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Knocking out the last of these snippets in Joburg airport, resisting the duty-free vuvuzelas and left-over Brangelina babies. 12 hours and we'll hit London with just 2 surfboards, flip-flop tans and this blog to prove we were ever here. That, and a lifetime of unwelcome pub anecdotes.

The car's not been sold, but it's OK - Simon's selling it and he's got strong heredity credentials. We had an ace last week in/around Pretoria, with one last spell in the bush for old time's sake. 

And with that the shorts - t-shirt - flip-flops uniform was gone, but the year of the southern hemisphere continues as Sydney looks like a Go in October. 

Thanks for listening. I'm out.