Robben Island

Yesterday we went to Robben Island. I thought it was nice of them to name an island after Chelsea legend and flying Dutch winger Arjen Robben, but apparently the island was around before he was. That out of the way, here's what happened when we went.

After driving into the Waterfront to have lunch (I had an ostrich burger - was absolutely massive. But was lovely. Probably up there in terms of my best ever burgers) we got the ferry over to Robben Island. For those of you who don't know, Robben Island was where the political prisoners of apartheid were incarcerated, notably including Nelson Mandela, who spent 19 years on the island.

Before being a prison and a symbol for the disgusting regime that was apartheid, the island served as a leper colony - basically a place for those with leprosy to go and die. So there isn't a great deal of happiness associated with the island.

After the 30 minute boat journey from the mainland, we got on a bus and were shown around the island. It's a pretty bleak and desolate place, and while there are some people who live there (for some reason) it feels pretty inhospitable. While it was a beautiful sunny day in Cape Town, on the island was a low, cold fog that enveloped everything. It was a metaphor - despite the progress made since, the things that happened on Robben Island (and all that it stands for) means that the place will never really see sunlight. (I'm sure it will literally, but I was being profound).

Our guide then took us through the prison gates and into the prison. After looking around the prison yard, we were taken into F Section - a communal prison area. We were shown a few rooms and a few other bits and pieces, and the guide revealed that he had spent 9 years in F Section back in the day. We were then taken into B Section, which was a solitary cell section. After being shown the small garden that B Section inmates were allowed to look out of their windows at, we walked past the former cell of Nelson Mandela. The obligatory pictures were taken, and it was humbling to see the small, cramped space he was forced to spend 18 years in (with no bed and just a bucket to go to the toilet in) and the forgiveness that he shows now.

Shortly after seeing Mandela's cell the tour ended, and the obvious theme is forgiveness. Our guide spent 9 tortorous years on Robben Island, but in order to allow others to heal and find forgiveness, he shows them around the place that he must have awful memories of. There was a great quote from one of the inmates about Robben Island - which pretty much sums up the situation, and why the former inmates such as our guide, and Nelson Mandela, are willing to allow people to visit it and see it in it's former state, rather than taking out anger and frustration by destroying it.

This pretty much sums up it - from Ahmed Kathrada (who spent 26 years on the island):

“While we will not forget the brutality of apartheid, we will not want Robben Island to be a monument of our hardship and suffering. We would want it to be a triumph of the human spirit against the forces of evil.

“A triumph of wisdom and largeness of spirit against small minds and pettiness; a triumph of courage and determination over human frailty and weakness; a triumph of the new South Africa over the old.”

Table Topper

Today we set off bright and early in our nice new rented car (for the week) as we set off to climb Table Mountain. As I've been getting up usually at around 10 / 11 (standard), the 7 o'clock start (after not getting much sleep as I was trying to watch Waterloo Road on a hooky internet feed that kept crashing) was a bit of a shock to the system, but off we went to the mountain.

Higher than anything in Britain, Table Mountain looks down on Cape Town, giving some fantastic views. While there is a cable car, I suggested we walked up (it would take a couple of hours) and get the cable car back down. This was agreed upon, so last night we looked up the relevant routes and dug out walking equipment. While for dad and myself this meant putting on relevant trainers, for Molly it wasn't so much. I would describe her shoes as 'slippers', whereas dad favoured 'espadrilles'. Either way, they didn't look as though they'd be able to traverse the steep climb that getting up the mountain required.

The climb started with a very steep rocky step thing that went straight up for a couple of kilometres. It was basically like climbing a massive rocky staircase for about 45 minutes. About 10-15 minutes in, and with Molly and mum already lagging well behind, they decided to turn back, realising if they couldn't handle the first part of the climb, they'd never be able to deal with the much greater challenges that lay ahead.

So after taking the wallet and the car keys, they set off back down the slope, and went to the beach. Dad and I trekked on.

