Tag: Cricket

Healthy eating at Easter

Went to give blood on Good Friday, a little apprehensively since I’ve had a cold recently, and am still coughing from time to time. The nurses at the Blood Donor Centre in Edinburgh take a fairly relaxed approach to your suitability to donate blood. About as relaxed as an SAS admissions officer. If you’ve so much as recently walked past someone who sneezed, they’re liable to shake their head sadly and ask you to come back next time. Woebetide you if the person who sneezed as you walked past might have once had sex with someone in Africa. Then you’re for the high jump. You can see why I was apprehensive. Not only have I coughed recently, but I know a man with a Kenyan wife. So when I mentioned that my plane home from Australia in January had stopped off at BANGKOK… the eyebrows were raised sharply and she disappeared to ascertain my fate. I glanced nervously upwards, half expecting a hermetically-sealed container to drop from the ceiling and insulate me from society until I was safe.

I protested that I hadn’t left the airport in Bangkok, and had purchased nothing more than a book while I was there, but all to no avail. Apparently the plane even touching Thai tarmac knocks blood donation on the head for 12 months. Malaria hotspot, it would seem. So that’s that. Still, I came away with some mini-eggs courtesy of the Blood Donor Centre.

Easter Monday brought an expedition to St Andrews, after breakfast at the incomparable Indigo Yard. Kenny D, Broon, and Jen all made the trip, among others less infamous to the readers of this blog. We were all careful to suck on sweets as we went over the Forth Bridge, after Jen’s public assertion that her ears pop when she goes North.

The sun shone, the wind blew, and we had fun. The sun shone so much that Jen went slightly pink and declared herself to have sunstroke. The wind blew so much during our time on the beach that we all experienced exfoliation by sand-blasting, and are still finding sand in various bodily crevices. Actually, I can only speak for my own crevices. A long and satisfying game of beach cricket was marked by the usual events: dropped catches aplenty and Kenny D muttering darkly about the uneven surface every time he got bowled.

Dining in Zizzi’s that evening, I took a moment to read the advisory notice on my glass bottle of Coke. It advised me that 330ml of Coca Cola, ie one glass bottle or a can, contains 39.5% of an adult’s RDA of sugar. I pondered this for a moment, considering how I’d started the day with a breakfast soaked in maple syrup, and reckoned that with the syrup and Coke alone I must have been close to sugar saturation for the day. I looked up to see three year old Lewis polishing off the last of his own bottle of Coke, and breathed deeply. What percentage of a child’s sugar RDA, I wondered…

My sister and her partner were up over the Easter break, which meant I finally got the chance to meet my 11-week old niece. We got on reasonably well, I feel. She seemed to tolerate me when I kept moving, as if this held promise that I would soon hand her over to someone more competent. Childcare, at that age, seemed refreshingly logical and uncomplicated to my bachelor eyes. If she was crying, she was either hungry (hand her to my sister), or tired (hand her to my sister), or had a loaded nappy (hand her to anyone in sight. Except perhaps, my dad). If she wasn’t crying, carry her around for a bit for bonding purposes until she started crying.

On Saturday at our church’s music practice, two of the band, by necessity, brought their young kids along. Surveying the carnage in the church at the end of the practice, and the fraught look on the faces of the parents in question, I was reminded that childcare doesn’t stay logical or uncomplicated for long.

The weather was glorious in Galashiels today, which is where my job took me. Sitting outside at lunchtime, drinking my way through 60% of my sugar RDA, I looked up to see a bus with a question plastered over its side: “SALT. Is your food full of it?”

I checked the bottle. 0.0g salt.

Phew. Still eating healthily.

On the road to Meribel

**NEWSFLASH**

ENGLAND WIN A GAME OF CRICKET

**END************

And it was against Australia as well! Took their time about it, and Australia probably weren’t that interested, having already qualified… but one has to grasp at whatever straws one can see at times like this.

Now en route to Méribel. Left home at 3.20am this morning, only narrowly remembering to draw back my curtains before I left. A more important action than you might think, my mother being due back in town on Tuesday. Mum takes the status of my curtains very seriously, and has been known to text my sister in London with the current state of play. However for the past week their degree of closure has gone unreported, as my parents have been down in London with said sister, celebrating the birth of little Margaret Lily, born on 20 January. I immediately christened her Orange Lily, without even knowing she was jaundiced. Orange Lily is a reference I know Broon will get, but perhaps not many others. Perhaps best to leave it there. Anyway, orange, or indeed Orange, or not, all of us in the family are delighted to have a daughter/granddaughter/niece.

The flight from Edinburgh to Geneva was more eventful than all of my solo travelling put together. Ruth, in 33A, turned, alarmed, to Jen (33B) after 10 minutes, wondering why there was a light ‘following us’ off to the left. Jen was more interested in her bottle of Baileys, recently purchased from duty free. Just as Phyllida (32A) turned round, seeking a partner for a game of battleships, we established it was the light on the wing. Mandy, in 32B, had been bouncing up and down in her seat, bored, since the five minute mark. Meanwhile Broon, directly in front in 32C, was quietly munching on a chocolate bar, and Jody was on another planet across the way in 33D, alternating between ‘The Politically Incorrect Guide to Darwinism and Intelligent Design’ and his Gameboy.

