Got any jump leads?

Having vowed to blog daily during the WC I have failed to keep that up on my first full day in the country. Poor blogging, granted. Still, there is a great deal of remarkable events to report on. So let's start with Friday last, World Cup opening day.

England Fans congregated at a modern Soweto shopping mall, just like one finds in Dubai. "Meet at the elephant" was the instruction which I navigated to thanks to Google maps print offs and a little help from the petrol station a few miles away, as 30-odd of us headed off for a tour of Soweto with local school children. We toured the excellent inter-active museum to Hector Pietersen, the school boy who was shot dead in the 1976 school riots in Soweto where black children were protesting laws that forced them to study in Afrikaans, not their mother tongue. Eloquent 13-year-olds told us why the 1970s struggle had led to their freedom today. One couldn't help but overcome one's initial cynicism such was the power of their words and emotion. In fact, shedding cynicism about the SA WC and all myths about this country are fast becoming a reality, not only for myself but all other England Fans.

From there we proceeded to play a match against a local school side. The pitch had suspiciously been watered, or so it seemed, as it was a mud bath as bumpy as Wembley. The dead rat.....was this a sign of local voodoo and witch craftery which is till alive and kicking across much of African football. Remarkably the team comprised of 40 inch waists and an average age of the same held the young whipper snappers to a highly respectable 1-1 draw. Only our disciplined offside trap, a la Arsenal, led by yours truly, and outrageous fortune with our goal -- their goalie picked up a back pass, prevented us from a conceding a hatful.

A Soweto shabeen (restaurant) in the street where Mandela and Tutu once lived ("the only street in the world to have two Nobel laureates"). A number of locals blazed away on the vuvuzela. I tried and sounded like a wet elephant roar. It's hard to make that loud sound! Alas, 25 minutes into the game we experienced a frequently Soweto event -- the power cut. So we continued to follow the match by SMS. Local fans celebrated exuberantly when SA took the lead -- and what a goal it was when I saw it much later -- and took it on the chin when the Mexicans equalised. Locals realised they ought to have won the game but the boys had done them proud, which was the refrain of the national papers, "make us proud".

I was then dropped off at the shopping mall in the dark around 7pm. Alone, I tried to start the rental car but the battery was dead. Given my low budget I chose the cheapest one which doesn't remind you to turn off the lights when you leave it. Ooops. Alone at night in Soweto, the only white bloke, wondering how I'd got myself into this mess after such a perfect day. Misfortune led to one of my trip highlights to date though. I asked passing shoppers if they had jump leads; none did. I found the police who proceeded to stop every passing car in the car park for around 30 minutes until they found someone with jump leads. From adversity, through the kindness of strangers, came a powerful testimony. I shan't be turning my lights on in the day, Swedish style, any longer. What is the local law? No idea.

Hertz told me to bring the car back to the airport, as the radio and internal light weren't working either. A got a minor upgrade for my efforts, and think I left my battery recharger with new batteries in the old vehicle.

Saturday. England's first game. One of the great things about being in SA is being able to read the local vibrant newspapers. Every one was so happy with yesterday's opening point but realised it could have been much better. Bafana Bafana ("the boys, the boys" which locals call their SA side) is now the usual greeting,rather then hello or the like. The papers reported of those arriving for the opening game two hours before kick off and missing it due to traffic jams. With this in mind I set off from my base 50km from Rustenburg a mere 9 1/2 hours before kick off, and two and a half before England Fans' game against the administration of Bafokeng, the area of Rustenurg where the stadium is located. What is interesting is the Bafokeng tribe is led by a King though they follow all SA laws. He is a powerful man and lobbied hard to have a WC stadium in his tribal area. Having pulled a groin and damaged my ligamentless ankle, I sat out this one. If there was a connection between this and our 2-1 defeat, I know not, but the pitch was ratless. Channel 4, the Guardian and SA newspapers are covering our games. A journalist was interested in my Soweto car park story and she has a two-page story on us coming out Monday. Two pages! In a quality paper too. Worried about traffic issues in the tiny hamlet -- I kid you not -- of Bafokeng, with one road in and out, we hit the park and ride facility more than 5 hours prior to kick off. Naturally a couple of hundred England fans (fans, not Fans) were there before us and the shuttles were ferrying people to and from the stadium. The P&R was about 6km from the stadium, which seats 40,000, and 15km north of Rustenburg. On the drive in during the morning I took a tour of Rustenburg. nothing more than a small wind swept run down little dive best kept away from.

Can any WC stadium in the modern era be situated in a area so poor as Bafokeng? Within 100 metres of the spanking new stadium were red dirt roads. Industrious locals got around FIFA's penurious ban of all non-FIFA compliant merchandising within 2.5km of the stadium by turning their front yards into pub gardens. Queues streaked down the streets with English and USA fans decked out in full colours, flags and the ubiquitous vuvuzelas. One highly innovative chap was even selling ear plugs, adult and child sizes, to prevent ear drum damage from the sounds the SA-style trumpets emit. Not that we were able to watch the other WC games on TV since they are only shown on cable TV which the destitute locals dare I say it don't have.

