Beer jugs, bikinis and bronzing

As South Africa found out to their cost in the first Test, Port Elizabeth was a haven of breezes and tranquillity that suited the visiting Englishmen down to the ground. It was hot, but hardly oppressive; cool, but not too cool for school, and safe enough for players and fans alike to stumble out of Toby Joe's, the city's most frequented nightclub, without too much concern for their welfare.

Durban is something else entirely. This is a city where the skyscrapers wobble in the heat-haze, and the streets throb to the beat of a thousand souped-up minibus taxis, as they speed their cramped passengers from district to district while leaving a trail of techno in their wake. On Smith Street, one of the major arterial thoroughfares, the refined imperial architecture of the City Hall mingles with the glass and steel towers of the central business district and, in this sort of company, even the palm trees seem to have street cred.

England, on the other hand, have shown no such awareness of their surroundings, and on the first morning of the Boxing Day Test they were well and truly mugged - to the delight of a sun-baked crowd of 15,000, of whom at least two-thirds were the home supporters who had been so notable by their absence at St George's Park. Rather like a horde of German tourists, the locals had used their beach towels to claim every inch of the hill at Castle Corner long before the start of play, which left the Barmy Army to swelter in the shade-free stands at long leg. Little wonder their chanting was so desultory.

From the moment the sun makes its first appearance at 4.30am, there is little respite from Durban's sticky, cloying heat that saps all energy and compels you to shed your clothes or flee for the shade, whichever is the more practical. And as England's fans wilted in the midday sun, so too did their batsmen, dripping one by one back to the pavilion to stick their layers of protective padding into the deep freeze. Perhaps they would have been better off wearing pith helmets in the manner of their forebears.

The battered and bruised Ashley Giles, whose mind seemed to wander off to the nearby Rorke's Drift during his brief stay, might disagree with that, but for those in the crowd, they would certainly have been more sensible headwear than Father Christmas hats. But then when has good sense ever come into choosing cricket-watching garb? At lunch, the stands emptied as the Kingsmead pitch took on the appearance of a Bombay maidan, with hundreds of impromptu cricket matches all overlapping each other, of which a sizeable proportion had a festive fur-and-tinsel-lined feel.

But with the locals in the ascendancy for once, Kingsmead was less concerned with fancy dress, and more interested in beer-jugs, bikinis and bronzed torsos. Not everyone found this au naturelle attitude to be sustainable, however, and several sought sanctuary from the baking heat by propping themselves up on the concrete slopes beneath the South Stand, and tucking into their cold-turkey sandwiches. It's not always this sweltering in Durban, however, as Allan Mullally would testify. On England's last visit, in 1999-2000, the ground was so wet that he had to undergo a fitness test precisely where the picnickers were now parked.

Shortly after lunch, Kingsmead shook as a pair of military jets zoomed over the ground. Contrary to popular belief, they had not been commandeered to take out the England fans, but were instead another stunt from the match sponsors, MTN, who had also cordoned off a special section of the ground, next to the pavilion at long-off.

Entry to this area was strictly limited to people dressed in the company's yellow colours, who were also noisy enough to drown out the Barmy Army's inanities. On this occasion, however, with a full and festive crowd in attendance, and a winning team to support, the South Africans were on top in all departments.