My idea of a midweek getaway involved a lot of fantasies, like keeping a bottle of something stiff in the compartment of my borrowed, brand-new Cadillac while meandering along the Muldersdrift route.

But as it often is with mouth-watering fantasies, it wasn't to be. Blame it on my companion, the spoilsport, who chose work over a midweek getaway.

Instead, I found myself occupying the number 945 spot of Beyers Naude Drive traffic wondering if Kloofzicht Lodge was worth all the trouble.

I arrived at dusk and couldn't believe my lucky life as I descended down the valley to the village of my overnight palace.

In just under an hour, I had made it all the way to the warm reception proudly adorned with promotional flags reading: Kloofzicht welcomes SAB, Kloofzicht welcomes Momentum, Kloofzicht welcomes BMW.

And as I was wishing for my own flag to welcome me, Keith Mosia at reception greeted me as if he had been waiting all day for my arrival.

He made it short and sweet before handing me my access card and informing me of the dinner times.

I walked to my room and realised I could have brought my township Arabs and beer and no one would have noticed.

Overwhelmed by so much opulence prancing at me from my room's window, I wished I had arrived earlier for high tea or something. The chalets overlooking the fly-fishing dam offer guests comfort de luxe.

Kloofzicht is a five-star lodge with excellent service. And though this time the drive was made more pleasant by my new-found friend, the Cadillac, which is not a car but a legend demonstrating what the road is for, the short distance makes Kloofzicht an ideal mid-week or weekend possie.

Miserable at such indulgence and no one to share it with, and having realised there is nothing more embarrassing than eating alone at a holiday resort, I had to apply make-up for two people before taking my walk of shame to the Afrocentric-styled restaurant.

The corporate lot looked on in unison as I sat my fabulous self down before ordering wine. Cindy, who wore pants I already hated when I was pregnant, suggested a semi-sweet wine because I made my seafood wishes clear from the outset.

Before I had even had my first sip of wine, my pre-starters of ostrich something arrived and though I prefer my food cooked, the taste made me feel like the everyday carnivore I am.

Then came my starters, a black mushroom that tasted so divine I would have polished the whole thing off if I hadn't felt a piercing stare from a German man whose small eyes simply feasted on my cleavage.

"Sorry, this one belongs to the spoilsport," I whispered to myself as I adjusted my top.

My main course of catch of the day was a pan-fried dorado - some kind of fish - with stir-fried vegetables topped with white wine veloute.

Go figure.

I tucked in and ran through the list of the things I loved about the place.

It's the short distance, roughly 30km from Cresta; the cool temperatures thanks to the dam in front of the chalets; the Jetmaster in the rooms; the outdoor shower; the flat-screen television with DStv; and if you have a private collection of whatever to watch in your room, no problem, they have a pretty good DVD player.

The mini-fridge is stocked to capacity.

The beds are soft, sumptuous and luxuriously covered.

In no time, I opened my eyes and it was raining outside.

The time was 9.50am the next day and I had to eat.

I rushed through breakfast and by 10.30am I was home, singing What a Difference a Day Makes.