A tradition of England fans is to bedeck stadia with the flag of St George. 20 minutes after the gates opened, 3 hours before kick off, 1/2 the stadium 'belonged' to us. A lot of locals were decked out in England colours too. The easiest way to differentiate local England fans from the English was that for us we were dressed for summer even though temperatures plummeted to about +5C by the end of the game, whereas the locals were dressed in heavy winter coats. It being winter in the southern hemisphere, which still seems to be warmer and drier than an English summer.

The match. We started well, with energy and fire and skillfully took the lead of three minutes. I was at the other end from the goal, so I think it was Gerrard who scored. A goalie howler by us let them equalise, though I didn't see it go in as the advertising boards blocked our view, in spite of having the second highest category ticket at $120. The running track meant we were along way from the action.

The best part inside the stadium was the mash and gravy which to my horror came out of a machine, though quickly hardened and with much salt and pepper tasted not unlike airline food. I counted one tiny piece of chicken in my otherwise tasty chicken and mushroom pie.

The return journey to the P&R was a fiasco and shambolically organised, much to the embarrassment of local SA fans. Too few buses and not waiting where we were told they would be meant much waiting. Those of us who had figured out where the buses were coming from stomped out that way about 2km and a crowd of 50-odd commandeered the next empty bus which probably held 50 over it 50 capacity. Banter was good on the bus, lifting a gloomy spirit among England fans after quite a poor performance. The American players and fans celebrated as if they'd would the WC, such is the extent of their ambitions, I suppose. Unhappy, I got to bed just after one am.

Sunday. Dies Domini. I write from the nation's capital, Pretoria, at a charming 4-room B&B. My room alone could easily sleep my own family. I was fortunate with my 3-night stay in a 6-bed dorm outside Rustenburg which, as the lone occupant, I had to myself. I had to leave before thanking the owner for this since today was the England Fans highest profile match ever. Zonderwater Prison were out hosts. As part of their rehabilitation programme, the British High Commission had arranged this fixture. Many of our side sat with the orange-coloured jumpsuits on the inmates and looked not out of place! Only kidding. Our opponents were inside for murder, assault, rape and robbery, I learnt after the game, which ended 2-2. This was too big a game to sit out, so I took the equivalent of a pro's corsalin (sp?) injection, and made it through the niggles of my aging body. A lot of speeches before prison slops for lunch and a medal, certificate and commemorative plate. The media big boys came to cover it, so look out for my altercation with the linesman on CNN, BBC, Reuters and even FIFA I'm told.

In the original FIFA match calendar, today's Serbia v Ghana match, for which I had a ticket, was to kick off at 8.30pm and thus I had planned accordingly. Yesterday I noticed the ticket had a different time of 4pm. Who was right? I suspected FIFA's ticket wouldn't be wrong and other sources confirmed the 'new' time. So I had to dash from the prison to Pretoria's lovely 40,000 capacity rugby stadium Loftus Field, where there is no running track and you are really close to the pitch. Deciding to avoid P&Rs as much as possible, I managed to park a mere 10 minute walk from the ground. Locals who pulled up next to me advised me to tip the guy 5 or 10 Rand when I return, "if the windows aren't broken". I took their sound advice. At least today there was little hanging around as I got to the stadium 1 hour 15 minutes before kick off. Not so many flags on display today. Also, unlike the England v USA game where there were very few locals, Bafana Bafana fans were present in numbers today, backing Ghana. The ever officious FIFA officials removed my St George's flag from a fence 10 metres behind the advertising boards, since, they told me, it would interfere with the TV viewers ability to read the advertising. How FIFA loves to keep its paymasters sweet. And the fans? Who cares about them? We are the mere props to the Zurich boys' money making juggernaut and SA the venue. This was proved too when bags were checked coming into the ground. Thankfully this is Africa so it wasn't too heavy, friendly and rather relaxed. The only question I was asked? Have a guess. Any weapons? No, no, no. Got any food or drinks? Yeah, that was the only thing they wanted to know. You see, Budweiser, Coca Cola and the food people have paid big bucks to have exclusive access to the stadium's catering. Curious.

I noticed Scotland fans today too. They haven't qualified. And a Croatia fan (they haven't qualified) wearing a Slovakia hat. Had he confused Slovakia with Slovenia? I ought to have asked but given I was bedecked in my Serbia shirt I considered this unwise. Serbia had the better chances and should have won. The penalty Ghana were awarded 5 minutes before the end seemed unfair from my half way line view point. I felt the Serb defenders had been tripped. I think the ref said handball. Still, that's football sand Serbia have null points. Right, off to see Germany v Australia in my cosy Pretoria B&B where I have a room all to myself.

Hope to be a better and daily blog henceforth.