After the initial steep climb, it all flattened out, and there was a long, straight walk around the side of the mountain to take us to a gorge. This was great, as it allowed us to get our breath back, and get into the walk. Slowly but surely, we started to see the car park and cable car station disappear further away, and the gorge come ever closer.

By now we were about 2/5s up the mountain, and at the bottom of the rather steep gorge. To get up it, we had to pretty much scale the sheer face of the mountain. The previously tricky 'staircase' at the beginning paled into comparison with the challenge of the gorge, with clambering up boulders the only way to get higher.

As gravity dictates that we couldn't really go straight up, we had to take a windy windy path on the rocks to get higher and higher. By now we'd been walking for about an hour, and it was getting tough. We had to keep stopping for increasingly regular breaks, first every 15 minutes, but by the end it was after every 15 steps. It was gruelling.

While I was able to stick in my headphones and listen to some music to sort-of distract me, dad didn't have that luxury, so we had to keep encouraging each other to keep us going. It was getting harder and harder, and dad was clearly feeling it. Slowly but surely the top got ever closer, and the fact that we were overtaking other climbers showed that we were going at a fair pace.

Much of doing what we did is a mental thing, and we kept having to break it down into small chunks. Towards the end, we were only really able to go for about 10 metres at a time, but every 10 metres we climbed was another goal checked off, and another 10 metres closer to the summit.

As I said, I'd had my iPhone in my ears, and on shuffle. While I'd sort of been zoning in and out of what was playing, after however long of climbing, I distinctly heard one song end and another start. It was (embarrasingly) Glee - with their cover of "Don't Stop Believin'". By now I was within touching distance of the top, and thought about having another break, but the sounds of New Directions powered me on to the top. With a second wind, and the cramps in my legs ignored, I burst towards the line, and made it.

I stood for a moment looking down at what I'd achieved, before I noticed dad. In my Glee filled moment of euphoria, I'd forgotten that I'd sort of left him gasping for air a bit further down, but seeing me on the top, he powered through his discomfort to join me on the top of the table. After posing for the obligatory photos on top of the mountain, we wandered over to the cafe for a fry-up, before catching the cable car down.

Or so we planned.

As we got into the cafe (it annoyed us that people were sitting there happily having got the cable car up, having struggled to climb it ourselves), dad realised that when mum and Molly had left our ascent party, they'd taken his wallet so they could hire some sun loungers. He checked in his pockets, and found he had 100 rands (about 10 pounds). For one adult to get down the cable car (which we needed to go home), it's 180 rands. So breakfast was out of the equation.

For a childs (under 18 ticket), it was 90. The plan was for me to go down, find mum and Molly, get the money and take it back up to him. For much of my time being 18 (as well as the 17 years before it), people haven't believed me when I say that I am 18. So convincing the lady who sells cable car tickets that I need a childs ticket shouldn't be a problem. She looked at me, and immediately said that I wasn't a child.

She is literally the first person ever to think that I am over 18 from looking at me, and with no money to get down, she was the worst person to start. Using all of my powers of persuasion and blagging skills, I somehow managed to convince her that I wasn't 18, and was actually 17. Somehow.

After asking me for ID to prove that I was under 18 (which I couldn't, as all the ID I have proves I'm over 18) I told her that "I don't have any ID as I haven't passed my driving test yet as I'm only 17". I'm very proud of that out and out lie which was thought very quickly on my feet. After she then asked me for my date of birth, I told her it was the 4th November 1993. She then said "so you must be 18 then, as this is 2011. 1993 was 18 years ago". I panicked - had I picked the wrong year? Then I realised, I was born in 1992 and I'm 18. My "18th birthday" will be in November. I pointed this out to her, and she gave me a childs ticket. As I took the cable car down, I smiled at the irony of the situation. I've sat in pubs aged 17 trying to convince people that I'm 18, but as soon as I'm 18 I'm trying to convince people I'm 17.

