Thirty years ago in South Africa, there was white power. Then there was black power. And now there is no power.

No really. There isn't. The electricity-generating company over there has just announced that the power stations are not capable of meeting demand and that there will be outages for two, three or six hours a day for at least the next seven years.

So far as I can see, no one is asking why this has happened. Everyone suspects it's because the power company, since it took over the reins from De Boer Pik Racist, has been operating a policy of only employing black people. So the whites, the ones who know how to run a power station, have left the job of generating electricity to a bunch of guys who don't know how to.

No one's actually saying that of course. It's a political potato so hot that you're going to get your fingers burned if you even whisper such a thing. And anyway, working out why the country's run out of juice is nowhere near as important as working out what the bloody hell you can do about it.

I'm old enough to remember the power cuts we had in Britain when Ted Heath went to war with Johnny Miner. They were great. You had newspaper clippings on the wall telling you when the lights would go out so you could plan your supper accordingly. And when they did go out, all you really lost was the television, which only ever showed grown-up crap like Panorama anyway.

This meant your parents were forced to play Monopoly with you by candlelight, and as a child, that was epic. Sitting huddled round a coal fire, warm and comfortable, with the undivided attention of your Mum and Dad. I get a warm, melted-toffee tummy just thinking about the joy of it all. And I still remember the sadness I felt when Heath gave in and the lights came on again.

Today, however, things are extremely different, and not just because I'm an adult. Because when you lose power today, you don't just lose a 40-watt bulb and Robin Day in a black-and-white beehive. You lose absolutely everything.

I was in South Africa last month when the lights in my hotel room flickered and died. So did the TV and so did the aircon. And so did the phones. And so did the wall sockets that were being used to charge my laptop. And so did my mobile. If I'd had an iron lung, that would have gone too.

But I don't have an iron lung, so I toddled off into the city to do a bit of shopping.