Everything is a little England about Port Elizabeth. The sea front is lined by art deco mansion blocks called things like St Leonards, Margate and Brighton Towers.

You can eat fish and chips washed down with a cup of tea in the many beachside cafes. The pubs were full of slightly sagging middle-aged Englishmen in white football shorts and trainers reading the tabloids while gingerly nursing a pint of proper, cask-conditioned ale.

There is a pier, which people wander along for no more good reason than it is there. On Thursday, Fat Boy Slim could be found negotiating its length. It reminded him, presumably, of his home town of Brighton. Though, unlike at least one of Brighton’s piers, this particular protrusion has yet to be ravaged by fire and property speculation.

No wonder England played so much better in Port Elizabeth than they had previously in this tournament: it was like playing at home. Even the pitch in the Nelson Mandela Bay stadium resembled Wembley’s mix of sand and detachable clumps of turf.

Walking around here, you begin to understand why the French sulked off home early from the tournament. There is nowhere in South Africa that looks like Cannes or St Tropez.

And the Italians, too, wouldn’t find a mini Sestri Levante anywhere in the country. This was little England all right: on the beach they were even keeping their tops on. Not necessarily because they were prudish, but because the wind was whipping the sand up into a vicious little squall.

It will be different background altogether on Sunday, when England

World Cup 2010: Biltong next on the menu as England fans enjoy all the fun of …