I love cops, believe you me.

I love cops, believe you me.

There are some lovely men and women who don the blue uniform.

The dumb cop of yesteryear seems to have been replaced by smarter, likeable folk. I spent last Sunday with some of the most wonderful groovers at a jazz shindig in Sebokeng - and many of them were cops.

I particularly loved the funky one who sat right behind me and spoke as loudly as an overzealous queue marshal. He was dressed to the nines. His attire had more colours than the rainbow and his greasy perm reminded me of the Saturday Night Fever craze.

Every time he opened his mouth to charm his sweetheart, he put his foot in it, and I thought it was cute.

He spoke about washing his car with Handy Handy (Handy Andy) and Sumlight. Then he said something about the Blueworry (brewery) mobile bar and said he would need to go to the MTN (ATM) to draw some money.

Go for it, bro. Your job is to prevent crime, not to speak refined English.

But they have not always been sweet, smart and amiable, especially the black ones. Back then, in the dark days, they were not much more than translators and navigators for their white colleagues who could not find their way in the townships.

A typical prototype of yesterday's cop once stopped me at a roadblock. When he had established my identity, he angrily told me in Afrikaans that there was a warrant out for my arrest for an unpaid ticket.

He was really mean ... until his white colleague was out of earshot. Then he was all calmness and reason, even managing to throw me a "never-mind" smile.

Just when I thought we were friends, he turned around and barked: "Ons moet jou toesluit!" (We must lock you up).

I looked up to see that the white fellow was back within earshot. When he (the white) could not hear us again, I managed to exploit the momentary friendliness and talked him into allowing me to go.

I come from an era when the police would tell a crowd: "You have three minutes to disperse. One ... two ... three." After that - bang! bang! bang! Live bullets.

My mate Themba Molefe has a harrowing memory of a security cop who hauled him into the Protea police station to explain a story he had written in which he mentioned atrocities perpetrated by the police.

"Now tell me Timber [sic]. You say the police are accused of perpetrating atrocities," the cop said, giving Themba a stone.

"Perpetrate, perpetrate, perpetrate. Now let us perpetrate. Perpetrate that stone Timber. Perpetrate!" Cops!

l This came via e-mail from a friend who will remain anonymous.

Zulus have done it again. Given the recent electricity crisis, Zulus have started naming their kids accordingly.

Here are some of the names we got from different hospitals: Eskom Khumalo, Candles Ngobeni, Darkness Mdluli, Blackout Ndlovu, Battery Sikhosana, Generator Nhlapho.

Ha!