DC was in another section altogether, having smiled sweetly at the chunky bloke on the checkin desk, and thus securing himself an ‘upgrade’ to an emergency exit seat way off in the distance. He must have been gutted to miss the chat on ladies’ toilet protocol, in particular the ‘lining’ vs ‘hovering’ debate, that was going on to my left. No doubt he was concentrating on getting his breakfast items in the right order, which is important to the boy.

Once we had retrieved DC’s oversized, overweight (is he a girlie in disguise?) suitcase from the carousel, we piled on to the coach and on towards Méribel, where no doubt more entertainment awaits. I am now in possession of a list of wi-fi hotspots (some of them free, woohoo!) in Méribel, and my trusty PowerBook. I find the whole travelling experience much more comforting with it near at hand. It’s reassuring to know there’s always a spreadsheet nearby if you need one.

And it’s nice to blog again. DC will be blogging for your enjoyment before too long. Sorry that it’s not Wiseman this time, anon, but perhaps soon. I don’t like to disappoint his Fan Club. And you N Americans can be very impatient. Impatient AND very forward…

😉

Sydney and the Barmy Army

Arrived back in Sydney on New Year’s Eve, and caught a train to some random destination in North Sydney to watch the fireworks with the Coys and some family friends. The fireworks were spectacular, although once you’ve seen a few fireworks displays they begin to lose some of their lustre. The Sydney fireworks scored in that they were being launched from several (4?) different points around the harbour, including some barges on the water itself. Quite a show.

The cricketing adventure continued on 2 January at the SCG. England put up a good-ish fight for a couple of days before losing ground badly on Day 3, and eventually crumbling on Day 4, their chances of a result being finally ground into the dust with Pietersen’s early dismissal. Nonetheless, there were a few highlights – for starters I was able to catch up with a couple of old friends. John Nicholls, an old friend and occasional co-cricketer from his time in Edinburgh, was in town for a few days before heading to New Zealand on the next leg of his epic 7 week trip. John clearly benefits from annual leave on a Local Government scale. And Lewis, my current host Phil’s companion on their round the world trip 20 years ago, was there with his son Ben. Cricket sceptics can surely at least acknowledge the sport’s superior capacity for sharing 20 years of news while watching the game. If had been a football match we might only have got up to 1992 or so. Not to mention that it might have been harder to hear each other in a football crowd. Although we were, really, as we were sitting directly behind the main bulk of the Barmy Army ranks, which was a noisy and exercising experience. We were up and down like a Church of Ireland congregation, simply to see what was happening on the field. The Aussie reaction to the Barmy Army’s antics was more receptive than I had anticipated. Mostly they found them hilarious. In fact, my own attitude has changed towards them having now been at such close quarters. At matches I’ve been to in England, they’ve been a bit of a pest, singing their signature tune ‘Everywhere we go’ followed by mindless chants of ‘Barmy Army’ ad nauseam. However, the BA in Australia have a much more diverse range of chants and songs, some of which, frankly, are genuinely funny. Not all of which I can share here bearing in mind the sensitivity of some of the readership. However, I liked how the standard ‘God save your gracious Queen’ was followed up with (to the tune of Yellow Submarine) ‘Your next Queen is Camilla Parker-Bowles, Camilla Parker-Bowles, Camilla Parker-Bowles…’ This is not to say that ‘Everywhere we go’ didn’t get a regular airing – it did – with Barmy Army general ‘Jimmy Savile’ marching up and down the aisles marshalling his troops and orchestrating the singing.

The Aussies are jealous of the Barmy Army, and those around me generally laughed long and hard at their more amusing songs. They, I suspect, wish they could respond in kind, but there simply isn’t the deep-rooted football terrace culture present here that has been around in Britain for generations. They have a bunch of Barmy Army wannabes, the Fanatics, who had a strong presence on Day 1, and regaled us, in the main, with fairly banal chants, none of which I can repeat, but you’re not missing much. Oh, apart from ‘Four-nil, four-nil, four-nil…’ etc (it was only 4-0 then remember), which, while somewhat lacking in invention, was hard to argue with content-wise.

The match ended just before lunch on Day 4, after which Justin Langer, Glenn McGrath and Shane Warne made their exits from the Test arena for good. It was a privilege to be at their last ever Test match. England, to their credit (having just been thumped again), formed a guard of honour on the edge of the square to welcome Langer to the crease for the last time, as he and Hayden came out to polish off the 46 runs Australia needed for victory. During that final session, while play was going on, the Barmy Army had managed to elicit a wave from almost everyone on the field, including the two umpires and Langer himself. The Aussie players also came over to the Barmy Army and applauded them after the game for their support in the series. As did the England team, obviously.

