When the opportunity arose for one of AOC’s foot soldiers to spend Christmas and New Year in South Africa, I drew the long straw. Over the next couple of weeks I’ll be regularly updating this blog to bring you a flavour of my experiences in Durban and Cape Town. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it…

24.12.09

Looking forward to beating Boony…

Sitting in bed, submitting this first blog, I am experiencing that surreal feeling I always get before travelling abroad. I’m not easy to impress, but – even now, aged 26 – I find it “pretty strange” (as Beefy might say) that after a simple tube-train-flight-flight-airport transfer sequence I will be in a hotel, on the beach, in Durban. Don’t get me wrong, I understand how it happens; it’s just difficult to imagine yourself somewhere sunkissed and seaside, when you’re hiding behind the curtains of your Balham loft space bedroom. In your pants.

Still, that’s all to come. For now, I need to check that my newly acquired digital camera actually works. (In fact, I need to check it’s actually digital camera. Having not had it out of it’s box yet, I could easily find that I have in fact purchased a new mobile phone, a Nintendo DS or, indeed, the world’s smallest umbrella.) And then I need to get to Heathrow. As both an inherently nervous and meticulous man, I will be giving myself at least two and a half hours to make what, in all likelihood, will be a hour-long journey. Don’t laugh: there’s been snow and stuff. And it’s Christmas and stuff. And, well, I want to have a browse around the shops for an overpriced sun visor and stuff.

Most importantly, I need to start drinking. No, before you ask, not to get pissed. I’m hitting the beers for a more noble cause: I want to beat David Boon’s record. Now, I’m aware that this isn’t an Ashes series, but it’s not everyday you get a chance get one up on the Aussies and, having ‘done the math’, I reckon I’ve got the beating of the ‘keg on legs’. On a pro rata basis, that is.

You see, when people marvel at the fact that Boony had 52 cans of beer on a single flight they forget three things: 1) That Australian cans are small and airline cans are pretty small. It follows, therefore, that Australian airline cans are little more than thimbles; 2) That Australia to England gives you a hell of a lot longer to consume alcohol (or anything for that matter) than any other flight in the history of aviation; and 3) Boony was about four times my bodyweight when he supped all that ale (in case you’re wondering, he’s currently somewhere between five and six times my bodyweight).

All of which means, if I have two pints of beer in the airport when I rendez-vous with my fellow Howzat Travel tourists I will break Boony’s benchmark during my post-dinner G&T. Wish me luck…

My camera actually works…

And it is, in fact, a camera.

25.12.09

Left-arm alien…

So here I am, in South Africa. And, judging by the personalised inscription on my Virgin Atlantic TV screen (Stow for taxi, take-off and landing), it’s not just Howzat Travel that are going the proverbial extra mile for me this Christmas.

Towards the end of the 11-hour flight I flick on District 9, a film about aliens (or ‘prawns’ as they are referred to) trying their best to survive in a bleak, wasteland on the outskirts of Johannesburg: it is grim, gory and depressing. Not surprising, therefore, that I find myself relieved our time in Jo’burg is limited to a four-hour pit stop in the airport. I told you I was nervous by nature.

However, whilst generally an unpleasant experience, watching Peter Jackson’s latest creation did start me thinking about cricket, the thing that is, after all, the focus of my two weeks in South Africa.

To explain, the film’s main character is called Wikus van der Merwe. Early in the story he is exposed to an alien fluid (make your own jokes) which turns his left-arm into a monstrous claw-cum-tentacle. Wikus, unsurprisingly, isn’t very impressed but it does enable him to become a crack marksman with the prawns’ specially calibrated weapons. Which, after 16 hours without sleep, got me thinking: would the Proteas’ own van der Merwe left-arm spinner Roelof, in case your not familiar) benefit from an extra-terrestrial cack hand?

Of course, there is no definitive answer, but I can’t help but think that a tentacle or two would help Roelof give it a bit more of a rip than he currently manages with that feeble human hand of his…

It’s Christmas after all…

We arrive in Durban at around 1pm local time. It’s been a long haul and not particularly festive, but on the plus side I’ve had plenty of time to meet some of my fellow tourists. Most have been on trips with Howzat before, so I while away the hours listening to stories about the various extra-curricular activities that Howzat’s clientele indulge in away from the cricket, whilst fielding questions about my credentials as a journalist and who I like on Sky Sports commentary team. Nasser, in case you’re wondering. And Bumble. And David Gower, of course.

