As I walk into arrivals I am hit by the humidity... and I am hit by the specific smell of Durban .And there are Martin and Jacques. And I am delighted to see Martin and Jacques here to meet me. I mean, I'm REALLY pleased about this arrival. Until about 48 hours ago I thought they were going to meet me off my flight in Joburg - that's what you get for being so busy and strung out that you do some wishful reading, rather than actually taking in what has actually been written by your actual correspondent. I thought they were being a bit optimistic to think they'd drive from Durban to Joburg to pick me up at 10am. I thought, in fact, they were rather deranged. Which is not to say I wasn't happy about it. I was very happy about it - they were going to drive me to Durban. Excellent. And then, the day before the day before yesterday, when I realised my mistake, I was panicky about getting to Durban. Because of that panic I had the great post-panic euphoria once I'd booked my connecting flight. Just one of the exciting, nauseating rollercoaster rides I have enjoyed during the preparation for this tour and, let me tell you, this one I'd managed to cause myself, all on my own, with no one else to blame.
And there they are, Martin and Jacques, looking all shiny and tanned and relaxed (they've been on holiday for two weeks) and pleased to see me. They look so pleased to see me! I like to think it's because they love me, but it's probably because they are relieved to see that I am actually on the flight.
Fabulously they have a hire car, which looks like it's been driven straight through a filthy sandpit and has, they tell me, developed that weird knocking noise while it's been in their care. They know their way to the hotel. There is a big stand of various cakes where I check in. The chaps are on the 4th floor; I am on the 15th floor. Winner! I love heights. This hotel, on the front at Durban, is a real hotel with people who help you to your room with your bags. Musho!, the festival who invited us back in October and who started all of this, are putting us up here. My bed is one of those wide expanses of calm and flat. But the biggest thing I notice, apart from the incredible humidity, is the enormous sound of the sea. It's like someone's turned up the volume and gone out. I go onto my balcony: there's the North Beach and there's the ever-surging Indian Ocean a very long way down, far too far down to really be causing all this sound.
I cannot believe it. I cannot believe that Musho! have invited us, that we are in this lovely hotel, that I'm on the 15th floor, that my bed is the size of a a landing pad, that Jacques and Martin are really here, that I've actually arrived, that Durban looks and sounds like it did when I was here 16 years ago.
It's all a bit much - I've been on a diet of cake and coffee and no sleep since Heathrow and Martin finally persuades me to have lie down, but only after he's promised to go out for some fruit. Amongst other things he buys a lot of apples. Jacques says it's far too many for our three days here, but Martin says it's not about eating all the apples, it's that I can relax if I have fruit around me. When Martin tells me this I complain that this makes me sound unwell, or at least very eccentric.... but he has that look in his eye, challenging me to contradict him. I can't. He is right: I am far more relaxed if surrounded by fruit.
I go to bed again, determined to sleep: we have to tech and do the show tomorrow. I am woken a few times in the night by the sea and each time I find myself some fruit and go onto my balcony. Comfortingly everything is still out there: this is not a computer game or a movie, it's me on the 15th floor of a fabulous hotel.
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