WOT? NO BIRTHDAY BASH?

On the 15th May, 1854, Lieutenant-Governor B.C.C. Pine proclaimed the township of Durban to be a Borough in terms of Ordnance No.1 of 1854 ‘For establishing Municipal Corporations within the District of Natal’ Under this Proclamation the boundaries of the Borough were fixed as follows: East, by the Indian Ocean; North by the Umgeni River; North-west by the farms Springfield, Brickfields, and Cato’s Manor; and South and South-east, by Lots 1 to 11 on the Umbilo River, by the Umbilo River, and the Bay of Natal.

In 1854 the Town of Durban was a small settlement on a sandy plane surrounded by swamps (the eastern and western vlei’s) and the bay. Within fifty years the Town Council had put in place the infrastructure of what is today central Durban. A constant supply of piped potable water was available, electricity was available, the streets were electrically lighted, public transport (in the form of both trains and trams), was running, the swamps were partially drained and drainage was in place and working. Equally importantly a sound municipal system for the political, administrative and financial management of Durban was in place.

When Durban celebrated its centenary in 1954 the City had grown greatly in size by having incorporated the surrounding areas administered by Health Committees. The port had become the busiest in Africa, the ‘Golden Mile’ beachfront attracted thousands of holiday-makers and industry was growing. The City Fathers were justly proud and celebrated the City’s success by staging festivities on a grand scale. The funding for the ‘Centenary Building’ building at the University of KwaZulu-Natal was provided, there were parades, warships visited the port, buildings were illuminated, an air show thrilled crowds at the Stamford Hill Aerodrome, arches spanned the streets and searchlights lit up the night sky. It was a grand and proud show.

This year marks the 150th anniversary of the founding of our City. And what does our Metro Council intend to do about it – apparently NOTHING! This is an appalling state of affairs and shows a mindset that needs scrutiny under a large magnifying glass.

(At the present date Councilors asked have confirmed that there are no plans for events to mark the anniversary)

THE GAME PLAYED WITH THE OVAL BALL

Rugby season has started and the opening games in the Super 12 series are being played. That South African teams will probably not fare too well in this competition does not dampen discussion of the game. The strengths and weaknesses of various players are mulled over, teams are picked by arm-chair selectors and passions run high over the weekends as die-hard fans gather in front of small screens at home or a large screen in the local Frog & Toad. I can’t help but think, however, that if we read, discussed, and analysed the share market or commodities dealing with the same zeal we would all be very rich..... but I digress!

Rugby is the ultimate testosterone charged, mucho, all male, modern gladiatorial sport and was played by men, followed by men and tolerated by women.........well it used to be 'all male'. Off the field the ladies have become ardent, knowledgeable fans. In front of the TV I find myself asking my Good Lady (GL) “Why the penalty?’ Back comes the immediate answer ‘Playing the ball on the ground’ or ‘Not releasing the ball when going to ground in a tackle’ or ‘Obstructive running’ In the face of such authority I tend to lapse into silence whilst vowing to learn the rules of the modern game. They seemed less complex 40 years ago!

What has come over the fair and gentle sex? Using my GL as a benchmark what brain chemistry has changed since the first game she watched at Kings Park. On that day JPR Williams punched Tommy Bedford’s lights out. Right in front of the grandstand nogal. After recuperating for a decade or so and occasionally muttering darkly about the brutality of it all she had to face a mothers' most terrible ordeal - watching her sons play rugby at high school!

But something had changed! Maybe it’s because a woman’s own testosterone levels increase with age but here was my once docile, pacifist GL, urging one of our lads to exact revenge because he’d been rucked too robustly. ‘Crunch him!’ she yelled encouragingly. I stood back and marvelled at the metamorphosis as my GL turned into a latter-day Terror-of-the-Touch-Line and joined the ranks of her rugby mad sisters.

Rugby is THE game in my humble opinion. Without being patronising I’m glad the ladies have joined in – I was never one for gender stereotyping. But please excuse me - I have some crochet work to finish before the game starts.

