Lucky told me he was really looking forward to the World Cup. Quite liked the idea of a cabbie called Lucky, given that the radio announcement that accompanied our conversation on the way from the airport intoned that there had been 24 deaths on the roads in 48 hours. Welcome to South Africa, then.
From the Soccerex conference in Johannesburg, which was all men in suits and the sort of business talk that you makes you yawn, roll over and wonder what sport is really supposed to be about, to Cape Town and the looming reality of the World Cup. For the first time, the World Cup is tangible; you can smell it and feel it in the air, in the smiles of the people behind the hotel reception desks and the cheerful kids in street who are already wearing football shirts from the 32 nations who have qualified for the tournament next June.
Cape Town is really a rugby city but the kids in the black townships are obsessed with football. Indeed, some of them were getting a touch of stardom on Thursday morning when David Beckham took a break from his duties promoting the 2018 World Cup to visit a township.
The kids would have no trouble recognising Becks because they are steeped in English football and its stars; the Premier League plays day and night on television here – there is no escape, not even for half an hour of Coronation Street. (By the way, farewell then, Blanche, my all-time favourite character after actress Maggie Jones, who played Ken Barlow’s mother-in-law, sadly died. Her best line: “Kenneth Barlow, the sooner you start reveling in the misery of others, the happier you will be.” Priceless.)
Anyway, back to the point, which is that they are having trouble here reminding the locals to support the home team, such is the fervour for the big Premier League clubs, such as Chelsea and Manchester United. The allocation of so-called category 4 tickets for the England games – which cost 140 rands (about £11) – and available only to South Africans sold out in hours. Brazil is the only other nation producing such a following. Extraordinary. Even the bell boy at the hotel, equipped with a free Portugal hoodie, admitted he really wanted an England shirt.
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It’s no holiday
Actually, the nice bell boy asked how I liked Cape Town. So far, I have seen the inside of the hotel room, the airport, a street and a convention centre. Hey, nice ....
My security complex
In spite of the cheeriness, it is hard not to be in a permanent state of red alert. The fact that The Times, in their wisdom, had me spend two hours with an ex-SAS security expert before I flew out here was not the best way to set off in an optimistic frame of mind, not helped by the constant stories of crime in the newspapers here and the reminder of the threat as you pass estates of neat pink or ochre-painted houses, obscured from full view by high walls and electrified fences.
Bumped into Trevor Steven, the former England and Everton midfielder, who was at Soccerex in his capacity as a representative of Cloud 9, an executive jet company. He was staying about half-a-mile from the main convention centre in Sandton City, reckoned to be one of the safest areas in Jo’burg. That didn’t stop the hotel staff warning him not to walk to the convention centre but to take a taxi because it wasn’t safe. Dear, oh Lord.
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Too many passes
Bravely on foot here, though, to try to get accreditation so that I could set foot in the giant convention centre hosting Friday night’s draw. This is an operation akin to invading a small country, with officials everywhere, police at every corner and paperwork galore and about 1,700 journalists ... so the bars should do well tonight.
I have to take out about six different forms of accreditation to get into each event and spent much of Thursday morning queuing wearily as journalists and TV crews from here, there and everywhere turned up clutching passports and papers. Stood behind one guy from a newspaper in Honduras, who apparently turned up on a wing and a prayer thinking he could walk straight in. No chance. Think he is on a flight home now, the daft turnip.
The signature debate
Bit of a fan’s dream here, too. Which leads to a severe dilemma for a highly-trained professional like your correspondent. To get the autograph or not to get the autograph, that is the question? Put it this way, I was a fledging fan in 1966 when Franz Beckenbauer and Eusebio were the the biggest football stars on the planet. They are both here, and I think Carlos Alberto, captain of the magical Brazil team of 1970, will be, too. I might not be able to resist. Come one, even Sepp Blatter, football’s supreme leader as Fifa president, got David Beckham’s, so why not?