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I love the Mount Nelson. She is a graceful old lady, daubed in an iconic shade of pink and set in a verdant garden with Table Mountain enveloping her in a rectangular sandstone border. She provides a luxurious old-world salve from an increasingly ungraceful new world confused by artificial intelligence and political and religious complexity.

The hotel opened its doors in 1899, at the apex of Pax Britannica. It was designed to rival any hotel in Europe as a resting place for the first-class passengers on Sir Donald Currie’s Union Castle line.

The entrance is constructed of white Roman columns mounted by a plinth and leads to an avenue of palms named for the Prince of Wales’s visit in 1925. This was back in the days when he was known more as a golfing good-time Charlie in tailored checks than an abdicating monarch with a fascination for Hitler and ex-wives.

The Mount Nelson provides a soothing tonic for Capetonians suffering from PTSD following an attempted hostile takeover by semi-graters from up north. These invaders appear to be an unsubtle breed, lacking in refinement and who don’t play by our rules. However, beneath the shiny veneer and the tattoos is a deep insecurity created by not knowing the rules and the ancillary effects of living in a war zone.

We should, of course, display more neighbourly guidance to these troubled souls about what it means to be civilised. I am not suggesting inviting them into your homes – that really would be too much to ask – but tea at a fine institution like Mount Nelson is a good start, followed by a gentle pointing out of the effortless class on display, and the upside of maintaining our architectural history rather than bludgeoning it to death with a wrecking ball.

Besides, if large-scale tourism is to be the mainstay of our economy, we must preserve the historical essence of our Mother City and particularly its architectural heritage with far more energy. We don’t need any more of our heritage buildings replaced with glass boxes. Who would go to Venice if they had drained the canals and replaced the palazzos with something in glass designed by Stefan Antoni?

The Mount Nelson Hotel took its name from the original property on which it was built. How did they come up with the name ‘The Mount Nelson?’ Surely Horatio was beyond mounting by this stage, having lost a leg, an arm, and an eye in a series of sea battles against the Spaniards in the decade preceding this.

As you take the short drive down the avenue that bends to the right towards the reception, there’s an instant sense of subliminal relaxation within the mind and body. It must be the beauty of the gardens and the opulence of the grand hotel emerging behind the trees.

The nautical feel has been preserved in the reception with cherry wood counters and portholes to reassure well-heeled seafarers suffering from mal de debarquement. Brass finishes and paintings of the ships of the line adorn the walls. Americans in caps boom at the staff behind the desks while Europeans cajole in softer, better-dressed tones. Many guests are dressed for safari, and one gets the sense that a few of them were mentally prepared to encounter the big five on the airport transfer. The townships they passed on either side of the highway would have been more sobering and twice as dangerous.

The reception opens onto the drawing room with a central table sporting an enormous silver vase filled with fresh mountain lilies and fynbos fillers. If you visit in the afternoon, three-layered silver platters of sandwiches, sweet nibbles and cakes are arranged on tables in time for the hotel’s famous High Tea. Bottles of MCC or the real thing chill in silver Champagne buckets while guests carry on with the business of sipping Darjeeling and nibbling on cucumber sandwiches. Even the Americans have turned down their volume by this stage, having acceded to the quiet demands of the benevolent hostess.

This is right up there with the Ritz or the Savoy. Film stars, rockstars and royalty have long favoured it here and surround you in a variety of disguises while power brokers sporting laptops get things done amongst the tea and the bribes.

Lord Roberts and his sidekicks Kitchener and Buller spent time at the hotel in 1899 at the start of the second Boer War, pouring over maps of Northern Natal while they planned the early stages of the British campaign. It is surprising that the top brass of the current South African National Defence Force has not discovered the Nellie’s credentials as a comfortable wartime billet. They must be making a fortune out of selling weapons to our unfashionable allies.

Other famous guests include Winston Churchill, the Dalai Lama and Nelson Mandela. Queen Elizabeth II celebrated her twenty-first birthday here. Then there was Marlene Dietrich smouldering in black and white, and smoking before it was bad for you. Who knows what Slick Willy Clinton would have got up to if he had been permitted to stay here by the CIA. British writer and physician Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie relaxed here between bursts of literary vigour. They should have collaborated on a whodunnit for the ages involving the range of characters already mentioned in the form of a Grand Budapest Hotel–style movie set at the Nellie.

