World Cup Diary - South Africa 2010

Sunday 4 July

A day without football. Oh no. What can we do? Where can we go? Thankfully Cape Town is a pleasure to behold, and the constant backdrop of Table Mountain, even more stunning when lit up at night, though I think that was just for the World Cup, is something that can interest any observer.

After an afternoon on a restaurant balcony down by the waterfront we bumped into some locals who were to come within an ace of introducing us to Mick Jagger.



A daughter, 17, of the aforementioned South African family was invited to a party at the Rolling Stone's Six-star hotel, The One and Only Hotel in downtown Cape Town, so we tagged along in the vain hope of an invite.

Clearly Jagger felt there was nothing we had to offer that interested him, unlike the young female, so we had to make do with sitting at the hotel bar and mingling with mere mortals such as Clarence Seedorf, Miss South Africa 1997 and Paris Hilton.

As it turns out, the party that Jagger hosted was a fairly muted affair with just him, a handful of young girls, and some mineral water.

Much to our chagrin, the call never came to join him for some drinks so we took revenge.

"Excuse me," we said to the bar man. "Can we have two mojitos on room 807, please?"

"Sure," came the response.

"And plenty of Brown Sugar," we added.

After a brief discussion between some members of staff decided they needed a signature so we signed 'M.Jagger' and it was explained that our young step-daughters were up-stairs with the singer of hits such as 'Start Me Up' and 'Honky Tonk Women'. And then in a Jumping Jack Flash we got our cocktails with nothing more needed to be said.

A brief thought was given to ordering a 250 dollar bottle of Champaigne but we decided it wise to quit while we were ahead as You Can't Always Get What You Want.

It is not known as to Jagger's reaction when he had to check out only to find there were some erroneous goings on with his bill but rumours that he became a Street Fighting Man are apparently wide of the mark.

Monday 5 July, Tuesday 6 July, Wednesday 7 July and Thursday 8 July

After the shenanigans of the day before we ticked off a few tourist 'must-dos' - Cable car to the top of Table Mountain, took in the splendid views, and came back down. This was followed by boat trips and a visit to (Arjen) Robben Island where Nelson Mandela spent a large period of his time in captivity.

We bagged some semi-final tickets and watched Holland scrape past Uruguay 3-2 to make it to the first World Cup final in 32 years.

Earlier on in the day we met Alan Shearer who told us he felt the Dutch would bottle it and Uruguay would make it into Sunday's final. When I told him that Fergie felt the Dutch would win he quipped "Well, what does he know?" Indeed.

On Thursday I booked my ticket to leave Cape Town via a 27 hour train journey to Johannesburg. Not the most comfortable way to get between the two cities, I know, but it was the most cost-effective.

World Cup Diary - South Africa 2010

Thursday 1 July

Time to leave Durban and but not without one more taxi hic-cup. After waiting one and a half hours for our cab to the airport, depsite the company insisting it would be just ten minutes, Marsh, one of the hotel's proprietor's, volunteered to take us to the airport. Thank goodness.

We pick up our hire car and head towards Johannesburg. However, we decide to spend the night in place a called Drakensberg, about half-way between Durban and Joburg.

The setting is both eerie and beautiful. These feelings are exacerbated by our accommodation - BergVenture. Venture is appropriate. We have three beds and the window is huge, massive, and looks out onto the landscape of fields and mountains. The ambience, as well as the temperature, is cool. Furthermore, we are the only people staying here.

Next is the pub and after taking up the challenge of downing ten shots in a row, in a respectable 16 seconds, the locals, who'd initially looked like something out of The Hills Have Eyes, suddenly appear more friendly.

Friday 2 July

The next morning, headache in check, we head for the Rainbow Nation's capital. The only things in our way en route are a scattering of monkeys and the fear of running out of fuel.

Having not seen a filling station for nearly 200 kilometres and the car beginning to chug, much to our relief, we find a petrol station.

Car dropped off and checked in at our hotel, we make way towards the stadium, Socer City. Tonight is Ghana - Uruguay in the quarter-finals but we want to watch the Holland-Brazil game beforehand.