Anyway, after a freshen up and a revitalising snooze in my room at the four-star Balmoral Hotel, Howzat do their best to inject some Christmas spirit into proceedings by treating us to dinner at a local restaurant. I’d tell you it’s name, but I don’t know it. Not because I’ve forgotten it and not because in a drink-induced haze I was unable to read the sign (that came later): it just didn’t seem to be called anything.

Situated in a complex also housing a Wimpy, our eatery is (thankfully) a lot more illustrious and we are treated to a South African take on Xmas dinner that, amongst other things, contains some delicious offal. That’s right, you heard me. Naturally, our feast was washed down plenty of Castle Lager and we were entertained but what seemed to be Durban’s version of Ladysmith Black Mambazo.

Back at the Balmoral, the beer and conversation continued to flow and by the time we went to bed, most of us were sporting considerably rosier glows than we had at the start of the night. Well, it’s Christmas after all.

26.12.09

All’s well that ends well…

Is that sunlight coming through my curtains? I can barely believe it. Yesterday we were told that the overcast conditions that welcomed us to Durban would be the way of things for most of the week, so this is a nice surprise. After enjoying a luxuriant shower (I’ve always thought that a good shower makes a good hotel room… god, that sounds boring) I skip down the three flights of stairs to the hotel’s dining room.

Resisting the temptation to eat my weight in fishcakes (a breakfast delicacy in these parts apparently) I enjoy a modest fry-up and a cup of coffee as I look out to sea and, more immediately, the esplanade that is a hubbub of activity as Durbanites hit the beach for their holidays. The bar at the front of the Balmoral is a great spot to watch the world go by (Durban’s seaside strip is very popular with both tourists and locals) and I get the feeling that we’ll spending plenty of time out here over the next few days.

Anyway, on to the cricket and my first big challenge of the trip: getting into the ground. In theory, it should have taken a matter of minutes (after all, queues for cricket in this part of the world seldom get beyond ‘sizeable throng’ proportions), but my media accreditation proves to be as elusive as Osama Bin Laden… well, almost. After confused conversations at the collection office, I finally decide to take my chances on the inside.

Fortunately, Howzat had organised match tickets for me for both Durban and Cape Town, and I soon find that the staff beyond the gates are considerably more clued up than the team on the turnstile. I am quickly directed to the media centre, where I plonk myself down next to AOC’s well-travelled sometime contributor (now that’s a job title), Joey ‘the lips’ Harman. We’re in; let the cricket begin.

Cheese and coconut: a truly great combination…

Today’s undoubted highlight was a brief chat over lunch with Barry Richards. The speed at which the former South Africa and Hampshire opener dispatched his plate of curry was an experience in itself, but sharing a few words and a cheese board with a true legend of the game was a good way to kick off my Kingsmead experience. As we sat chewing the fat, my eyes were inevitably drawn to the coconut fog that floats above Richard’s weather beaten face. It is a magnificent Barnet and one I wish to emulate one day. There, I’ve said it.

The hunt for Bunny Chow…

After a morning in the press box, I decide spend most of the afternoon session working on my tan. At present, I’m an ever-so-slightly-sickly shade of cream, but I reckon a few more days on the grass banks of Kingsmead and I’ll be a lovely deep vermilion.

That’s if the sun stays out of course. Soon after tea, the ominous clouds of yesterday return and stumps are drawn for the day. However, whilst only 61 overs have been possible, we’ve seen some great cricket with England’s double strikes at the start and the end of the day restricting the hosts to 175-5. An intriguing second day beckons and I resolve to put in some good lounging time when England come out to bat.

After five more minutes in that lovely shower, I head out to Berea (a ridge situated above Durban) to join Jo and a few of our fellow countrymen in the patriotic pursuit of curry. Not just any curry, however, but the renowned Bunny Chow. Whilst it sounds like it is made from a selection of carrots, lettuce and grass, I am reliably informed that this Durban delicacy actually consists of a portion of curry stuffed into a hollowed out loaf of bread. A quick Google search throws up a selection of ‘interesting’ pictures. Whilst some interpretations of the recipe look delicious, others more closely resemble a student’s post-clubbing attempt at beans on toast. Still, nothing ventured nothing gained. We head off to a restaurant where were we have been told it is eminently possible to ‘Chow down’…

I’m afraid we’ve been misinformed: there ain’t no Bunny Chow at Palki. Still, the smells coming out of the Southern Indian eatery are pretty good and we’re pretty hungry so we decided to cut our losses and take a seat. In the event, I have a top-notch fish dish and everyone else seems pretty pleased with their choices. Besides, at 10 quid for a curry, rice, naan and two beers, you can’t have too many complaints… that is unless your food tastes like beans on toast put together by a drunken student.

