Day one in South Africa. Not bad. Not bad at all.

SO here we are in South Africa. Centurion to be precise. A week before England's opening Test against South Africa at the local stadium.

And are we isolated? Stuck out near the tip of the dark continent while life goes on around us? Of course not!

We're right at the hub of things here! Got Manchester United at Wolfsburg in front of us, Michael Owen has just completed his hat-trick. Chelsea are on another SuperSport channel, winning 2-1 against Nicosia Apoel in Cyprus. Two CSKA Moscow have just been found guilty of doping, which could see Wolfsberg go through anyway.

The information super highway is buzzing with Tiger Woods stories. I'm tired of kicking the poor bloke. Today his mother-in-law, a Swedish politician, has been rushed to hospital with late night "stomach pains". And we read that the Florida police want to supoena the hospital for his blood test results after last Friday's crash. A source has said he was drinking and on pain-killers. Rubbish of course, and I would never give those scurrilous allegations space on this blog. Meanwhile the tabloids take his "birdie" tally to seven at the last count.

Poor bloke. He should come and live here, in Africa. It's warm, it's growing fast, and the Gautrain link is proudly forging a path from here to the Oliver Tambo airport and then on to Johannesburg, in time for the World Cup kick-off on June 11 next year.

There is no finer place to be, though obviously missing a possibly white Christmas at home for the Test series is a major sacrifice.

It's a special country, South Africa. When you consider the warped nature of Apartheid here in the 1980s, today has been a joy. Straight from the airport to the Wanderers, where the immaculate ladies of Cricket South Africa handed over my accreditation for the four Tests. Then on to Vodacom City in Midrand, halfway between Johannesburg and Pretoria, where dozens of helpful staff helped me get my USB internet access sorted out dirt cheap.

Then a quick, sultry swim, a sleep... and off to the local pizzeria in Centurion, where the service is magnificent and the Italian father-and-son combination who run the place are offering a World Cup of magnificent pasta and spaghetti next winter. Get out here and let Enzo show you a World Cup to remember. He claims the Italians will be based just down the road in the local sports academy in Centurion, halfway between Johannesburg and Pretoria. Great chat with him and his boy.

Bliss. Especially when you combine it with the wine. The lable said simply: ZULU. Not seen that before. Got a kick like an African warrior too.

Oops! Owen has just finished brilliantly to make it 3-1. Finishing like that deserves a World Cup space. But then Man U and Chelsea had qualified weeks ago. Out in Adelaide, the unfancied West Indies, with Chris Gayle in frightening form, have held the arrogant Australian cricketers to a draw.

And tomorrow night, Arsenal and hapless Liverpool on the box. Things could be worse.

And what about my real job? Covering the cricket for the Evening Standard and talkSPORT? Not good news in East London, a mere 1,000 miles away from my comfortable position in front of the telly.

James Anderson is ruled out of the opening two-day match against an Invitational XI at Buffalo Park tomorrow. His knee is so bad they only let him bat in the nets. Come on Jimmy, get well soon. And then life really will be idyllic when that first Test begins ten minutes down the road on 16 December.

Tiger Woods: He's let his wife down, his family down (and his pants down)

THE Sun's front page splash today sums it up rather neatly. "I've let my wife down, I've let my family down (and he's let his trousers down)".

The Daily Mail, joining in the gleeful coverage of an icon's downfall, picture all three alleged holes in one: New York events planner Rachel Uchitel, 34 (who denies everything), Las Vegas cocktail waitress Jaimee Grubbs, 24 (who has a voicemail to back her story) and marketing manager Kalika Moquin, 27 (who says it's "not appropriate to comment").

So do we exult in the denouement of the world's top golfer now he's been exposed, less than a week after the mysterious 2.25am car crash outside his Florida home? Do we say "told you so" when he released a statement yesterday saying: "I regret those transgressions with all my heart. I have not been true to my values and the behaviour my family deserves"?

No, we should be saddened by it. Distressed when a role model falls so heavily from grace. Sympathetic about the fact that, when you are forced by your talent to live in the public eye, the pain is all the greater. And all the man wants to do is hit a golf ball a very, very long way towards a flag.

Sometimes the media gets blamed for the downfall of icons like Woods, the first sportsman to earn $1billion. On this occasion, it's hard to argue that. Nobody could have kept a lid on what was going on for long. And clearly, when wife Elin got wind of her husband's alleged indiscretions, she reacted and, despite Woods slamming the "malicious rumours", we are finally getting close to what really happened that morning. A Japanese television station have issued a virtual version of what they think happened, featuring Elin running along, smashing his windows. That may not be factual, but it's what people conjured up when they haven't got the truth.

Of course it was impossible for Tiger to come out immediately and admit to what was going on. Instead, he disappeared for 12 hours into the bowels of a local hospital, refused to see the police four times when he got home and was finally given a paltry slap on the wrist for his sins.

The real cost to Tiger? About £5,000 in damage to his Cadillac Escapade, £99 for "careless driving" and £2,000 to fix the fire hydrant he crashed into.

Then there's the facial injuries we still haven't seen... and this week's Tiger-sponsored US tour event will have to do without their star name amid promises to refund disappointed spectators.

And then we begin to move into the real high-cost areas. If Elin, mother of his two children, sues for divorce - and she appears to have every cause - it may just be the world's biggest ever settlement.

Then there are the sponsors. Gillette's discomfort has already been heavily publicised. Tiger, Thierry Henry and Roger Federer are all pictured together (above) in their latest campaign, now all three appear to be on the slide. Henry for his handball for France against Ireland, Federer for not making the final at the London Arena last week and Tiger for what he calls "personal sins".

Woods earns £6m a year from the razor makers, £12m from Nike, £12m from sports drink Gatorade, £5m from EA Sports video games, £3m from telephone providers AT&T, £3m from watch-makers Tag Heuer and £2m from General Mills. But the image they buy has been tarnished forever.

He will pay the price. And the stories will continue for weeks yet, with his reappearance set to reignite the whole situation. We have to ask: will he ever be the same again? Does he deserve all this? Will he be scarred for life, physically or psychologically?

That is our job, asking questions like that. But in truth the best sign off to this sorry tale belongs to Woods and what he said in his statement yesterday. Let's leave it there:

"Whatever regrets I have about letting my family down have been shared with and felt by us alone. For the last week my family and I have been hounded to expose intimate details of our personal lives.

"For me, the virtue of privacy is one that must be protected in matters that are intimate and within one's own family.

"I will strive to be a better person and the husband and father that my family deserves."