with my mates.

Still, I shouldn’t gripe too much. For all the shit South Africa gives you, we still love you deep down inside, Cape Town. Even if your beer is a little yeasty.