Anyway, the hunt for Bunny Chow goes on…

27.12.09

The Durban sprawl…

Breaking news: Barmy Army totem and England standard-bearer Vic Flowers (aka Jimmy Savile) has been bowled over. Not by Dale Steyn and co. (see what I’ve done there) but by an over exuberant South Africa fan who, after a few too many castle beers yesterday afternoon, felt it necessary to rugby tackle the 59-year-old*. Whilst there seems to be general outrage in the press box from the English journalists, one of our South African counterparts mischievously suggests that a photo supposedly showing injuries sustained in the incident are nothing more than sunburn. Anyway, I’m sure Vic will be defecting to Howzat for 2010: Ian Kerr and his crack team would never have let that happen!

As for the cricket itself, day two sees South Africa – largely due to Dale Steyn’s brisk 47 – make their way to 343 before Andrew Strauss’s 49-ball fifty (his quickest in Tests) leaves England handily placed on 103-1 when bad light brings another premature close to proceedings. The story of the day is (miracle of miracles) England finally getting the hang of the review system, with Graeme Swann trapping Mark Boucher lbw after his initial appeal was rejected. With bright sunshine forecast for tomorrow, England have a chance to establish a match-winning position, and I can get working on my farmer’s tan. In the slavered words of Jamie Oliver, “Happy Days!”

Back at the ranch there are a few weary faces; two days of cricket and three nights of “one for the road” drinking beginning to take its toll on the Howzat tourists. After a quick nap, I accompany Yorkshire Andrew (if you close your eyes it’s like Matthew Hoggard’s in the room), ex-policeman DC Mike Jones and ex-pat extraordinaire Basil Simpson to Mac Rib, a steakhouse just a couple of minutes along the seafront from the Balmoral. 450 grammes of meat for a little over eight quid speaks for itself (unless you’re on of those people that refuse to convert to metric – honestly, we’re not trying to turn England into France), although Andrew’s carvery is of even more epic proportions.

Bloated but happy, I return to the Balmoral and have a couple of rum and cokes with Howzat veteran and unofficial social secretary, Minesh. We chat about some of his previous holidays with Howzat, particularly this spring’s tour to West Indies that saw AOC deputy editor Phil Walker fall in love with at least three varieties of rum. Manesh promises to show me some ‘interesting’ photos from some ‘interesting’ nights out in Guyana when he gets his laptop out tomorrow. Philip? You didn’t tell me about this…

*Depending on whom you believe, Vic is aged anywhere between 56 and 65, meaning that yesterday’s ‘attacker’ potentially picked a fight with a pensioner. Shame on you.

28.12.09

Hat’s entertainment…

Day three sees a return blue skies and glorious sunshine. Armed with a bucket of suncream and my biggest brimmed hat, I spend most of the afternoon reclining on one of the many grassy banks that make Kingsmead such a pleasant place to watch cricket. In perfect batting conditions Alastair Cook scores a cathartic hundred as England progress to a position of strength. Despite the traditionally intense rivalry between England and the Proteas, there is a really friendly atmosphere in the ground and most of the beer-fuelled banter is pretty good-natured. The fact that most of the South Africans I speak to seem pretty knowledgeable about the game are an added bonus, and there is plenty of good chat between rival supporters.

A strong breeze throughout most of the day provides welcome relief from the sweltering heat (like a typical Brit, I like it warm but not too warm) and some comedy relief as umpire Aleem Dar spends three minutes chasing after his hat. In fact, his post-retrieval salute gets the loudest cheer of the day.

