Media Nova celebrates a winning year

Josef Talotta - Sandton Editor

A Grand ol’ time!

I’ll be honest. Office Christmas parties, along with New Year’s Eve bashes, have always disappointed. It’s because I expect so much, being easy prey for hype-meisters. When they hint at ‘all you-can-eat cupcakes and nice music’, I somehow expect Madonna popping out of a larger-than-life cake, to personally serenade me.

Add to that the, umm, ‘global dip’ (as I prefer to call the world’s economic meltdown), and one might easily expect 2008’s office Christmas bash to be modest. After all, I’ve driven down Corporate Cutback Boulevard before, working for a newspaper group in the US during the early 90s. I expected a wine-and-dine dinner and – since it was Georgia – a snappy little live performance by the Indigo Girls. I got a sandwich platter with music provided by the local radio station – ‘Here’s to a great 1993!’, toasted my boss, clutching a warm can of Coke. I decided to move to Africa to raise my standard of living.

Fast forward to 2008. Team Media Nova is flown in from all corners of South Africa for the annual Christmas thrash. The marketing team, headed by Paul Reynell, doesn’t provide a hint of what to expect. Our brief? Dress in black and be in front of the hotel at 8am.

Black. By its very nature, it has negative connotations, setting a sombre tone. If you’re the pessimistic type, it symbolises mourning. For the more optimistic individual, it might suggest front row seats at an A-list fashion show.

We got neither death nor fashion. Instead, we got breakfast at the V&A Waterfront, at the Bascule terrace at the Cape Grace to be exact. An early morning tequila shot provided a hint of what was to follow, while the black clothing set the pace for a Bond-inspired day that involved high-speed boat jaunts to Hout Bay, endless cocktails (shaken, not stirred, by Liquid Chefs who popped up, all around the Peninsula, throughout the day), a sundowner cruise around Table Bay and a late-night dinner and Ida Levin’s drag show at the Table Bay Hotel. The 18-hour day’s pace was exhausting. Its fuel was – literally and figuratively – intoxicating.

The highlight, for me, was a lazy afternoon lunch at The Grand, in Camps Bay, no relation to its Rivonia namesake. This was Plett’s Grand Café and Rooms, guided by the ever-stylish eye of Gail Behr. What we found was an imaginative culinary and lounge playground that fused a South of France aesthetic with a South of Africa spirit. Its sense of relaxed elegance set the perfect tone for 2009 – that one can have fun, while truly excelling. And don’t forget the odd tequila. Serious fun ahead!

Ann Ellis Brown - The Property Magazine Editor

Cloak and dagger stuff indeed…
As usual, the programme for Media Nova’s year-end party was Top Secret. Fittingly, the only information staff had to go on was that the theme was James Bond. And that the organising committee had been given full licence to thrill! And what a thrill. The Lady who Lunches (ahem!) and those who don’t were treated to a very civilised breakfast. All was calm and tranquil until two Men in Black with ear pieces arrived and hurried us to our feet. With stern demeanour and masterful command, our VIP protection, ushered us through the restaurant kitchen, down the back stairs and out into the V&A parking precinct. Stopping the traffic, literally, we were shepherded to the nearby Oceana Powerboat Club, where our protection was overpowered and we were frog-marched onto three high-powered escape craft. Roaring off into a dophin-dotted Table Bay, we wondered who would rescue us from these pirates of the Cape-abbean. But help was close at hand. With an SAP helicopter circling above, our gallant heroes hove into view – the Men of Media Nova. The ‘pirates’ were obviously filled with fear at the sight of our boys’ impressive array of (plastic) weapons and quickly decided to join us in favour of walking the plank and getting a dip in the icy Camps Bay depths. With that settled, we headed out into (choppier) waters and raced towards Hout Bay. ‘Treasure’ was spotted at Sandy Bay but a battle nearly broke out when the boys decided the girls on one of the boats were looking far too hot and decided a drenching was in order (or were they jealous of the attention being focused on the attractions of the beach?).

