Why do you have to watch last Big Brother?
“IT’S the greatest show on earth and you’re going to cover it.”
The editor of this newspaper could hardly have made it any clearer. I’m off to the World Cup!
Meanwhile upon relaying the message to my missus, she appears confused as to why a sports journalist is going to be reporting on the last-ever Big Brother. Women, eh?
Anyway, with that little bit of confusion cleared up, such grand-sounding stadia as Royal Bafokeng Sports Palace, Kings Park and Soccer City will make a nice change from Chestnut Avenue, Leading Drove and the other delights of the local football scene.
Or so I thought – because just like one of those scratchcards that land on the doormat promising big prizes only for you to win a pen, this was too good to be true.
It appears money is tighter at Telegraph Towers than the Treasury, hence why the closest I’ll be getting to South Africa is being stuck on my sofa down Sugar Way.
My job, it now seems, is still to cover the World Cup, but from the comfort of my own home.
At least I don’t have to sit through an 11-and-a-half hour flight and tread carefully to avoid ending up eyeball-to-eyeball with a big beastie (although anyone who goes out in Peterborough will appreciate the latter is still a possibility!)
But with cushions plumped, cupboards stocked and fridge full (of soft drinks, of course), I’m ready for the action to begin today.
A galaxy of musical stars should ensure the tournament gets off to a rousing start, although those responsible for booking R Kelly and overlooking the talents of local footballing songsters, The Brays, have some explaining to do!
But that is just a minor error. What could really be better than a