Bring and Braai…

You can’t come to South Africa without having at least one big barbecue. Some of the cricket grounds (including Centurion, the venue for England’s first Test this winter) even allow people to cook up their own slabs of meat on site. This evening, I’m invited to a Braai back in Berea, where for the princely sum of 55 rand (less than five pounds) I’m treated to two huge steaks, a healthy hunk of pork and enough Boerewors sausage to lasso Antarctica. A warm evening, cold beer and a plate load of chargrilled meat. This is what South Africa is all about.

29.12.09

Synchronise crotches…

They say that a group of women living together all end up ovulating at the same time. It seems that a similar synchronicity occurs in the bladder operations of those who spend a few days in the Kingsmead press box. When I say ‘those’, I mean Matthew Hoggard and me. Having joined a micturating Matthew at the media centre urinal during the lunch interval, I walk in to exactly the same scenario just after tea. Such is the similarity in the timing of my arrival that I swear Leicestershire’s new skipper must now think that I followed him. If I walk in during Hoggy’s shake down tomorrow, I’m heading straight for a trap.

It’s a funny old game…

Ian Bell goes from zero to hero and England move to the brink of victory. Andrew Strauss’ side could not have hoped for anything more from the fourth’s day play. After Bell’s assured century made the Three Lions safe, Graeme Swann and Stuart Broad made them rampant as South Africa collapsed from 27-0 to 50-6, both men claiming three wickets in an electric session. This is the cricket we all came to see and nobody seems too fussed at taking half a pint of beer to the back of the head every time the person behind them leaps up to celebrate a wicket. Surely, we have to win from here? Surely?

Play your cards right…

This evening’s entertainment sees me, Minesh (known as ‘Shaft’ whilst at the table) and six other Howzat tourists appropriate the hotel lounge to watch Liverpool scrape past Aston Villa and, more importantly, waste a few Rand playing cards. With the drinks flowing, a fines system is introduced to penalise misdeals, miscalls and general clumsiness and, best of all, after 10 o’clock our waiter allows us to tuck in to a few bottles of our own booze that we’ve been waiting to crack open – if you’re ever staying at the Balmoral, ask for Ricky. The night ends in the morning, by which time most of us can’t remember the rules to Snap. Needless to say, the girls (Paula, Di and Heather) have comprehensively outplayed the boys despite our all of our bravado, bluster and unnecessary sunglasses.

30.12.09

Pinch me, I must be dreaming…

England 1. South Africa 0. It’s almost to good to be true. Having made a habit of losing the first Test in several recent series, England seal victory after barely 18 overs of the fifth day’s play, with Graeme Swann picking up another five-wicket haul (to cap, in his own words, “a dream year”) and the man of the match award. Andrew Strauss thanks the travelling support for all their help, and I’m sure he’s gesturing towards our stand.

After a couple of hours back in the press, including a chat with Bumble about the good, bad and ugly of the Twenty20 format (“It’s not cricket, it’s entertainment”), I stroll back along the sea front for a celebratory beer with the rest of the group. We’ve got an early start tomorrow, so there’s no wild partying for most of us, just a feeling of deep satisfaction as we sip on a rum and coke or two. Or three.

31.12.09

Leaving on a jet plane…

An early flight to Cape Town sees us leave the Balmoral, bleary eyed, at 5 am. This may be the first and last time I’m in the air on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve all in the same year, but I can’t wait to get to Cape Town as it’s regarded as one of the best places in the world to spend December 31.

On arrival, we are greeted by searing heat (the average temperature at this time of year in Cape Town is about 26, 27 degrees) and, as we wait for the bus, the sight of the England team making their own way through the airport. One of the good things about going on a tour like this is that you do regularly bump into the players, most of whom are happy to have a quick chat and a bit of banter. Of course, if they’re South African you can always give them a bit of abuse too.

Goodbye ‘Noughties’. Hello, er, ‘Tennies’…

As 2009 draws to a close, most of the Howzat group head for the V&A Waterfront: the place to be to get a spectacular view of Cape Town’s annual fireworks. Ian Kerr and his team have booked us tables with prime viewing at Quay Four, a large open planned restaurant on the harbour side, and we settled in for a night’s eating and drinking. Naturally, I need a couple of bottles of (unbelievably cheap) South African white to wash down my oysters, seafood platter and Eaton Mess and as the clock ticks round to midnight I’m, to say the least, a little worse for wear. A few rum and cokes and the first couple of hours of 2010 take on a rather hazy appearance as the crash and flash of fireworks and the rhythm of Quay Four’s live band celebrate the start of the ‘Tennies’. Or is it the ‘Teenies’? I hate these stupid names, roll on the Twenties… Happy new year, by the way.

