My View - Wednesday April 4th 2018 

Blind panic prevented me from tucking into my Virgin Atlantic waffle breakfast at half five the other Saturday morning. I was an hour from touchdown in Johannesburg, having been sent on a mission to make a documentary about a church. It was just me, a load of technical audio kit and a vague hope that I'd be met by a taxi driver called Eric at arrivals. 

First though, I had to navigate my way through something to declare, where there didn't appear to be any form of queuing system that I'm familiar with. And by that, I mean everyone who wasn't South African had to wait while everyone who was South African zipped in front. After a solid 90 minutes the only thing I really wanted to declare was 'that's unfair' but I settled for looking at the floor and sweating. 

Luckily, Eric was very patient and scooped my luggage into his boot as I buckled up in the front seat which was held together by gaffer tape. Forty minutes later and we were in the Fort Knox of a hotel, with three security guards and a razor wire perimeter. It was decent once you were inside, but I couldn't help feeling a little uneasy at the constant warnings not to leave the building on my own. 

I've only got myself to blame. This is just another classic example of my inability to say no to something scary. After a rooibos tea and a calming call home though, I mustered and met my local cameraman, Mr Pretorius. I'd booked him online, on a hunch, and to my huge relief he was brilliant. Unfortunately, I can't tell you too much about the job, but I can tell you it was an eye-opener and something that you'll want to watch when it eventually hits your screen. 

Part of the trip involved a tour of Soweto, where I saw Nelson Mandela's house, danced with a gumboot group and ate offal from a buffet. Although tourism helps the townships, there's no getting away from the massive gap in wealth between sightseers on aircon coaches and locals lugging carts of rubbish down the highway. It provided me with plenty of soul searching fodder as the offal made it's exit in the early hours. 

I was also invited inside a lion cub enclosure to get the full Safari Experience. What could possibly go wrong, I reasoned, as I passed my phone to the keeper for a selfie with Simba, who had fortunately enjoyed a late breakfast so was more focused on dozing than dining on guests.  

Then there was just enough time to sweep the Mall of Africa for a packet of 'Eet-Sum-Mor' biscuits (made with real butter and a touch of magic) before Eric deposited me in departures. I spent my last few rand on a large Rioja and for the first time in a week I relaxed. This time, when I was woken for waffles, I wolfed them down.