After an exhilarating chase, past wrecks of other plundered vessels, we were greeted in Hout Bay with welcome cocktails.
Then it was on to the bus for a lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous trip along the Atlantic Seaboard to Camps Bay…

Anne Schauffer - The Property Magazine Bureau Chief (KZN)

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being royalty for a day. Or as a close second, feeling like it. We felt it and we liked it. The lazy lunchers at the V&A Waterfront restaurants concealed their curiosity poorly as we swanned along the jetty to our catamaran basking in the sun. Cocktails in a riotous colour came first, then shoes off, and up on to the deck to laze, to let the mega doses of the morning’s adrenaline seep away. Life is hard at The Property Mag.

Drinks flowed, snacks appeared, waiters waited. This had to be the most beautiful day of the year, with the sea CapeVelvet smooth, the mood beyond chilled, and the sun in full cry. Pink boys, we had a few; red boys, a couple; lightly bronzed ladies, plenty. Sunblock in the goodie bags for boys next year.

We cast off and slid out towards the sunset. No deadlines, no photoshoots, no tomorrow…well just for today. Blue blood, pink skin, white wine. Life is really hard at Media Nova.

Yaron Blecher - The Property Magazine Sub Editor

Waiting. It’s the toughest part of any mission. MN himself is taking part in this one; what could be important enough to bring him down here, away from HQ? Bond’s poncing about somewhere on one of his world premieres. What a great gig – working undercover on spy flicks, pretending to be movie star. Craig. Daniel Craig… yup, that’s the name he goes by out there. Meantime, it’s up to us real agents to do the dirty work.

We’re sitting at an outside table at the Bascule. It’s a classy joint – right on the edge of the quay of the Cape Grace Hotel. Morning sunshine, a cool breeze off the waters where the luxury yachts are biding their time. There’s Table Mountain, the whole beautiful range spread out in front of us, the Bo-Kaap looking bright and cheerful. Mind, there are enough Double-Os around this table to fill a soft-drink crate.

I imagine retiring to live in one of these exclusive waterfront apartments. What had I read in that property mag.? One of these babies sold for a cool 110-million bucks.

A chopper against the blue sky (enemy surveillance or air cover?) brings me back to my senses. MN’s alerted us to keep an eye out for ‘baddies’, but all I see are people working on their boats, tourists headed to the V&A Waterfront shops, motorised rubber ducks going back and forth doing routine trips around the moored luxury yachts – nothing suspicious here.

We had rendezvoused at Table Bay Hotel. The walk across the harbour to the Cape Grace has sure helped me work up an appetite.

The anonymous, e-mailed .wav file had said we all had to wear black. Some of the operatives haven’t complied – there are streaks of blue and brown and orange. MN’s having none of it; forfeits are called for – tequilas. Some of those punished seem to enjoy the drink a little too much, to my mind. Are there moles among us?

The real drinks are brought round, martinis, the way I like them. One of the guys wants to know what to do with the olive. Rookie.

Some of those that liked the tequila shrink back from their martini; suspicions deepen. Let’s not be too hasty – they’re ordering from the excellent breakfast menu… eggs Benedict, omelettes, kippers, cappuccinos, filter coffees, platters of pastries, platters of fresh fruit, steaks and breakfast sausages done to a turn, champagne flutes of granola, yoghurt and fruit. It’s ok – these are real agents, ordering man-sized breakfasts, fuelling up for the mission ahead.

Two hours have passed before MN gets the call on his iPhone. The girls have been kidnapped – all our female operatives captured in one swoop!

What? Taken out to sea? Wait! Those rubber dinghies! The fantastic breakfast was a distraction – the fiends.

Now it’s up to the team in black to save them. We march purposefully towards the Ocean Powerboat Club, only stopping for a Guinness at Mitchells (saving the day is thirsty work) along the way.

We climb into the powerboats; weapons are distributed. As we roar off at slam across the waves, I can’t help thinking: maybe I should’ve stuck to the health breakfast.

December 4, 2008 | Filed Under Company, Party | 1 Comment

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