1.1.10

The morning after the night before…

I’ve got a hangover. Obviously. I’ve also got an interview with England’s man of the moment, Graeme Swann, so I bet get my head together… or, at very least, brush my teeth. After a couple of cups of coffee in sunglasses to hide rather blood shot eyes, I head for a walk along the beach that is just metres from the Protea Hotel Sea Point – my base camp until I head home on the 8th.

All along Beach Road, a pretty promenade with well-kept lawns that (unsurprisingly) runs parallel to the azure South Atlantic ocean, locals are enjoying picnics and games of football as New Year’s Day celebrations get underway. I’m told the sea’s a little nippy in these parts, so I find a rock pool where the water’s been considerably warmed. In fact, it feels almost tepid, but that’s maybe just because the white sand I’ve been walking on is hotter than the sun. A fifteen-minute paddle and dead-eyed stare out into the endless ocean is just the tonic after last night’s gin.

Golden Graeme…

At half five I head over to the Cullinan, the England team hotel whilst we’re in Cape Town. I meet a flip-flopped Swanny in the lobby and we have a 25-minute chat (the best bits of which you can read in next month’s AOC) about why he’s so great. Naturally, he’s in high spirits and tells me he plans to take 145 Test wickets this year. Being as it’s January 1, I ask him if he’s made any New Year’s resolutions. He tells me that his number one priority is to get rid of the terrible curtains his missus bought last year. Looks like world peace will have to wait, then…

I’m not Blues da ba dee…

The evening sees me, Mr Harman, and some of the boys we met down (or should that be up?) in Durban head to Camps Bay. A short drive along the coast from central Cape Town, this affluent area is popular with tourists for its restaurants and bars. After bumping into Paul Collingwood and family sunbathing on the beach (he assures us that his dislocated finger will be fine come Sunday) we enjoy a couple of cold beers and a spectacular sunset. The plan is to eat in Blues, a restaurant famous for it’s superb seafood, but it’s fully booked… I guess we should have, er, guessed. Plan ‘B’ involves a return to another restaurant on the V&A. I order some delicious lamb and roast potatoes “with a prominent lemon flavour” and hang on to my glass of red for dear life as the wind gets up.

2.1.10

Cable to Table…

A day of excursions with 30 or so of the Howzat tourists sees me up at the crack of dawn (well, seven o’clock) to climb Table Mountain. When I say climb I mean take the cable car, although if you’ve got the footwear, fitness and suncream there are routes – of varying difficultly – that will get you to the famously flat summit, more than 1,000m above sea level.

To say that today’s weather is hot is an understatement, and after yesterday’s high winds prevented many people getting up Cape Town’s most famous landmark there are hundreds huffing and puffing in the heat when we arrive at base camp.

A word of warning: If you don’t like heights, shut your eyes when you’re going up the cable. The ascent takes a couple of minutes, with the car (which carries about 60 people) climbing almost vertically, adjacent to the rock face, for the last 40 or 50 metres. For those with a fear of vertigo it’s the revolving floor, however, that is most concerning. Of course, this circular movement allows everyone onboard to enjoy the spectacular panorama, but it did leave one or two of my fellow ‘Howzaters’ looking a little green.

Up on top there is various flora and fauna to enjoy, but it is the spectacular views of Cape Town and beyond that everyone is there to see. Of course, it’s called Table Mountain for a reason, but it is amazing just how flat the ‘table top’ is. You could almost eat your dinner off it.

I on Robben…

Next stop, via the V&A Waterfront, is the penal colony where Nelson Mandela spent 18 years of his 27-year imprisonment. I wasn’t expecting Euro Disney but a quick glance around Robben Island reveals a particularly bleak scene… a bit like Euro Disney, I guess.

First up on our tour is a 45-minute bus trip around the circumference of the island, during which our guide, MP, explains the long and infamous history of Robben. Following this, another guide (one of the island’s former political prisoners) recalls his incarceration, whilst walking us around the various living quarters, including the cell inhabited by Mandela himself. He paints a fascinating picture of life in this harsh environment and of the single-mindedness and resolve displayed by all of the prisoners to have spent time on Robben. South Africa has certainly come a long way in the last 20 years.

