As the middle-aged woman fell off the swing, a gallery of onlookers cheered, and two men who didn't know each other high-fived. It was 4pm on a Monday afternoon. Welcome to the Franschhoek Wine Tram. Magnificent Frans chhoek Valley 10AM: It's fair to say, adrenaline isn't pumping through the veins on this Autumnal May morning in Franschhoek. Damp air, puddles from overnight rain, and a blanket of grey clouds set an ironically sober mood over the normally picturesque valley. I

Propellers whirl, 1940s jazz soothes, and half of the customers are dressed like they’re in a Raymond Chandler novel. Welcome to Cafe Boheme, a French bistro-late-night joint in the heart of Soho.

It’s a fantasy world painted with Van Gogh’s palette. Vivid slashes of blue, green and grey. Jagged mountains pierce the sky, bands of deep forest hug the lower slopes, roofs of terracotta sprinkle the base like confetti. At the centre of the masterpiece, the lake. Changing colour and texture, shimmering turquoise to undulating mercury, it waits ominous, silent, powerful... That’s great, Wordsworth, but where’s George Clooney’s gaffe?

Upon entering, the outside world is obliterated. A wall of noise: conversation, laughter, shouts, roars, screams, expletives ringing out like machine-gun fire.