Johannesburg is a nightmare to get around. We get a cab from our hotel to the station. Then we get a bus to Kempton Park before being informed we are at the wrong station. Once there we seek the advice of some people who have t-shirts emblazoned with 'We are here to help'. They look at us blankly when we ask for it. Thankfully someone does come to our rescue and tells us not to get onto the next train to the city centre for our own safety. We take heed and get on the 'business' train which is slow, yet we are safe, thanks largely to the fact we have a carriage all to ourselves.

Nevertheless, this carriage is reminiscent of a prison transportation vehicle as we sit on benches at either side.

Now at the main station in downtown Johannesburg we find a populated bar and watch the last 30 minutes of Holland's victory over Brazil before heading to the stadium.

The train journey proves memorable for all the right reasons, apart from the snail's pace. The Ghanaians, at least those who pupported to be from Ghana, gave the trip an increased temperature with singing and dancing all the way to the stadium.

The whole of Africa, in fact anyone who wasn't Uruguayan, watched this epic match swing one way, and then the other, only to see Ghana go out through the painful exit mode that is penalties.

Some kind locals offer us a lift home which we galdly accept, anything to avoid public transport now that the cheeriness of the African fans has dissipated.

We are held up slightly, however, as the kind South Africans offering us transport have their car boxed in. The guys supposedly looking after the car have some of their pay docked and we are on our merry way to the hotel for some much needed sleep after a 30 minute delay.

Saturday 3 July

Mass panic is caused once more by an unreliable taxi driver and I just catch my flight to Cape Town. Bastard!

On the flight I meet a delightful Zambian who makes the blog (I'm sure he's overwhelmed) not just for being so bloody nice but also because of his name - Kafula Mwiche. He gives me his business card and tells me to get in touch if I am ever in his homeland.

I land and meet up with my colleagues who were on a different flight to me and head straight to the Green Point Stadium to see Germany-Argentina.

For all that is bad about Johannesburg is more than made up by Cape Town, starting with the consummate ease of transport to the stadium.

The bars and restaurants that line the street from the city centre to the stadium are a delight to behold, though I gather the iron fence in place between the path and the road was introduced after England played Algeria here a couple of weeks ago. Ah, the English.

Anyway, we watch a masterclass from the Germans as they dispatch with their Argentinian rivals and move irrepressibly onto the semis. Ah, the Germans.

Our hostel (Salty Crax) turns out to be the only disappointment in Cape Town. The lack of a tv to watch Spain-Paraguay, the irritatingly far from town location and the dog shit lying around everywhere cause a great amount of frustration that is overcome quickly by the city itself, and I cannot give higher praise than that.

World Cup Diary - South Africa 2010

Monday 28 June

We wake at 445am and the taxi, much to our relief, is on time so we can get to the airport in good time for our flight to Durban.

As we take flight I notice just how rubbish most South African daily newspapers are. They seem caught between American English and British English and when this manifests itself in describing a football match it just comes out as utter jibberish.

Of course, those papers are dominated by England's demise from the day before, not that we need reminding, and some excellent photos of the goal that never was.

Shepherd's Fold, the B&B we will be calling home for the next few days, turns out to be a pleasant nest in Westville North, ran by the lovely Barbara and Marsh, on the outskirts of Durban. Not only was the ambience warm but the garden, including a swimming pool, offered a wonderful view of the city.

Later that morning, I do an interview for BBC Radio Norfolk and give them my 'two-pennies-worth' on the previous day's debacle.

Our journey from the hotel to the stadium turns out to be pleasant enough and we have our benchmark price for trips into town. The fee was 170 rand.

We watch Holland comfortably dispense of Slovakia and the Moses Mabhida Stadium is particularly impressive. I am no architect, so I cannot explain in detail as to why, but the arch and the overall beauty of the stadium puts Wembley to shame.

Sadly, the option of climbing the arch was not available throughout the tournament which was disappointing.

Tuesday 29 June

One thing that Durban does offer is pretty good weather, even in winter, and this turns out to be the best day's weather of the entire trip. We watch Japan lose to Paraguay on penalties at the FIFA fan-fest on the beach. We drink a beer called 'South African Lager'. A strange name for a beer. It tastes exactly the same as 'Castle', the beer we have been drinking throughout the trip. This is primarily because IT IS 'Castle'. However, because they are not the official beer of the tournament and Budweiser, which is, is neither imported nor brewed in South Africa, they have to give it this superficial name. Another example of the commercial madness of FIFA.

