South Africa, 1885. Coupla days before Rorkes Drift. 100 British soldiers (all dressed in that ridiculous red gear + bearskins) surrounded by 100,000 Zulus. Its been a long hot day and dusk is falling.

General Lord Upper-Class-Chinless-Wonder turns to his batman. Corporal, its too quiet. The natives are up to something and our relieving forces are still 2 days away.

Right on queue the sound of a chant, gradually rising, can be heard. Slowly but surely it reaches a deafening intensity. 100,000 Zulus all belting out their challenge – the prelude to battle.

Just as the soldiers think they can stand it no more the chanting ceases completely. Absolute silence. Almost audible in itself now the Zulus are hushed. The sound of war drums starts and gathers pace gradually until it is all around the defenders.

Once again the General turns to his loyal servant Smith, I dont like the sound of those drums.

At which point all goes quiet and a Zulu pops up from behind bush not 50 yards distant – Its not our regular drummer.