Originally published on Mahala
I suppose there is no better way to get over that World Cup “come down” than “blowing some shit up”, as my editor so eloquently put it. And by the look of De Waal drive backed up and the crowds that came out on this typically grey, miserable morning, a large part of Cape Town agrees. Maybe a scheduled demolition once a month, at least until summer, will protect the city from the winter blues and keep the newspaper column inches away from those pesky service delivery protests.
Goodbye to a Cape Town Landmark
Then five minutes before scheduled time, just after noticing the similarity of the Athlone Towers to the Springfield Nuclear power station of Simpson’s fame, they fell. Not as we were promised, one after a controlled build up and then another a minute later, so that the anticipation would be rewarded with a suitable “double climax”, evenly spaced out. No they just fell, when most of us were adjusting our focus, calling our mates or generally just not looking, they well, just fell.
Was that it? Was the general consensus. All that press build up, all that hyped up foreplay and that is it! Well that was disappointing, almost embarrassing, in a, “is that the time, I really have to get home” kind of way. And home we all did, heading for our cars faster than you could say coitus interruptus.
Though the sudden mass departure meant a traffic backlog that Big Concerts would have been proud of. Pilling on the agony, we had to endure the wait, like a hapless suitor battling to find his pants to get the hell out of there; we sat awkward, self-conscious for the sad send off and maybe more than a little sheepish that we were all stupid enough to forego a long lie-in on a cold winter Sunday. All titillation with not tit, with very little bang and not even any buck for that matter.
And we were left to wonder why in a town where being late is a religion, “now” means later and “now now” is maybe, we have this one time come early to the party? Strange though that for over 100 years the noon gun goes off precisely at well, noon, six days a week without fail we can manage to get the time right, but come the much hyped televised spectacle and its oops.
Perhaps the Simpsons allusion was not amiss and letting our own Mayor Dan “why can’t they share toilets?” Plato stroke his own ego by doing the honours, was where it all went wrong,”
“Oh you said don’t press that button”. D’oh!
Next time unless they taking down Koeberg I am staying at home!