In my last blog I told you about our driver who has a penchant for getting lost, well now he has gone one better! On the way to Centurion for the second one-day international he took frustration and pain to a whole new level.
Our man has a very diverse music collection. Sometimes we have traditional South African music, sometimes it's Jay Z (New York is often put on repeat until it goes beyond a joke), and his choice of music took a strange, mysterious and rather disturbing path on Sunday morning.
I'll give you a clue - our journey to Centurion was like being in a lift that was moving horizontally rather than vertically. Need another? Here's a word for you - sax. Got it? No? Here's another - jazz. Warmer? You should be, because all you need to know is that the lift music jazz sax maestro that is Kenny G was the man polluting our ears for an excruciating half-hour journey. What, I ask you, is all that about?
Imagine what it's like listening to 'The Look of Love' covered by Kenny G or 'It Had To Be You' with lashings of jazz sax spread all over it. Simply terrible.
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There was a further reason why it was such a negative experience in my life. It wasn't Kenny G doing his own hits - oh no - it was a compilation of Kenny G covers! Imagine what it's like listening to 'The Look of Love' covered by Kenny G or 'It Had To Be You' with lashings of jazz sax spread all over it. Simply terrible.
Final word on this. I asked our driver: 'why did you do this to us?' He answered: 'I thought you would like it.' Sweet, but completely wrong and actually a little bit insulting.
With all this talk of music, we should have had 'Weather With You' by Crowded House playing in the car, because we've certainly had English weather over here for the last week.
On the morning of the first ODI at the Wanderers we were asked to do a live cross to London in the morning to update people on the conditions. As you can see from the picture it was wet, cold and grimmy grimmerson.
The bad weather meant it wasn't only cricketers and fans that were disappointed in Johannesburg. Race-goers plans were scuppered too, and the cancellation of a big meeting over here meant that Frankie Dettori was left to his own devices in our hotel for longer than he would have liked.
Our paths first crossed in the gym at the hotel. When i saw the little fellow walk in there was a double take, and then it was clear that the 5ft 5in gentlemen wearing a full Juventus tracksuit and baseball cap was indeed the man himself.
On my twitter, I joked that Frankie was on one treadmill and that the horse he was due to ride was on the one next to him.
Other highlights since my last blog include turning 30 in Johannesburg and going to a bar where you have to sign a form on entry to say that you will dance on the tables; Mickey Arthur's mind games; and a meal at a traditional South African restaurant. Someone recommended it to me on a tweet and it turned out to be a sweet experience. Springbok is the new meat of choice!
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