Captivating, colourful, crazy, chaotic. I’ve only been in Johannesburg for eight-or-so hours, and I’m already starting to appreciate why this World Cup is going to be unlike any other.

The thought really hit me when I had a vuvuzela thrust into my hand by a man in full Zulu costume riding a unicycle, but more about that later. First, let’s start at the beginning with the World Cup thoughts of Michael Portillo.

It’s a bloody long way from Darlington Train Station to Johannesburg’s OR Tambo Airport, and let’s be honest, it’s only going to get longer if you can’t get on your train because a former Tory MP is trying to film a news item about the state of the railways.

That isn’t the way a World Cup adventure is meant to start, but that’s where I found myself at 11am on Tuesday morning, staring at Portillo’s lurid blue shirt and wondering if that meant he was backing Italy or merely underlining his Conservative credentials.

Ever the investigative journalist, I thought I’d ask him for clarification. “Who’s going to win the World Cup then Michael?” “Haven’t got a clue.” Paxman would have got it out of him.

I eventually made it to Heathrow, and perhaps unsurprisingly, the airport was teeming with football fans heading for Johannesburg and Cape Town.

What was rather more of a surprise, however, was that there was hardly an England shirt in sight. Instead, the country’s biggest airport was being overrun by Mexico supporters changing flights en route from Mexico City to South Africa.

Sombreros were being flung from one end of the terminal building to another, songs were being sung in Spanish, and at least half-a-dozen fans were sporting masks that made them look like Newcastle United midfielder Jonas Gutierrez.

There were Mexicans to the left and right of me on my flight, but I’m glad to report they held off the Tequila. To a man, though, they were quick to predict a 2-0 win over South Africa in the opening World Cup fixture tomorrow.

Speaking of the flight, the undoubted highlight was the sight of two slightly sozzled teenagers spotting John Barnes sleeping in the business class section at around 3am in the morning.

Bold as brass, one of them bowled over to the former England international, prodded him awake, and asked him to recite the legendary rap section from New Order’s 1990 World Cup song, ‘World In Motion’.

I can’t recount his exact reply here, but I don’t remember it forming part of the original.

Touch down at Johannesburg was at around 9am in the morning yesterday, and you didn’t even have to make it to the arrivals hall to appreciate just how much the forthcoming tournament means to South Africa.

There were posters and flags everywhere – some South Africa Airways planes were even flying them from their cockpit – and the whole of one side of the airport had been devoted to a huge mural depicting Nelson Mandela holding the World Cup trophy above his head.

The staff and volunteers could not have been more helpful, and the enthusiasm and excitement was apparent throughout the whole of Johannesburg for the rest of the day.

Most notably, it was evident in Nelson Mandela Square, the central square in the city, which belatedly brings me back to the guy on the unicycle.

The South Africa squad, or ‘Bafana Bafana’ (The Boys) as they are enthusiastically known over here, travelled to their city-centre hotel yesterday afternoon ahead of tomorrow’s Soccer City opener with Mexico.

All of Johannesburg’s schools were invited to attend a rally held in their honour, and the result was utter and total pandemonium that effectively paralysed the city for the best part of three hours.

Local television has suggested that around 100,000 people were on the streets, but having been stranded in the madness as I attempted to sort out my accreditation for the forthcoming matches, I would not be surprised if it was nearer double that number.

The screaming was ear-splitting enough; throw in a few thousand vuvuzelas – the elongated horn that is making such a name for itself this month – and it was impossible to hear yourself think.

I hate to go against my new-found Mexican brethren, but if the supporters inside Soccer City tomorrow produce a racket anything like that, I’m struggling to see the hosts getting beat.