IT was to be that 'special' holiday, the one Ann and I had promised ourselves for a very long time. Our sons had put the idea into our heads a few years back — 'South Africa is the place to go', they cried in rare unison, 'No place like it'. As there are not that many places in the world they have not been, it was advice hard to ignore.

So a grey November day saw us flying south from Heathrow — 6,000 miles plus — to the 'Rainbow Nation', where the season was late spring. The tour operators had booked us on a South African Airways flight; no real problems there except that all announcements in the aircraft were given in both English and Afrikaans — the former being incomprehensible because of the accent, the latter likewise because of the language; so we were never very sure of what was happening.

Whatever, we arrived unscathed at our sun drenched destination, Cape Town.

'Hotter than normal for springtime,' said a fellow at the airport. But we are British, are we not? It will take more than unseasonable temperatures to deter us. Mind you, I felt quite faint shortly afterwards when almost the first local man I espied was ethnically clad in a Manchester United shirt — and there were more to come.

Cape Town, though, is a delightful entrance into an enchanting, diverse, vibrant country. It is a large city, but with the azure-tinted Atlantic to its front and the mass of Table Mountain to the rear, it is one giving an aura of space, tranquillity and prosperity, though the proliferation of shanty towns around it — indeed across this entire vast country — shows that wealth and opportunity are not evenly distributed, as do the copious entanglements of barbed and razor wire shrouding homes and signs on the walls warning of the presence of armed guard.

We climbed Table Mountain, of course — via cable car, naturally — gazed out at notorious Robben Island, and generally relaxed; not for long, though — this was a serious holiday, with no scope for frivolities. There were places to go — things to do. We were hastened to the winelands and forced to taste wines, visited an ostrich farm — then ate one (or part, at least), saw an island groaning under the weight of seals by the thousand, another, a haven for the jackass penguins — birds that carry facial expressions akin to those of we Argyle supporters after another disaster at Home Park — viewed exotic gardens, travelled through drought-ridden veldt, negotiated mountain passes (well, the coach driver did), drank more wine, saw some folk living like kings, others hardly living at all; indeed, viewed cultures and way of life, terrain and peoples which fascinated and intrigued.

Then it was north to Zimbabwe, where we joined surprisingly few visitors — due to the 'political situation' we were told — gazing outwards and downwards at one of the natural wonders of the world, the Victoria Falls. Awesome, and it will long adorn the memory, as will a later afternoon cruise on the Zambesi with a feast of birdlife all about, crocodiles cheek by jowl with hippos, wine flowing freely on the small deck and the sun setting in all its fiery glory beyond the jungle's jagged horizon.

Then on to Botswana, along dusty roads bordered by scrubland with people ekeing the most meagre of livings from the hostile terrain. And by the side of such a highway we witnessed a killing which neither of us will forget — the large male antelope fighting for supremacy, with the younger of the pair sparring the elder, and senior in the hierarchy, with his lethal horns. The old fellow fell dying — truly a graphic example of the sheer simplicity, but brutality, of 'the law of the jungle'.

Yet, whilst this was death, we saw some exotic life during the next couple of days in the Chobe National Park. Elephants, lions, giraffe, buffalo, baboons, warthogs, mongooses, birdlife too numerous to mention, a Noah's Ark of creatures arrayed in their natural splendour before our eyes.

So, 14 crowded days of glorious life on this enticing, complex continent — and memories aplenty to assault the ears of helpless relatives and friends for months to come.

However, no pleasure comes without pain —personal sacrifices were made; imagine a fortnight away in an alien land with no news coming through from Home Park. Granted, where ignorance is bliss! Also I was forced to miss a meeting of Tavistock Town Council; fortunately no-one noticed.

And the 'best line'? Surely the one spoken by a guide about to shepherd us through curious looking country. 'Remember,' said she, 'that snakes and reptiles are far more scared of us than we are of them'. Speak for yourself, lady.