Anyway, after a bit of wrangling (I didn't need to get back into the cable car, a ticket was bought for dad on the ground and he came down pretty easily after), we set off home, and I slept for ages. I was knackered. We then had my first braai in South Africa, and now I'm writing this. For those of you who were wondering, thinking there was a difference between a barbecue and a braai - there isn't. Braai is just the Afrikaans word for barbecue. Which was a shame, as I thought there'd be something cool, new and exciting about having a braai. But it was literally just a barbecue. Nice though.

Until next time, Will

A Beautiful Day

Yesterday we went to see U2 at the Greenpoint Stadium in Cape Town. You may have heard of U2, they have a number of songs that have been out in the hit parade. You may have heard of the Greenpoint Stadium - it hosted six games during last summer's World Cup, including the quarter-final between Germany and Argentina, and the semi between Holland and Uruguay. So off we went, with 75,000 others to take our seats for a fantastic evening.

It's fair to say that this evening has recieved quite a bit of attention in Cape Town. Everyone who is everyone was going, radio stations were talking about it non-stop, roads were closed, knock-off Bono sunglasses were being sold. Everyone was looking up U2 to find out some fun trivia facts (but as everyone went onto Wikipedia, everyone had exactly the same facts). Everybody who is anybody in Cape Town was going - it put the whole city to a standstill.

We got the park-and-ride bus along with every other Hout Bay-er who was going (pretty much everyone from the Republic), and got the 5pm bus into town, ready to have a few drinks and soak up the atmosphere nearby for a few hours before. After Tom pulled a few strings, we managed to blag our way (having been joined by the rest of the Hout Bay massive) into a five star hotel, and get into the very exclusive rooftop pool bar. Very swanky. It had a fantastic view of the stadium and the sea to one side, and Table Mountain and the city to the other. Fantastic. Although, up so high, it was a little windy (and cold).

After a couple of warm drinks (the barmen were pretty unorganised and unprepared for the clearly busy night) we decided that we were hungry. Realising that every restaurant in the city will have been booked for weeks, we went for a much higher cuisine - McDonalds. Say what you like, but a Big Mac really does hit the spot.

After the 20 or so of us all split our separate ways to go and take our seats all around the stadium, we set off to find ours. The stadium, purpose built for the 2010 World Cup, is amazing. Unlike most stadiums (and buildings) worldwide, the outside of the stadium is made out of a woven fabric instead of concrete or metal - allowing a cooling breeze to come through the stadium and keep everyone nice and temperate. The stadium itself is massive, but just like Wembley, it's been angled so that there simply isn't a bad seat in the house. We were on the third tier, but in the second row, so we had a great unobstructed view of everything.

The tour is called "U2 360", so the stage is down on the 'pitch', but was a big circle (where the band played), as well as having a bridge out to another concentric circle, so they could wander around while they played. It meant that everyone, wherever they were in the stadium were involved in the show. We were seated almost directly behind the direction they were facing, but as they all went for a stroll during songs, we were still part of it.

The stage itself was incredible. It was basically a giant space ship (something they kept referring to during the show), with a big 360 screen that moved about and did cool things. It's difficult to explain, so look at some pictures if that confused you.

The show itself was brilliant. It certainly surpassed my only other gig I've been to (S Club 7 at Wembley Arena) and was everything we all had hoped it would be. A special, memorable night.

What time is it in the world? It's showtime! Will

Just Visiting...

Hello. Long time no blog. Sorry about that.

So what have I been doing over the past week that’s been so interesting that I haven’t been able to blog? Well, not that much. I’ve been playing a bit of football, watching some cricket and generally lounging about. Pretty much what I do back home, only now I’m doing it in South Africa.

What you may or may not know, however, is that I’m about to be joined on my excursion. Just like a reality TV game show when they add a plot twist, the proverbial Ant and Dec have thrown me a curveball. Arriving in Hout Bay this morning are… my mum, dad and sister.