THE CURSE OF SPAM

Every day my ‘In’ box fills with junk e-mail - spam. Topics such as how to buy a university degree, add length to THE appendage, on-line purchasing of Viagra and invitations to ‘see what I do with my web-cam’ crowd in on me.

Efforts are made by ISP’s to filter out spam by searching for key words but the spammers now deliberately misspell words to by-pass the filters. Recent articles in leading journals have suggested that e-mails carry a cost to limit their automated broadcasting.

The other problem is that if the e-mail is accepted onto your computer the sender knows that a ‘hit’ is achieved and the e-mail address is valid and active. This also applies if you use the ‘No thank You’ button often provided. You’re on the list and more spam follows.

An answer is to ‘bounce’ the mail back – not simply delete it. To do this I have, for some time, used a program called MailWasher. It allows the scanning of e-mails without the system knowing of the download. If you decide that an e-mail is unwanted it can be ‘bounced’ back to its sender. It also allows for the setting up of a spam list to do the job automatically.

Once vetted your e-mail can be downloaded via your normal e-mail program.

Sounds tedious? Yes at first it is. But with persistence spam decreases.

MailWasher is available here – it’s free with an optional donation to the developer invited.

BOW, WOW, THE WATCH DOGS BARK

Thousands have left the countryside in SA to seek the hoped for opportunities that the bright lights promise but seldom provide. The net result is unemployment, poverty, desperation and crime.

Our suburb, including others, has suffered a high level of crime for some years. This ranges from petty theft by individuals who are desperate to stay alive to car theft, house breaking and car hijacking undertaken by members of syndicates. These latter individuals are usually bold and ruthless in their methods as, for them, it is a highly lucrative ‘business’.

I don’t wish to discuss the political, social and economic aspects of rampant crime, as it is a well-aired issue. One of the consequences of this unfortunate phenomenon is, however, that local residents are acquiring dogs – many dogs. Dogs usually of the large chewing type that, it is hoped, will deter the hunter/gatherers who stalk our streets.

The problem is not new as the following lines record when thousands flocked to the cities in Britain during the Industrial Revolution.

Hark, hark, the dogs do bark
The beggars are coming to town
Some in rags and some in bags
And one in a velvet gown.

And bark they do. All day and all night. The problem being that, in most cases, these poor beasts are too large for the average suburban plot, are enclosed behind high walls and often deprived by uncaring owners of the love and attention dogs need. They are bored, need exercise and become somewhat demented.

Asked why such large dogs are required most people say that protection is the reason. Yet a dog can be neutralised by a good squirt of spray insecticide into its open mouth as it challenges the would-be intruder at the fence or gate.

Others say that dogs act as an early warning device as their barking will alert the homeowner that all is not well. My observation here is that dog owners never, never hear their own dogs and all they eventually do is annoy and disturb the neighbours.

Dogs do make wonderful pets but the breed chosen should be of a size appropriate for the grounds available. With care, attention and love they become great team players and members of the family. The early warning function seems to me the only real help a dog can offer provided the owners react.

As for me I don’t keep a pet. Well that’s not quite true. There is a large wolf near the front door; in fact he’s been there for many, many years. He’s quite self-sufficient and his main function is to remind me to keep my nose to the grindstone and provide, provide and provide.

WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE

It must be getting nearer to election time because the posters are beginning to festoon the lampposts. At the moment, and in Durban, they all seem to be of Tony Leon who seems to get browner each year.

As has become the norm in South Africa the leader parades to represent the party and its policies. The nominated candidates who lurk in the shadows are generally unknown and mostly remain so even after gaining a seat in some forum of government. However, what is causing some light comic relief is that under the smiling picture of Leader Tony is the slogan ‘South Africa deserves Better’. I think I know the intension but what can be – and is being - read into it is the opposite.

Shades of the DA’s ‘Fight Back’ slogan of yesteryear.