In Retrospect: Bed & Breakfast Men

June 2010; having been raised in a household that viewed all sport - no matter how inane or tedious - with the kind of zealous enthusiasm that would put your average cult-member to shame, it's perhaps inevitable that the World Cup became so mind-shatteringly important to me at an early age. And now, after months of rumour, scandal, speculation, and good old-fashioned tabloid character assassinations, South Africa 2010 gets underway this fine afternoon. Around the world, people are celebrating the opening of this historic tournament in their own unique, individual ways.

I'm sitting in the pub in my pyjamas.

This is not a normal state of affairs for me (though I have dreamt about it an alarming number of times). It just so happens that a mate's birthday coincides with the opening day of the World Cup, and this obviously necessitates the wonderful combination of nocturnal attire and all-day drinking. Our chosen venue is the sunlit Grad Bar, which, due to its large number of international patrons, makes for a perfect World Cup viewing base. So, with the echo of vuvuzelas ringing around the place, we watch Siphiwe Tshabalala duly take his place in the World Cup opening scorers' roll of honour.

After the final whistle's blown, the pyjama gang and I make the most of the sunshine for the next two hours, grabbing some cash here before getting a quick fix of food and Bob Dylan. The day's young and so are we, and as both will inevitably age, it's worth making the most of the moment.