After deciding that they could do with a holiday, and that they haven’t seen me for a while, they unbeknownst to me booked flights out here for a 10 day stay. And they arrive in about 10 minutes.

All in all, I have sorted cheated at this gap year lark. When normal gappie travellers slum it in backpackers living off not much, in Sydney I stayed (for free) at a pretty swanky house, and in Tasmania I stayed with Colette and Rachel (also rent free). Ditto here in South Africa. When I did wasn’t really a backpack, so I couldn’t actually call myself a backpacker. And now the backpackers golden rule is about to be broken – a visit from your mum and dad.

However, I’m pretty happy not being a typical backpacker. I’ve had just a good time without it; in many ways a better time. So my visit from the family pretty much sums up the fact that I’m not really a backpacker at all, just someone who’s been on an elongated holiday for the past two months.

So mum, dad and sis stay for 10 days, in which time they’ll do plenty of relaxing by the pool, on the beach, and general tourist stuff. So if I don’t blog again, that’s probably what I’m doing. Oh, and tomorrow we’re all going to see U2 play at The Cape Town World Cup stadium. I might have a blog about that.

In the name, of love… Will

Hot-Shot

The last few days I've been getting further into Hout Bay life. I went food shopping with Tom and Linda on Saturday, enjoyed a lunch with some of their friends on Sunday, and went to Georgia's Sports Day on Monday. And as well as all of that excitement, I've been continuing with work.

Today I went into Cape Town, as I needed a few bits and pieces. Last week I played football in some dodgy Primark plimsolls, so I needed a proper pair of trainers to play in. And due to the excessive wear and tear on said £2.50 footwear, I needed a new pair of plimmers. So after being dropped off at St George's Mall in downtown Cape Town, I located and purchased said items, and went for a bit of a walk.

For those of you who don't know, Cape Town is a town on the sea, with a big harbour at one end, and a big mountain at the other. St George's Mall is somewhere in between - and with my limited geographical knowledge of a town I barely know I'd say pretty much slap bang in the middle of the city. So a quick walk down to the Waterfront (the thing I wrote about a few blogs ago - loads of shops, restaurants and attractions - busiest place in Africa) shouldn't take too long, right? Wrong. It didn't help that I was taking the walk right in the hottest part of the day (and in Cape Town it gots hot, sticky and uncomfortable) and wasn't 100% where I was going. I was going based mainly on instinct and having seen a cartoon map of Cape Town a few days ago. So after wandering down a few dusty streets (with a lot of roadworks going on) amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, I realised that it was probably much further than I first thought. This was about 5 minutes in to my walk. The bus terminal wasn't far away, if I stop now I could curse my foolishness at walking an unnecessary few hundred yards and head off home. Or I could stubbornly chose to keep going. I kept going.

Eventually I got into the Waterfront complex (which itself is huge. Like a really long strip of land with loads of things happening). After an already long walk, and with still a fair distance before I got to the main bit where everything's going on, I decided to continue with my local knowledge, and take a pretty obscure shortcut. To start, walking under a bridge when the main road went over it looked a good idea. The main road went a really round the houses route to get there, whereas this small path was aimed straight at the "Wheel of Excellence", which was my target (it's like the London Eye but not as good). This proved to be a mistake. The reason the main road goes off on a really odd angle is because there is quite a large area of water (also known as the Pacific Ocean) which separates my path from the Wheel of Excellence. As the crow flies, it's much shorter, but sadly I am not a crow. So after my already long walk from St George's Mall to the Waterfront Complex, after reaching a dead end I then had to double back on myself and go a much longer route again.

Eventually I got there. My mood and tired legs weren't aided by the fact that a bridge that connects one side of the harbour (which I needed to walk through) was raised, a la London Bridge. So I had to wait for this bloke on his little dinghy to go through (which he did very slowly) and then for the bridge to go back to it's original position before I could eventually pass. So overall, the "short walk" that I envisaged turned out to be a 40-45 minute trek through the city. Oh well. After all of that I treated myself to a burger and a chocolate milkshake. And because the waitress liked me I got some onion rings thrown in for free. Result.

