8.30am: Time to tackle the drive from Port Elizabeth, venue of England’s last World Cup game, to Kimberley, a staging post close to Bloemfontein, the venue for their next one.

According to the internet, it’s a 758km drive. It’s hard to draw a comparison with Britain – London to Aberdeen maybe? – but it sounds like quite a long way.

Still, the sun’s shining, the radio’s on and the suitcase is packed in the boot. Should I fill up with petrol now? Nah, there’s half a tank or so left. Let’s swing onto the N10 motorway and hit the road.

9.45am: Wow, this scenery’s beautiful. South Africa’s interior is rolling, rugged and unspoiled. Savannah grass stretches as far as the eye can see, mountains rise handsomely in the distance and, with the radio switched off to avoid yet more R Kelly, there is a peace and serenity that is hard to find on English roads.

I go for miles and miles without seeing another human or animal, let alone another car. Every now and then, a gazelle leaps into view close to the roadside fencing or an ostrich starts jogging along as if racing against me. What a perfect way to spend a morning.

11.00am: Hell, this scenery’s boring. It’s nothing but grass, trees and sky. Where are the houses or villages to break the view? Where are the rivers, valleys and greenery that might stop me slowly drifting asleep?

I saw a baboon by the side of the road five minutes ago and that was fairly exciting but, looking ahead, all I can see is more road. Actually, that’s not strictly true, I can also see the petrol gauge. I really need some petrol. Why on earth didn’t I fill up in Port Elizabeth? Still, no need to panic, there’s a sign there showing Cradock in 20km. I’ll pull in and fill up with petrol there.

11.20am: Right, here we are, this must be the start of Cradock. There’s a few township-style houses by the side of the road. Oh no, that wasn’t just the start of Cradock, that was the end of it too. Two rows of houses and what looked like a church. Nothing even remotely resembling a petrol station.

Okay, take a deep breath. I’m not going to be left stranded on the side of the road. And even if I am, everyone I’ve met in South Africa has been nice to me so far. Don’t worry. Or at least don’t start to worry until the petrol light comes on.

11.25am: Okay, now start to panic, the petrol light is on. Should I stop at the next layby and try to phone someone? Does the RAC’s roadside and recovery policy stretch to rural South Africa?

Hang on, what’s that up ahead. It can’t be? It is, though. It’s a petrol station. Oh thank you, God. I won’t ask for anything ever again – except maybe a missed German penalty on Sunday.

12.50pm: Progress has been slow – too many roadworks where you queue up for 15 minutes before a woman with a green flag finally allows you to pass down the wrong side of the road – but the milometer suggests I’m 300km in.

That’s just about halfway isn’t it, so at least I’ve broken the back of it. I don’t feel too tired, my back’s not too stiff, just keep on concentrating and ... what on earth was that on the road, and why is my car suddenly making that noise?

12.52pm: Don’t panic. It is not absolutely certain I’ve hit a baboon. Okay, it’s pretty certain given that looked like a baboon running into the road, and having previously collided with a deer in England, I know what it’s like to hit an animal.

The scream also sounded like it might have come from a baboon, but there’s nothing lying in the road so at least I haven’t killed it. Mind you, maybe that’s worse. Maybe there’s an injured baboon suffering a slow and painful death in the bush?

Should I go after it to find out? What would I do if I got there? Could I get arrested for failing to report the possible death of a baboon? As bad as it sounds, I’m not going to hang around to find out.

3.45pm: There it is, there’s Bloemfontein rising in the distance. This should be the end of the trip, but because I couldn’t find a single spare hotel room online the night before, I’m booked in to Kimberley and that’s still another 100km away. It was home to a Gold Rush – and now it’s safe to say I’m in a rush of my own to get there.

At least things are a bit more built up around here, with the occasional village that actually contains signs of life. On to the Bloemfontein ring road, then off to Kimberley. That turn there, right next to the guest house that says ‘England fans – we have plenty of rooms’. Brilliant.

5.50pm: Made it. Almost ten hours after leaving Port Elizabeth, I’ve arrived at my hotel in Kimberley. It’s close to the centre of town, not too far away from a sign that says ‘Kimberley – home of the world’s biggest hole’. Whether that’s a description of the town’s biggest tourist attraction or my lodgings for the next three days remains to be seen, but one thing is sure – I’m not turning back.