Durban is supposed to be renowned for its food though our experiences turn out to be very different. Mind you, we did not have the local speciality - Bunny Chow. This is basically curry on top of half a loaf of bread.

At one restaurant down by the seafront, I ordered a Caesar Salad. The only problem was that there was no Caesar sauce. The waiter/chef must have forgotten, I thought, so I asked for some. The waiter looked at me like I was speaking Japanese so I repeated my question a little more slowly. The blank look remained and I ate my salad.

Another restaurant down by the marina offered adequate food but the service was laughable. The staff were never available when you needed them and then when they were there they were offended when you asked them a question about the menu or asked for some dessert.

Wednesday 30 June

Anyway, enough of that and on to a subject that was to be the bane of our trip - taxis!

In England we may have watches but in South Africa they have time and taxi drivers take this to the limit and beyond.

If the inconsistent prices for the same journeys was too much to take on occasions, the unreliability was even more frustrating.

Furthermore, I have never been anywhere where the taxi drivers have so little sense of direction.

Here is a typical conversation with a cab driver in Durban (and throughout South Africa):

Me: Do you know where this is (showing the driver our address)?

Driver: Errr..... Yes

Me: Are you sure?

Driver: Errr... Yes... I think so

Me: That doesn't sound to sure to me

Driver: Hold on. I call my friend

Something is then spoken which sounds like a mix of English and an Indian language (a lot of the drivers are of Indian descent in Durban).

Driver: OK

Me: OK, what?

Driver: OK. We now drive to a hotel.

Me: Our hotel?

Driver: Not quite.

Me: What do you mean 'Not quite?'

Driver: Don't worry. I just see my friend at another hotel who knows where your hotel is.

In the meantime the meter is continuously ticking over, making the journey even more expensive.

The driver smiles.

Then, on one particular occasion, we were told we had to get out of the taxi and into someone else's cab, without explanation.

Then we went through the same process once more.

We would always make it home - eventually - but at great cost.

What we lost in taxis, however, we made up with in astute purchases of sunglasses off some of the local entrepreneurs on the beach.

We all managed to pocket some designer sunglasses at just over two quid each. Now I know what you're thinking - they cannot have been genuine originals. Not only were they genuine, they even had the brand name 'Ray-Bums' inscribed on the glasses.

World Cup Diary - South Africa 2010

Sunday 27 June
As I woke I realised this was not just another day and began to think about what the players must be feeeling like at this moment. I dare say they stayed in a slightly more illustrious hotel than I did - a 20 quid a night hostel (they doubled the price for the World Cup) with shared bathroom facilities. Still, beer was less than a quid a bottle and we had a free breakfast - albeit just toast and coffee.

Next it was off to the airport to pick up the hire car for the four of us - two aussies from the hostel are coming too, along with my friend and I. They are without tickets but eventually pick some up for the same price we had paid.

The first glitch of the day comes from Budget (the car rental place). They claim that they do not accept Debit Cards or cash, only Credit Cards. When we vociferously complain that we reserved the booking under the premise of being able to use a Debit Card they retreat and accept our offer.

We asked about 20 different people how long it would take to get to Blomfontain for the game and we received 20 different answers, varying between two and six hours - quite a margin.

Nevertheless, we begin our journey with great gusto and, apart from a tiny mistake at the beginning of the trip when we miss a turn off, the drive is pretty smooth. The roads are much better than we had expected and, though there is plenty of football traffic, it is moving very quickly.

To be honest, I have never enjoyed driving as much as I did that Sunday morning. The sun was shining and there were thousands of flags and vuvuzelas, mostly in suport of England, particularly in evidence at each toll stop, as well as petrol stations. Even lorry drivers going in the opposite direction were hooting their horns in anticipation ahead of today's clash.As we reached the half-way stage we listened to the lunch-time news. We chuckled as a report comes in of a plane landing on the motorway - half-way between Johannesburg and Bloemfontein, which is exactly where we are in the moment we hear the news. Our curiosity is somewhat alleviated by the site of the plane at the roadside just minutes later.

This was proving to be a strange day indeed.