After making the return journey back into the middle of the city, I got the bus back to Hout Bay. When driving, the route along the ocean road normally takes about 20 minutes. In England (and pretty much any other country I've ever got a bus in) there are pre-designated bus stops where people stand and wait, and can get on or off when the bus stops there. The driver knows where to stop, and the people know where they have to get off. The system works well in my opinion. In Cape Town, people randomly flag the bus down as though it were a taxi. And even when the bus clearly displays "HOUT BAY" on the front, they then ask the driver if they route can be changed purely to accommodate them. "Can you take me to Green Point". No. He can't. Because this bus is going to Hout Bay. Not Green Point. That would be the obvious thing for the driver to say, but instead he makes a massive detour from the route just to drop off this one person who didn't even have the decency to wait at a designated bus stop. And then whenever people want to get off, they just stand up, wave at the driver, and regardless of his position in the road or traffic around him, he then immediately stops the vehicle, and allows the people to get off.

This public taxi service means that the bus has to keep stopping to let people on, and keep stopping to let people off. And because the bus is acting as a private taxi, it will stop outside someone's front door, before starting again and carring on another 10 yards before stopping again as their neighbour was on the bus. Lunacy.

Anyway, this potential 20 minute journey took well over an hour. But it did drop me right outside the front of the estate.

As I said last week, a group of dads and older sons play football down at the local school every Monday night. What with it being sports day yesterday, it was moved to today. Last week, as I hadn't done any sport for a long time, my normally superb fitness was shot, and because I hadn't played football in a while, I had the proverbial "touch of a rapist". Today, I was quite frankly brilliant. Playing for the first time in my brank spanking new Nike astros, I scored a top-class hat-trick.

My first came after a defender miscontrolled it. Playing in midfield, I'd arrived late in the box, hoping to feed on the scraps. And when the ball played in from the wing popped up, I sent an opportunistic left foot volley from 12 yards right into the top corner. Great stuff.

My second (my favourite) came from a corner. The ball was played in from the left, while I hung back on the edge. It was taken down by one of our players, and after a few loud calls was rolled back to me. When trying to think of a similiar goal, sadly the only one I can think of was St*v*n G*rr*rd against Olympiakos a few years back in the Champions League. (You may have to cast your minds back a long way to remember Liverpool playing in that competition). I swept it from the edge of the box through a crowd of players, and it fizzed into the bottom corner, leaving the keeper no chance.

My third wasn't that exciting. After playing a one-two and setting up our striker, I saw his shot saved, but like the true poacher that I am (fox in the box) I turned in the rebound from a few yards out.

The hat-trick was good for a number of reasons. One - it's actually a very competitive game. It's taken very seriously by everyone involved, and the standard is very high (probably up there with what I play on Sunday mornings). Nobody likes to lose, so every challenge is fiercely contested and every goal celebrated. Two - it was a match winning contribution. While my first had made it 1-0 to us, at half time we were 5-1 down; a position nobody likes to be in. After a rousing team talk from our captain, we reshaped and blitzed them in the second half, eventually winning 7-6. Three - I was playing in midfield; not a natural scoring position. And four - before today I hadn't actually scored in about two years. Even though I'd knocked a few in in training, in the numerous games since my last goal (Tonbridge away, January 2009) for numerous teams (Hamsey Rangers, Warlingham Colts, the Caterham School Firsts) I hadn't got any in games since that scrambled one yarder in the Tandridge League. So I was pretty chuffed just to get my name on the scoresheet, let along bagging the match ball. (I wasn't really allowed to keep it).

