No smoke without Koeberg

Last week I saw Cape Town die. A vast column of smoke was rising on the other side of the bay, an impossibly high V climbing into the sky. Whatever lay at the point of that V was not merely burning, it was being incinerated. This was a conflagration, a holocaust. And then the reality

Hello darkness, my old friend

Apparently something had cracked. Or someone was on crack. Either way, the word “crack” was featuring heavily in explanations for why the country had been plunged into darkness at the weekend. It didn’t really matter, though. Nobody was listening to the explanations. We used to, once. We would read official statements and google the bits