3.1.10

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a Newlands for me and (if you’re interested) I’m feeling fine…

Having expected more bright sunshine, it’s pretty surprising to awake to see Table Mountain shrouded in cloud and drizzle falling from the sky. It’s still warm, but the unseasonal weather delays play at the picturesque Newlands ground by about half an hour, by which time the large crowd (at least 50 percent of which are English) is raring to go.

Having won the toss and chosen to bowl, England make the dream start, Jimmy Anderson removing the out of form Ashwell Prince for a duck but Graeme Swann grasses a simple chance from Graham Onions first ball to give Graeme Smith (are you still with me?) to let the South African captain off the hook. It doesn’t cost England too much, however, as Smith falls to the first ball after the lunch break and, when Swann (making amends for his earlier error) removes AB de Villiers and the hapless JP Duminy in successive deliveries, South Africa are reeling on 127-5 despite conditions now appearing to be perfect for batting.

However, as he has so many times before, Jacques Kallis comes to South Africa’s stroking a faultless century as the home side close with their noses ahead on 279-6. It’s been another day of ebb and flow in what is developing into a fascinating series and we’re no closer to finding out whether England will finally be able to break their Cape Town jinx. All I can say is, tune in tomorrow…

4.1.10

Hot stuff…

Day two starts as a scorcher in more than one way. Clear blue skies and baking heat suggest this will be a day for the batsmen but it takes England only three overs to claim the last four South African wickets as the Proteas add just 12 runs to their overnight 279. In turn, England slip to 36-3 as Kevin Pietersen departs for a two-ball duck and, somehow, seven wickets have fallen in the morning session.

Ali Cook and Ian Bell (looking in good touch after his hundred at Centurion) do their best to restore the tourists’ advantage, but with both falling to loose strokes in the final session England close with six batsmen back in the dressing room, and everything’s still to play for. Slightly foolishly, I spend much of the afternoon session soaking up the sun and a few beers on the grass bank next to the man scorecard, leaving me with a rather ruddy face and utterly shattered. There is a great atmosphere on days like this, however, and a little sunburn is only a small price to pay for a day’s rays and some more top-notch cricket.

Having taken a few photos of the famous Newland’s backdrop, I can’t help but conclude that (alongside Lord’s) this is the finest place in the world to watch Test cricket.

And I go back to, er, Blues…

Undeterred by our New Year’s Day disappointment, the same group of us return to (a quieter) Camps Bay to try out Blues’ fabled cuisine. After a couple of drinks in ‘Sapphire’, the trendy adjoining bar, we are taken to our window table in the airy, white dining room. Seafood always taste better when you can actually smell salt in the air, but my scallops and line fish with chorizo are both excellent in their own right. Jonathan Agnew and Vic Marks, sitting a few tables to my left, also seem to be enjoying their choices, and when it costs you less than £30 for a starter, main, two glasses of tasty South African wine and a coffee in one of the area’s best restaurants it’s easy to see why. Did I mention the quartet of leggy blondes who float around the restaurant for the amusement (or so it appears) of the restaurant’s male diners?

5.1.10

Bursting bubbles, toil and England in trouble…

It was the day we were all waiting for; the day we all feared. After clinging on in Centurion and the dream scenes of Durban, there was always going to be a South African backlash. Almost inevitably, when it came it came via the bat of Graeme Smith.

After Morne Morkel had claimed two wickets in two balls first thing in the morning, Matt Prior did his best to decrease England’s deficit, carving his way to 76, and when he departed South Africa’s lead was just 18. However, this was as good as things got for England during a long hot day in which Hashim Amla made a fluent 95 and Graeme Smith finished on 162 not out after pummelling England’s attack.

England’s seam attack failed to take a wicket all day, as the Proteas closed on 312-2 with a mammoth lead of 330. Back in the hotel, we were left to work out exactly how England are going to save this game. No doubt Messrs Flower and Strauss were doing something similar.

6.1.10

Worse late than never…

The day begins with a crash and a thrash as South Africa set up the declaration. Graeme Smith finally departs for what looks to be a match-winning 183 and when JP Duminy is caught down the leg side for a quickfire 36, the captain calls in his men 465 runs ahead. With England left with more than four and a half sessions to bat all three results are still possible, but the record books suggests there’s only one side who can win it from here.