Anyway, the other boys were so impressed with my performance that I've been invited to play for the Republic of Hout Bay in their matches on Thursday evenings. If my legs aren't too tired after all of that walking (or if my feet have recovered from the numerous blisters that playing football in new trainers always causes)I'll bring you further updates on my African football career!

Sorry for that being a really long post, but I haven't been doing many recently and thought you might appreciate a real epic one. I'm making no apologies for massively bigging myself up though. Will

Hopping on and off

Yesterday, after a few days messing around in Hout Bay, I decided to go and see what was going on in Cape Town. There is a hop-on hop-off bus that does a big lap of the peninsula which has a bus stop only just down the road, so I wandered down there at about 12.30, with the intention of hopping-off in Cape Town, doing a big of wandering about and shopping (at my own leisure), before hopping-back-on a few hours later in the afternoon.

The bus came. I hopped on.

If you saw that episode of the Apprentice where they had big red double-decker tourist buses that toured around London (you know, the one where Baggs the Brand started a fight with Chris Bates. And where Stella did a sing-a-long on her bus. And where Liz got fired. Still haven't got over that awful decision. Disgrace), you'll have an idea of the bus that was used. However, instead of having Jamie standing at the front of the bus telling me how the Thames is the second biggest river in London, I was given some red earphones, which plugged into the side of the bus. This had a running commentary of our journey, with important landmarks to look out for, and general interesting information for me to know. And it was really rather good.

It was interesting to see for myself what Mr Lesser had taught us about South Africa in History (and too hear about all of the other stuff that he didn't / I slept through) about apartheid and such, and just the history of Cape Town in general. It's a really fascinating place, and after I'd hopped off (and later hopped back on again) at the Waterfront, I listened attentively to my tour guide for the rest of the journey (apart from the bit where we went round some botanical gardens, I had a nap during that bit).

After getting back, there was a 'games night' fundraiser at Georgia's old school, so we went along. Sadly I didn't win the raffle, but it was a good night and it seemed to raise a lot of money for the school. After all that excitement, I was just about awake enough to stay up and see England win the rugby in Cardiff. Great stuff.

Until next time, Will

Washed Hair and Work

There haven’t been many blogs over the last couple of days. Mainly because I haven’t really been doing much over the last couple of days.

Probably the biggest thing to write home about was me getting a haircut. I decided to wander down to the local hairdressers for a couple of reasons; 1) because my hair was getting too long (standard reason for getting a haircut) and 2) because when my hair is in the sun for ages, it goes quite ginger. And it was really getting to be quite a coppery hue. So I was booked in for an appointment at the local hair emporium.

What can I say about my haircut experience? Not much. Although after years of skinheaded blokes simply getting out the razor and clippers to my head, it was nice (and a bit of a surprise) to have my hair washed, conditioned and dried, before the lady bought out some scissors. Shock horror. And I even got a wash and dry after my hair was cut. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever been involved in someone else washing my hair since I’ve able to do it myself. But it was nice, and my hair looks OK.

In other news, I’ve got a job. Nothing too exciting, but it keeps me busy during the day and earning a bit of pocket money. I thought that one of the attractions of getting a job would be going out and meeting new and interesting people, but after my first morning at the office, I was told that I could actually do my job from home. Which means I don’t have to dress up (I don’t actually have to dress at all) and I can wake up whenever I like. Which suits me fine.

This hasn’t really been a massively exciting blog. Sorry about that. Maybe I’ll do some more interesting stuff soon. Until then, Will

(The sad thing is that the most exciting thing I've been doing recently has been dominating the Champions League on Football Manager. Go on FC Utrecht!) (No, I don't know why I'm them either).

