Pool paint peeling, Glitterati long gone. The shiny bauble that was Durban is tarnished and splintered. One time playboy of the western world men leer on street corners with only insults to occupy themselves. Then Hollywood now tawdry malls reeking of damp maize and raffia crap rotting in the heat and the whole place has a distinctly dangerous air. There's a half hearted stab at a tourist thing but noone can be really bothered.
Outside the city find an air-conditioned shopping necropolis. He wanted to go, it was pink and awful. I dropped my camera getting out of the taxi and bashed the top. It only out of the box too. Too weary to bicker we disagree on a Japanese restaurant for lunch. Smug was sulking and gave me the silent sushi treatment.
Fast forward a lifetime to 2006 and it's Boxing Day. On bikes this time The Bloke is sulking. Smug was sulking because I'd already left. The Bloke is sulking because I'm leaving. Life was complicated and set to get hectic. We pretended to enjoy a promenade but I was angry then. I should have been shooting not promenading and pandering to sulking men. And look at this spectacle for goodness sake. Durbans yellow beaches stretch wide for miles. On boxing day hundreds of black people converge for a traditional dip. They are corralled by two white boys on jet skis into one small area. Plenty of room for surfing along the way though. I only got a few shots and cycled back livid.
Men choose the most extraordinary places to pick a fight.
Margaret O'Hare is a professional photographer based in Northern Ireland