The veranda overlooks the lush garden arranged in an Anglo-Cape narrative, which shows just enough colour regardless of the season. A fine spot to sip tea or a gin in the afternoon sun while absorbing the peace. John Lennon made full use of the garden when he stayed here in 1980 under the pseudonym Mr Greenwood. He meditated here daily until he was interrupted by an elderly grandee who insisted that the staff remove the vagrant who was sitting cross-legged in the garden reeking of dagga and repeatedly humming an annoying ‘Ohmm’ sound.

The Planet Bar, accessed from the main drawing room was the place to be seen in the early 2000s when local socialites met up on Friday evenings to listen to uplifting trance and pick each other up after sipping cocktails bought with daddy’s card. I am told that the vibe was rich – an accessible form of imported opulence for young professionals trying to impress. One suspects the paying guests put a stop to this. Young people having fun is intrinsically irritating when you have passed your prime and oonce oonce can be as repetitively annoying as ohmmm when you are trying to get the last few words on the Telegraph crossword. This remains one of the finest places in Cape Town to enjoy a drink at sundown on a Friday after a hard week of work. Well, relatively hard. This is Cape Town, after all.

Accommodation here provides for needs across the range. Traditional rooms are larger than the norm and tastefully luxuriant. Airey suites with panoramic mountain views which access the clear Cape light are available for those requiring more space. Self-contained, multi-roomed cottages cater for families and those who prefer more privacy. Guests often stay in these cottages for months at a time. The service is excellent.

The Mount Nelson swimming pool is a short walk through the garden from the veranda. The pool is set on a wide lawn sloping gently towards the Company Gardens. On sunny days, pale northern physiques roast slowly on comfortable striped cushions between sunscreen applications, whilst sipping cocktails or snacking on something from the Oasis restaurant. Children behave, by and large. It is tranquil. A pool picnic is an excellent way of accessing the hotel facilities. Engage in clandestine people-watching behind your sunglasses in a front-row seat while you sip on some bubbly and share a wicker picnic basket full of cheese and cured meats.

The Spa is situated beyond the swimming pool. I am not self-indulgent enough in that way to comment on its quality, but I am assured by those who are that it offers all the right services to satisfy even someone of Bubbles Devere’s demands.

On the culinary side, chef Liam Tomlin opened the Red Room a few years ago in the subterranean space where the ballroom used to be. It is a Pan Asian fusion restaurant in the Hong Kong mould, that deserves a visit on Liam’s reputation alone. You could also join executive chef George Jardin at the Chef’s Table for an ad-lib gastronomic extravaganza at an exclusive dining space.

The walls of the hotel loos are lined with cartoons from the days of the Cape Colony and early characters of the Union. Sir De Villiers Graaf appears frequently with Onse Jannie Hofmeyr and Slim Jannie Smuts.

I stayed here a few times on business trips from London back in the days when I masqueraded as an investment banker. It was wonderfully indulgent, and cost was no object while one was possessed of the corporate Amex. This is very much our place in Cape Town for special occasions. My wife treated me to a night here on my 50th birthday and we had high tea with our children for her 40th. Our twins had their second birthday on the lawn. My parents-in-law were married in the ballroom. My wife’s grandfather liked to hang out in the bar in the ’70s. One evening ended in an all-nighter with actor Oliver Reed. His party left with a disturbing memory of the location of Oliver’s tattoo. The Bar dinner is often held here, where members revel and wince at the wit and the cut of Jeremy Gauntlett’s speeches.

Locals in the know use the Mount Nelson frequently for special occasions in a way that they don’t use other hotels in the city. I think this needs to be encouraged. The concept of real value transcends price and the cost of learning from history is immaterial. A well-placed visit to the Nellie will mark an important occasion better than any other venue in Cape Town. And if you are present enough to take it all in, it will be well worth it.

Even if you are not invited here by an egte Capetonian, the arriviste is advised to spend time here to absorb the history and the class. Please dress properly, try to hold your knives correctly and please do not rev your high-powered engine to announce your arrival. Remember too that no one is interested in how much you paid for your house, or what the value of your share options is. Come quietly, observe, and evolve. You wouldn’t be as financially successful as you are if you weren’t capable of this.

Perhaps if you do learn something from this grand old dame we may invite you around for a drink, when our diaries allow it – sometime in June.