Chapter Nine
Many clubs, the world over I believe, take a break on Mondays. After the hectic weekend they’ve just survived, they need a chance to scrub the blood and puke off the walls, to remove the broken glass from the carpets, and to replace cracked windows, smashed furniture and hospitalised employees. So a stranger to Johannesburg might have had a tough time finding a decent place to hang out on a Monday night.
Me, I was spoiled for choice. There was the Chelsea, hidden away at the end of Pretoria Street. Very laid back. Spriggans, where most of the musicians hung out when nothing else was happening. 42nd Street, which was in a constant state of flux between being a metal club and being a skinhead bar. Or Zeplins, down on Marshall Street. But that wasn’t going to be open for a coup