We arrived in Bloemfontein in good time, much better than expected, and found a car park close to the stadium very easily, with little traffic. Like a hot knife through butter. Incredible.A short hop, skip and a jump and we were outside the stadium. Unfortunately, I was the nominated driver and therefore had to go without beer. To be honest, this didn't bother me too much as I prefer to watch games sober so I can take in the full impact of the game. Something I would later regret.

I arrived at my seat about ten minutes prior to kick off. A couple of disappointments were noticeable early on - a small amount of booing during the German national anthem and that ghastly ten bombers World War II song.

Things got worse as the England defence capitulated and the mood in the crowd dampened.

Then we had that five minute spell where we thought we were back on track. Upson brought it back to 2-1 and then there was the Lampard 'goal'. From where I was sitting it was unclear as to whether it had crossed the line but from a flurry of texts and iphone updates it soon becomes apparent that we have been cheated.

As we eventually go on to lose 4-1 another sour moment rears its ugly head. A young England fan decides to chuck his plastic cup of beer over the railings on to the crowd below. An unnecessary act that is met with rightful criticism form other England fans.

As we filter out of the ground there is a sense of disappointment but we have been here many times before and there is a sense of we'll experience it again.

Needless to say, the journey back to Johannesburg is downbeat, in stark contrast to the excitement on the way to Bloemfontein earlier that day.

We make speedy progress and listen to Argentina - Mexico on the radio, the opponents that England would have been facing had they beaten the Germans.

As we approach Jo'burg International Airport to return the car we, like the English footballers, lose concentration and our way before going round in circles looking a bit stupid. We drop the car off and, again like Rooney, Gerrard et al, we head home.

World Cup Diary - South Africa 2010

Friday 25 June

With just an hours sleep after the previous evenings excursions, still celebrating England's 1-0 thrashing of the mighty Slovenia, we head to Heathrow in good spirits.

The first moment of panic arises when one of the check-in girls suggests I might not be able to board my flight due to an issue with my passport. The corner of the scanning page is slightly damaged and the lady says she will let me board but cannot guarantee my entrance into South Africa at the other end. Either way, she tells me that this should be my last trip on this passport. Understood.

My flight starts well, as I slip into a nice sleep only to be nudged by my fellow traveller, just as I nod off. He wants to know if I want to swap seats to which I respond tersely "no". My annoyance is increased as I cannot get back to sleep. This frustration continues as I am later awoken in similar circumstances as my companion wants to know how to work his tv. "Don't ask me. Do I look like I work for Kenya Airways?" I don't. Which is just as well. If I did I would have to deal with regular complaints about the entertainment system and the food, both of which are crap.

Eventually we land in Nairobi. Our layover is about eight hours but first I have to try and get out of the airport with my problematic passport. This I successfully manage - after 20 minutes of negotiations. The good thing about the Kenyans is they do everything with a smile. The bad thing is they tell you bad news with a smile so it gives you know indication of what is about to come.

Nevertheless, I leave the airport and make my way to Milimani backpackers which will be my home for the night. This journey from the airport turns into a lengthy one.

A kind lady on the plane said I could hop in with her, and her family, in their car, and they'd take me to the hostel. Great, I thought. Unfortunately, this meant leaving the car park which took over an hour because of a traffic jam.

Furthermore, I wasn't scared once whilst in the car. I was scared on 14 separate occasions as we careered through the traffic, miraculously avoiding all and sundry.

As for the hostel, it was pretty good apart from the fact that we just missed out on ribs and potatoes due to our late arrival. And the nearest pizza place had closed too. Chocolate and crisps had to be dinner.

Saturday 26 June

After three hours of sleep, my alarm goes, which, I have learned, is a sign to get up. The taxi journey and check-in are uneventful experiences, which comes as a welcome relief.

Then, comes the moment I'd been dreading. Customs at Johannesburg International Airport (O.R. Tambo). My heart was in my mouth but it proved to be an unnecessary moment of panic as it passed by without trouble. Now all we needed was an England victory tomorrow. Easy.

First up, I got myself a South African sim card for my phone. This was not the only thing I managed to pick up in the store, actually. A Serbian guy (careful!) said he had a ticket. We agreed a price, 1100 SA Rand (about 100 quid), which was face value. Job done.