Records, however, are there to be broken and England’s opening pair Cook and Strauss begin in impressive fashion, rarely looking troubled as they regularly find the boundary during a century stand that revives hope of the unlikeliest of victories. But when Cook pulls straight up in the air it sparks a mini collapse in which England lose 3-28 (including that of the desperately out of nick Kevin Pietersen) in 11 overs. Jimmy Anderson puts up a brave fight as night watchman, but at the end of the day England are not so much staring down as in the barrel of defeat.

Sir-loin of Beef washed down with White Lightning…

The evening sees most of the Howzat tourists return to Newlands for a charity dinner hosted by Robin Jackman with special guests Allan Donald and the one and only Sir Ian Botham.

Naturally, I’m sat at Ian’s table, although being placed opposite England’s greatest ever allrounder I spend most of the evening taking photos of the world and his wife posing with Beefy on other people’s cameras. Still, I get a snap of myself with the main man for my troubles, although checking it back later we both look like we’re rather be anywhere else doing anything else. I guess that’s what happens when you sit two of cricket’s coolest personalities next to each other.

The evening’s entertainment revolves around a series of anecdotes from Botham, Donald and a rather tipsy Jackman, who almost manages to fall off the stage on at least three occasions. Despite his state of inebriation ‘Jackers’ as an excellent host and we all laugh our way through some choice anecdotes before the charity auction to raise money for a local hospice, at which Jackman’s wife works.

The night ends on a surreal note with the Barmy Army’s trumpeter offering a few tunes whilst an enthusiastic audience (some by this stage very, very drunk) do their best to sing along. It’s been an entertaining evening, to say the least.

7.1.10

Miracle number two…

Having escaped with a draw in a nerve-wracking encounter at Centurion, nobody really thought that England could do it again and, on paper at least, the task was even harder as England entered day five three wickets down. With Jimmy Anderson and Jonathan Trott departing in the morning session, few had changed their mind at lunch, but in a displaying of dead-bat stoicism, England ginger nuts, Ian Bell and Paul Collingwood, batted through the entire afternoon session to rekindle the hopes of the T here Lions.

By the time the latter departed with 13 overs to go it seemed inevitable that England would hold on for a highly credible draw, but – as had been the case earlier in the series, and at Cardiff earlier in the year for that matter – it wasn’t that easy. Matt Prior and Stuart Broad fell cheaply and when Bell’s impressive vigil ended with three overs to go it appeared that England would slide to an agonising defeat. But South Africa hadn’t reckoned with the man they called Bunny. Alongside, Midas man Graeme Swann, Graeme Onions defied the Proteas for the second time in three games, seeing off Morne Morkel’s last over with unbelievable composure.

Whilst most England fans jumped for joy, I thanked my lucky stars that my little trip to take a photo of the whole South African team crowded round Broad’s bat hadn’t led to defeat. There’s a basic rule in cricket circles that in moments of tension you don’t move from the position you are in, but ignoring this ‘baseless superstition’ I left the press box to get an action snap from a nearby balcony. In the five minutes I was outside, England lost two wickets and, as I desperately raced back to the chair from which I had viewed the mammoth Bell-Collingwood partnership, I couldn’t help but think I had cost the boys big. In the event, I’d just turned a bore draw into an all time classic. No need to thank me.

Mama Mia!…

As way of celebration I head off to Long Street, one of Cape Town’s busiest boulevards, for a final meal with comrade Jo (I’m heading home tomorrow whilst Jo, the lucky lad, is off on Safari and on to Jo’burg) and his hostel hombres. The venue for our ‘last supper’ is the Mama Africa, a lively restaurant and bar, serving big slabs of South African meat, super-strong cocktails and fantastic live music. When it comes to the menu, there was really only one option to go for: Mama’s mixed grill. Consisting of crocodile, ostrich, springbok, kudu and venison sausage, it really is the ultimate meat feast, only bettered by the brilliant band playing a mix of traditional South African songs and their own re-workings of a selection of pop classics. A few more drinks (a word of warning, if you order a double in South Africa, you’ll get the best part of half a bottle) and I’m ready to hit the hay. What a day.

I’m travelling to South Africa courtesy of the marvellous folk at Howzat Travel. To find out how to join Howzat on future England tours go to www.howzattravel.co.uk