Rumours, Speculation and Helicopters

I spent this morning getting acquainted with Hout Bay. I took a stroll from the estate where I’m staying (when I say estate, don’t think sink estate. It’s seriously nice) down the road to the town. After having a look in a few shops and getting some money out of the bank, I went for a walk on the beach. It’s really nice, with white, soft sand, so no doubt I will be frequenting it many times. On my way back, I stopped off in the local coffee house for a chocolate milkshake and bacon sandwich. One good thing about South Africa (especially compared to the weak pound to dollar ratio in Australia) is that things are sort of cheap – so it was only a couple of quid. Also handy is the exchange rate. I never really got my head around the rate between the sterling and the Aussie dollar (there were one and a bit dollars to the pound), so I was mainly going on gut instinct and guess work. This often meant I ended up getting it wrong and spending far too much on things (hence paying about £9 for half a pint of cider), but here it’s nearly 10 to 1 – so if something is 100 rands, it’s about 10 quid. (It’s actually a bit less - about 8ish, but dividing by 10 is much easier mentally).

After getting home, I turned my attention to Transfer Deadline Day. It’s a day in the footballing calendar that everyone looks forward to, and while the last few have been a real let down, today’s has been brilliant. Rumours, speculation and helicopters meant that BBC’s Live Text was being followed hawkishly. Normally at home I would be glued to Sky Sports News (makes a change…) so I looked to the South African equivalent – “Sports Blitz”. As I’m sure you’ll know, SSN on TDD (Sky Sports News on Transfer Deadline Day)devote all 24 hours to it; have reporters at every training ground, Jim White going into overdrive, Andy Burton pretending he’s talking to all of the agents, and Georgie Thompson. While SSN repeat stories every hour (with new ones every now and again when stories break), Sports Blitz evidently don’t. They have 15 minutes of news, which includes 10 minutes about the South African league, 5 minutes about the Women’s Hockey World Cup, and 4 minutes of adverts. That leaves 1 minute every news cycle for transfer gossip every quarter hour. And it’s the same transfer “news” (this hasn’t updated once throughout the day) – there’s a video of Robbie Keane scoring the scrappiest goal ever, and a video of Paul Konchesky running onto the pitch. Two very minor transfers in the grand scheme of things. Nothing about Torres, Carroll, Suarez, Aguero, Forlan or Adam. The 15 minute cycle then repeats after the adverts (word for word), so I’ve now seen the goals from Ajax Cape Town’s 2-0 win on Saturday about 40 times. And they’re not even that good. There’s an interview with the Platinum Stars coach, who says he was pleased with the boys performance, and then more adverts. For someone who’s used to the great moving and updating coverage of SSN, Sports Blitz has let me down. Luckily, I had my man in the field (dad) who was keeping me posted via a series of texts. And Chris Bevan on the BBC Live Text.

Continuing the football theme, I made my South African league debut this evening. The parents (and older kids) from the local school meet up every Monday and Thursday evenings, so I was brought in as a highly touted signing for tonight’s game. For what could be seen as a bit of a kickabout was really hard fought and competitive, and by the end I was absolutely knackered (although my fitness levels, which leave a lot to be desired at the best of times, haven’t been helped by two months of doing absolutely no running about). My performance? Well, despite the fitness issues (not helped by blazing heat, even at 6pm) and the not great footwear (£2.50 plimsolls from the Australian equivalent of Primark), I had a couple of nice touches in midfield, and set up a couple of goals. However, I did miss an a bit of a sitter - I laid off the ball to the left wing and burst into the middle. The ball was flighted in, and with a free header about 5 yards out and the goal gaping, I missed the ball with my head and ended up shouldering it wide. Our side lost 7-4, but I look forward to getting involved and playing more over the next few weeks. Although I will be looking to get more appropriate footwear for next time!

So that was my football heavy day – and to all of my Liverpool supporting friends, can I just say

He’s now a blue he was a red, Torres! Torres!
He hates the Kop he loves the Shed, Torres! Torres!
He used to go out on the rob, but now he’s got a proper job
Fern-an-do Torres, Chelsea’s number nine!

Na na na na na na na na na na, na na!
Na na na na na na na na na na, na na!
Na na na na, na na na na, na na na na na na na,
Fernando Torres, Chelsea’s number nine!