Tag: westlake

Sirens and Smoke

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That might mean something else if you were in the Middle East right now, but it’s very much the South and the West of the continent that I’m talking about here. At the moment, hidden away in our little corner of Africa – away from all the sirens and the smoke – seems to be a very good place to be.

Until later today, that is. Because we’re going to have both. But, once you’ve read this post, you’ll know that they’re really nothing to worry about and you can reassure your friends, family and colleagues.

First of all, the sirens. Koeberg Nuclear Power Station will be doing their annual full volume siren test between 10am and 12pm today. You’ll (hopefully) hear it if you’re in any one of the following areas:

Atlantis, Duynefontein, Melkbosstrand, Van Riebeeckstrand, Philadelphia, Bloubergstrand, Bloubergrandt, West Beach, Sunningdale, Parklands, Robben Island and the farms surrounding Koeberg Nuclear Power Station.

Full details here.

There will be a public address message before the sirens, informing you that it’s a test, but just in case you miss that bit, I’m telling you that it’s a test, so you don’t need to panic.

And don’t panic if you see some smoke in the South later today. Weather permitting, there will be a controlled burn in the Westlake Nature Reserve at the junction of Ou Kaapse Weg and Steenberg Road.

I’ve seen another map with lots of fire hydrants marked on it, and I’m sure that the guys in charge of this know what they’re doing. So don’t stress when you see the smoke rising over Tokai (Constantia?).
At least, not today.

More information here, but it’s mainly “keep your doors and windows closed” and “don’t put your washing out”. Sensible, if rather mundane, advice.

So there you go. Chill. Nothing to worry about today.

Unless, of course, you hear sirens in Tokai and see smoke over Koeberg Nuclear Power Station.
That wouldn’t be good. Then you can panic.

Lots.

No good story ever started with this line…

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And this is a very sad story, relating to the death of a man allegedly at the hands of another. But honestly…

According to Matilda Cochrane, her son left their home in Westlake at 11.40pm Sunday January 28 to sell a vintage bicycle to the accused’s father in a nearby street.

Clearly, this is not the safest neighbourhood in what is not a very safe city, in what is most definitely a very unsafe country. And it’s horrendous that this woman’s son – he was 40 years old – has lost his life.

But couldn’t the sale of the vintage bicycle maybe have waited until Monday morning?

Was it absolutely necessary to go out onto those dangerous streets and seal the deal before midnight? Is this some sort of Cinderella scenario whereby the vintage bicycle turns back into a sweet potato when the clock chimes 12?

I am absolutely not victim-blaming, but it’s not like we don’t know where we live. You take precautions and modify your behaviour accordingly. And that surely includes maybe delaying the sale of classic veliocipedes for maybe 8 hours until Monday morning, when the nastiest, most dangerous people are at least less likely to be out and about causing mischief. And after all, waiting just those few hours longer means that your vintage piece is actually that little bit more vintage, perhaps even allowing you to push for a better price.

Because no good can ever come of heading out at a quarter to midnight to sell and old bike to a neighbour.

Believe me.

Kids & Money

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Kids are expensive.

Your own. To keep and look after, I mean.
Obviously, it’s a given that buying a child on the black market costs a bomb. There are officials to bribe, swarthy men in dark suits behind nightclubs to pay and guilty-looking nurses in squalid third world orphanages who set the whole process in motion. Or so I’m guessing anyway.

With the credit crunch well and truly upon us, I have tried many different ways to cut back on the vast expenses which our children thrust upon us. With limited success, it has to be said. But I have found some pleasure in getting the most out of the money that we are spending.
Take Alex’s playschool for example. Each morning when I drop him off, I take time out to help him paint a picture. And I don’t mean any of that minimalist crap, either. The more paint, layer upon layered layer, the better. It’s a flat monthly fee for the playschool and I reckon that we use up about 75% of the paint budget on Alex’s early morning art alone. Good value.
Obviously, the end result is usually pretty grim to look at: often dark and thick, black and grey and deep purples merging with one another. The teacher has actually suggested a visit to an educational psychologist as a result of reviewing his work, but that sort of specialist help costs money. Which defeats the object. Or objet in this case, I guess.

Today, I took the kids to Westlake Park (which is, in fact, just West of a lake) (genius). Westlake Park is not a park at all. There isn’t a blade of grass, a gang of dodgy looking youths or any dog excrement to be seen anywhere.  What there is, is a collection of restaurants and a giant jungle gym:

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Westlake Park: great for kids, heavy on the wallet

Normally, we would pop down there in the morning, have a cup of coffee or three, maybe a slice of cake; while the kids play happily on the jungle gym. And then demand ice cream. Pricey.
Or maybe dive in there early evening for a pizza and a couple of beers or a glass of wine; while the kids play happily on the jungle gym. And then demand ice cream. Pricier.

Today, I had a great idea while enjoying that coffee. Having whisked the kids off to Westlake, I was sitting and pondering on how we could save more money. And then it came to me. I quickly canceled the cake I had just ordered and chatted to my three-year-old son. You would not believe how happy he was to be asked if he wanted to spend the whole day on the jungle gym. Of course he did!
So having finished my coffee and paid the bill, I nipped off home at 11ish, watched the rugby all day and went back at 6 to pick him up.

Well, that was the plan anyway. The police actually dropped him off here at about 4 o’clock, as the restaurant was closing for their pre-evening break and had noticed he was still there. Alone. While they waited for the police to arrive, he got an ice cream. All I got was a stern ticking off and made to promise not to do it again. Oops!
But that’s a 3-year-old entertained for 5 hours, an ice cream, chaffeur-driven home and a coffee all for the price of a coffee.

Bargain? Bargain.

So guess where we’re going tomorrow? See you there, errant dads of Cape Town!