Next we had to collect our tickets for the games. This was a new process compared to other years whereby you had to go to a ticket machine with the credit card used to purchase the match tickets. Very similar to the process of picking up train tickets. This was another painless procedure. What made it even more fun was the mayhem surrounding the machines as hundreds of people were buying/selling/exchanging their tickets.

All I needed to do now was sell my Argentina-Mexico ticket for the same day. I made myself a poster indicating my wishes and within seconds I had sold it to a nice chap from Mexico City. Got my money back. Job done.

Reserved a car at a reasonable price, 50 pounds (excluding fuel), for the following day so we were all set.

Got a free pick up from the airport from the backpackers we were staying at, Mufasa Backpackers, and settled down to watch South Korea-Uruguay. Uruguay won but still my mind was on the big game tomorrow.

Ordered a pizza, which was nice, but a bit weird. Can't really describe its weirdness. It was just weird. But for less than a fiver, I think a pizza is entitled to be a bit weird.

Watched Ghana beat the USA in extra time but still my mind was on England-Germany.

A nice twin room assisted my sleep but still my mind was on...

Elephant and Castle - An Insider's Guide

Sick and tired of the predictable tourist locations in London? Looking for somewhere different to visit without the distraction of an abundance of tourists? Then look no further than Elephant and Castle.

If you’re in search of an undiscovered gem in the capital then surely E&C is it.

WHEN WALKING THE STREETS I tend to head for the Walworth Road. This world (in)famous street is a must-see to all who visit this part of the capital. However, watch where you tread as you might just step into a pool of last night’s vomit.

WHEN I'M HUNGRY I head straight back to the Walworth Road. Whether you’re looking for Southern Dried Chicken or a greasy spoon, floor, table, knife and fork, it is here in abundance.

WHEN I'M THIRSTY I just cannot avoid some of the pubs on the, you guessed it, Walworth Road. Sadly the last time I took a stroll along it, all seemed very quiet. In fact, quiet is an understatement - I’ve been to chess events with a greater atmosphere.

Nevertheless, it was a Tuesday night so I asked one barmaid at an un-named drinking hole if it ever became busy. “Definitely”, she retorted. “Especially at weekends, though sometimes there is a stabbing which tends to change the ambience somewhat.”

WHEN I'M LOOKING FOR INSPIRATION it is impossible not to be charmed by the shopping centre. The contours on show are breathtaking.

There are few complexes in the world that epitomise the 80s more than the one beside the tube station.

Speaking to Yuji Nishi, who is a student at one of the world’s outstanding educational institutions - University of the Arts London, which has one of its branches based in E&C - he said: “The shopping centre here is amazing.”

And he comes from Japan so he knows plenty about technology and architecture.

It puts the Sagrada Familia and the Guggenheim to shame. That bloke Gaudi knew nothing. If he did, surely he would have added an elephant to his work.

WHEN I WANT TO RELAX I like to head to Kennington Park. Most of the people there are close to slipping into a coma due to too much alcohol and that feeling can become infectious.

WHEN I WANT TO SHOP I am sure to visit one of the markets surrounding the tube station, especially if I'm in search of a Spiderman t-shirt or a pair of boxers with genuine urine stains on them.

Cruelly nicknamed the Elephant and A***hole by some, it is important to remember one thing – visiting SE1 is an experience you’ll never forget.

North Walsham - An Insider's Guide

WALKING THE streets of North Walsham can feel like a walk back in time, particularly as little has changed over the last 50 years. The result being that it really could be the swinging sixties.

Except that North Walsham rarely swings, not including the back garden of the Bluebell (the country pub on the edge of town), of course, where they have swings for children to, err, swing on.

In the heart of the town it is impossible to avoid the Town Clock, North Walsham's symbolic monument. This is the image on the front of nearly all postcards associated with the town. However, that is because the other things frequently associated with the town - being sick on Church Street, fighting down Black Swan Loke or a brawl down Brick Kiln (usually between spouses) - are not appropriate for the face of a card sent home to a loved one. You can hardly imagine the words "Great time, don't want to come home" written on such a card.

