i'm baaack! Aye, t'is following a heroic escape from the halitosis-infested jaws of death that i currently address you- alive, super-charged (well, save for- the occasional sniffle and sound-barrier-shattering phlegm-powered wet cough {bet that's the last time you eat a chicken mayo & avocado sarmie while reading this blog, eh? *wink wink* heh heh}) and raring to get going on my World Cup adventures in South Africa. i fought this particular bout of flu tooth, nail and fistfuls of pills, and won.Or rather more like football (anyone who persists in calling it "soccer" {*vomit*} should be shot) won.

 That's right, i'm off to see the greatest show on earth- the very one i've waited the best part of two and some decades (read: my whole darned life) for. This year's edition also happens to be the most memorable in the competition's entire history: for the soul-gratifying reason that it will be the first ever hosted on African soil. You see, this is one of them moments in your life you want to make sure you experience live and direct, in order to update your mini- library repertoire of personal life stories that it is inevitable your snooty, we-don't-take-crap grandchildren will ask about in the not-too-distant future. If, in the future, you do NOT want to come across as just another foggy old toad that reeks of snuff and vanilla-scented denture glue to a bunch of snotty-nosed upstarts, then i advise, good folk, that TiVo-ing and PVR-ing the biggest and most significant never-to-be-repeated-again events of our lifetime is not the way to go.

The little buggers will tackle you from behind, pin you down and force you into various contorted positions of submission, before clinically picking and extracting a story (the ransom, and only condition securing your release) from your past and from the cob-webbed and dusty recesses of your octogenarian mind. Your grand-spawn won't want to hear about something they could just as easily experience by logging on to the first video site that comes up on the net. No, dear chap (and chappette), forget the flesh and bone, they'll want to get right at the marrow; the stuff of which only intimate and personal experience is made of; the substance.

They'll want to know first-hand about what it was like to be crammed in the stands, surrounded by a seething mass of humanity from all corners of the earth, of all creeds and races all screaming and shouting and exalting in pure unburdened euphoria at the wonderful spectacle that is the beautiful game; they'll want to know what it was like to blow on the "vuvuzela" and add to the collective spine-tingling drone of a hundred thousand angry bees quashed into a jam jar; they'll want to know why you couldn't hear for days after.

They'll want to know what it was like to sit next to a complete stranger and not share a single word between yourselves for an entire game, but hug and pound fists with each other, slap backs and cry tears and leave as firm friends,yet still not know each others' name, and in all probability, never see each other again; they'll want to know how, in all the jumping and shoving about, you lost a contact lens and watched the remainder of the game with one eye screwed shut and the other open and darting around like a pin ball; they'll want to know what it was like to scream in joy as the first goal went in and choke immediately afterwards as you received a timely reminder of the hot-dog baguette with Dijon mustard, pickles, deep fried onion and hot garlic mayo rammed halfway down your throat; they'll want to know how hard your stranger-friend slapped your back to dislodge the half-devoured guilty suspect...only to allow you enough breath so you could both continue screaming in wild, boyish joy in seeing your team take the lead.

They'll want to know. And from my contorted position on the floor- my octogenarian bones creaking in hapless submission- i'll smile, nod and give the cute but naughty little buggers what they're burning to hear. Simply because, ladies, gentlemen and members of the panel, i was there in 2010. i was there. And i did it for them.

A Hundred Thousand Bees In A Jam Jar