After three of the hottest days that Cape Town has seen in February 2009, the weather has, as they say, “broken”. Some would argue that it was pretty much broken all ready – either that or someone had set the thermostat stupidly high. But no – after thunderbolts and lightning (very very frightening my son), we had a Jo’burgesque downpour as dusk fell. So Jo’burg’esque in fact, that I find myself concerned that come first light we will find mine dumps, hijackers and really odd accents on our doorstep. Yikes.
Once again, I was reminded of my homeland. Braai’ing in the rain (chops and porkies, rather than last night’s exotic, if disappointingly fishy, pelican) was something that we had to get used to quite regularly over there.
I’m not sure what the neighbours are thinking after a succession of young women arrived at our house throughout the day. Nothing untoward – actually, we were interviewing for an au pair – but we’ll probably be raided as some sort of drug den or brothel tonight. Again. Although, because the police won’t want to get themselves wet, we might be safe if the rain keeps up.
The rate at which crimes are solved by the police force in Cape Town is almost entirely dependent on the season: 3% in the wet winters, 4% in the hot dry summers. Of that winter 3%, closer inspection will reveal them all to be entirely indoor-based crimes (white collar stuff: fraud etc). Conversely, the 4% in the summer are all somehow beach-related (unlicensed bucket and spade, old bloke wearing a Speedo etc).
Call me naïve if you wish, but I’ve never really worked out why.
The au pair thing went quite well. Everyone had a say in the matter. In a positive indication of his favourite candidates, 2¾ year old Alex hugged only two of the applicants, while his 7 month old sister chose a rather more negative – if equally obvious – method of indicating her opinion by vomiting on 3 of the girls. Between them, they cut the field down quite nicely.
OK. The rain has eased off quite nicely, so I’m off for a late night swim before the SAPS arrive. Apparently, there is a swimming pool in Pollsmoor, but the entrance fee tastes horrible.
Might as well get one last dip in before they take me away.