The Time When Ben Slept in Elton John’s Bed

The brief: “We need you to move lions between national parks in KwaZulu Natal, travel on a five star luxury train across South Africa from Pretoria to Cape Town, shoot the best hotel in the world in Franschhoek, and swim with great whites in Hermanus. You must visit Nelson Mandela’s house in Johannesburg and spend a week at the best safari lodge in Africa in the Kruger National Park.

You have 21 days. Is this something you can do?”

“No problem,” says Jack, lazing back in his chair, casually placing his hands behind his head.

I think aloud, “It might be a bit much to fit in?”

Of all the stories we could tell from this bucket list briefly, from tracking black rhino on foot to Zulu warrior tribes performing war dances as if we were Livingstone and Stanley, I’m going to focus on the best places we slept.

Hear me out.

Location 1: Kruger National Park, The Casita

The concierge shows us around.

“This is Africa’s largest individual lodge. Ring for the butler any time, day or night, and tell him what you want. He can cook you anything. Help yourself to the alcohol.”

A vast cupboard swings open, the kind where each bottle is probably worth more than your house.

“Help yourself.”

Walking outside, he continues, “Huah (here) are your swimming pools.”

Two giraffes nonchalantly chew the cud, watching us from the shade of an acacia tree just metres away.

Jack whispers, not meaning to interrupt, “Giraffes.”

The guide continues, “You have two master bedrooms, huah (here) and huah (here).”

The bedrooms, one at each end of the residence, are about 50 metres apart.

“One will be yours, Jack, and one will be yours, Ben. You can use the phones to communicate, it’s not worth the walk. By the way, Ben, the French president, was in your bed last night. And, Jack, Keith Richards was in your bed.”

Location 2: Franschhoek wine region, Condé Nast’s number one hotel in the world

A similar spiel from the concierge.

“Ben, last night Elton John was in your bed.”

“And who’s been sleeping in my bed?” asks Jack in Goldilocks tones.

There’s a pause before the hotelier announces:

“Don’t know.”

Location 3: Clifftop hotel, Hermanus, near Cape Town

Jack and I are unfortunately having to share a bed. As brothers, we are occasionally put through it.

Looking over the Southern Atlantic through a vast glass window, I yawn.

“Who’s been sleeping in our bed?

Jack yawns too.

“Richard Gere” he pulls up the covers and snuggles down. “Night, bro.”

“Jack?”

“Yup”

“Do you think he was by himself?”

“Not sure?”

“Is he still with Cindy Crawford?”

“I don’t know, bro. Night”

“Night”

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