WHEN I'M HUNGRY I go crazy for a burger or a kebab, especially after 8 pints, and I do not hesitate to stumble towards the North Kebab House. The food is of the highest quality and is also ideally located beside the taxi rank at the bottom of town.

During the day if I fancy a quick bite (pie, mash and peas) I do not hesitate to head to Butterfingers - which is also ideally located right by the taxi rank for a quick ride home (Important cultural note: walking is a rarity in this North Norfolk town and is frowned upon by most).

WHEN I'M THIRSTY my first port of call is the White Swan. Sure the toilets might rival the worst toilet in Scotland made famous by Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting but at least there are a variety of local beers on offer, including Kronenburg, Stella and Foster's. The only problem is that these are frequently unavailable due to the organisation rivalling the toilet cleaning. I always find Tuesday morning, around about 1030am, is the best time to arrive to ensure you don't leave disappointed.

WHEN I'M LOOKING FOR INSPIRATION I make my way to the memorial park by the local high school. If I'm struggling for what I need, there are sure to be students swigging on cheap cider and smoking Lambert and Butler to remind me of my childhood. That usually does the trick.

WHEN I WANT TO RELAX I head to the King's Arms Hotel and watch a game of football on the big screen. The food is reminiscent of the scraps from a bin but the ambience is generally ok. However, beware, the food might not be the only scrap you see there.

Conveniently the pub is just 20 metres away from the North Kebab House, and that taxi rank.

WHEN I WANT TO SHOP my first port of call is Roys of Wroxham. The items of clothing they have on offer are inexpensive and will last up to two weeks before the seams come away. You may look like a geek whilst wearing their clothes but it didn't cost you the earth to buy. Plus you'll fit in like a real local.

When the BBC made the show '50 places to see before you die', including Angkor Wat, New York and the leaning tower of Pisa, a few years ago they didn't find room for North Walsham, to the amazement of most of North Norfolk.

However, I'm sure that once these experiences have been truly savoured you'll never want to leave.

Valencia - warms the heart

The great thing is that when guys go away they talk about more than just sex and football. Sometimes they talk about nature or politics. For example, which bird was your favourite or should Sepp Blatter remain as the president of FIFA given that he is an ignorant twat.

Nevertheless, it is always a good thing to at least include some football in the weekend if you possibly can. Afterall, our brains are occupied enough with these discussions and a good football match can help relieve these tensions.

So, Valecia-Villareal it was. And a pretty good game too. 4-1 to the home side, a sending off, and a very happy city.

As for the city of Valencia itself, it gets a thumbs up. Maybe the old town is not as impressive as Sevilla or San Sebastian but the city has a nice ambience to it and it's coastal. Plus, even in January, the weather can be a pleasant 15-20 degrees, which is a marked improvement on the north.

As a result, I felt compelled to go for a run. I managed to take in some of the harbour en route at which point an aged Valenciano enquired as to whether I owned one of the yachts. I don't.

Other than the fact I was in close proximity to one of them, I had no idea what led him to believe that I could actually possess one of the beasts, especially in beige.

Also whilst running, I managed to take a good look at the Mestalla, FC Valencia's abode, and it seemed pretty run-down. But actually, I like these kind of football stadiums, as opposed to the modern stadiums that all seem the same. Anyone who has ever been to the Dell or Fratton Park can probably appreciate this more most.

A good five kilometres running later, before I had a coronary, I decided to stop and head back to the hotel. Actually, I say 5kms running, some of it was walking as I had to take the map with me and occasional strolling probably halved my effort, at least physically. Perhaps I should take a map with me to the gym next time.

As for the evening, something that does need to be mentioned is that 7pm is too early. As is 9pm. As is 11pm. In true Mediterranean style, 1am is about the time things start to liven up in and around the popular area of Carmen.

But liven up they do which makes the Valencia experience all the more pleasurable.

One slight down point is the local speciality - Paella Valenciana. Unfortunately most of the restaurants in the tourist districts don't really make the effort and, as a result, the chicken used in the dish is sub-standard. Best ask a local where to go for a good paella would seem to be the solution to that one.

As for Churros news, it seems not to be as popular as Andalucia but still be aware of the opening times - 8am to 11am and 4pm to 6pm. Before or after and you might be glared at like a man throwing condoms around the Vatican.