So, apart from the cricket, I’ve had a busy week – eating out with Diana and her slightly insane friends, followed by dinner with two different sets of relatives, and Diana again at Darling Harbour. On Day 4, after the cricket finished at lunchtime, I walked back to Darling Harbour, partly because it was such a nice spot, but mainly because I’d left my New Years Test commemorative baseball cap. A senior moment, I’m afraid. And not for the first or last time on this trip – last night Phil had to drive me back to Wendy’s (another relative – who hosted a meet-the-family barbeque at her swish house in Mosman yesterday afternoon) so that I could retrieve my camera.

Walking down from Central Station, towards Chinatown and Darling Harbour, Diana remarked that she used to work ‘just along here’, pointing vaguely in the direction of Club X, an ‘Adult Entertainment Complex’. Full of surprises, is Diana. On Saturday, on the way to Paddington Markets and Watsons Bay, she insisted we stop at a picturesque cricket ground to take some photos and watch a few overs. As chance would have it, it was Drummoyne Oval, where a distant relative (they’re all fairly distant over here, second cousins are the closest it gets, but this was my dad’s second cousin’s husband’s uncle) took 10-1 for Drummoyne in November 1911. For non-cricketers, that’s quite good bowling. Anyway, the match we were watching turned out to be a first grade match (two levels below Test standard) and Stuart MacGill and Greg Matthews were playing.

Last night Phil, being the beleaguered Financial Controller of Sydney FC, organised a ticket for me to watch their fixture against the NZ Knights at Aussie Stadium. It is, I’m slightly ashamed to say, the first football match I’ve been to for over two years. The Sydney fans behind the goal were impressive, and if the still embryonic A-League takes hold here then perhaps the football terrace culture will develop in time. The visiting support was mostly comprised of about 100 members of the Barmy Army, who threw their not inconsiderable vocal weight behind the Kiwis, and appeared to take great pleasure in finally seeing the Aussies beaten (Sydney lost 1-0).

Weather has generally been really good here recently, with the odd shower. Temperature has not gone above 31C, which I’m grateful for, and there has nearly always been a pleasant breeze. We do get weather like this in the UK, however it is usually met with ‘IT’S A SCORCHER’ tabloid headlines, and is considered a ‘heat wave’, whereas here it is considered normal, perhaps even on the cool side of normal.

No idea what it will be like on Magnetic Island the next few days – a forecast I saw on the web looks good, so here’s hoping. Although if the cyclones don’t get me the box jellyfish and sharks might…

Melbourne, Day 4

Got up after 9 today, and it felt good. Yet ANOTHER cloudy day in Melbourne, although it cleared yesterday in the afternoon and was quite warm. I have the receding-hairline pommy sunburn to prove it.

Am currently in a café, with a frustratingly wonky internet connection, digesting an enormous breakfast, and considering my next move. Have booked the Great Ocean Road trip for tomorrow, so will probably just head down to St Kilda today and hang out.

My experiences of Australia so far have all been good. Melbourne seems like a curious hodge-podge of different buildings and architecture, but at least the cities I’ve been in so far look a bit different… the usual suspects – McDonalds, Starbucks et al are all here, of course, but not as prominent as they seem (to me) to be in UK cities, which all seem to look the same these days. All the Aussies I’ve spoken to, while pleased to have regained the Ashes, have been disappointed in England’s lack of fight this series. Sat next to a guy from Melbourne yesterday at the MCG who applauded England’s attacking shots (almost) as much as the Aussies taking wickets. They like a good contest here, and unfortunately England have fallen woefully short of providing it. Naturally the Barmy Army have been in good voice regardless, which may be confusing/amusing Diana’s gran, but shows a loyalty to their team the Aussies (and many other nations) would be hard-pressed to match. Although there were Pommies dotted all around the ground, the official Barmy Army were diagonally opposite me in the ground, which significantly reduced the irritation of hearing “Everywhere we goooo…” so often. In fact, I found the BA considerably less annoying here than they were at the Old Trafford Test this year. The trumpeter was allowed in and tootled away from time to time, treating us to everything from ‘The Great Escape’ to the theme from Jim’ll fixit, with the Grandstand theme somewhere along the way.

There were England flags everywhere in the MCG, and what’s more I spotted an Ulster flag (amen to that) and even a Republic of Ireland tricolour… was less pleased about the latter, obviously, but was intriguing to see, especially if they were supporting England. It’s hard to imagine anyone (other than, perhaps, a Scot) travelling all that distance to cheer on whoever’s-playing-England.

So a couple more days in Melbourne, and then back to Sydney for New Year’s Eve (weather forecast: rain). Was planning on heading back to Denistone to stay with the Coys, but with news just breaking that Diana is dangerously near by I might have to take evasive action…

Melbourne, Day 3

One of my friends at Holy Cross CC, during the (northern) summer, expressed some surprise that I was planning to go to all five days of the Tests in Melbourne and Sydney. He remarked that he himself had only managed 3 consecutive days at a Test match. This concerned me somewhat as Jon is a big cricket fan, and I wondered if I would last the pace, having only ever been to 2 days myself. I needn’t have worried however, as England haven’t lasted 3 days, falling to defeat late this afternoon. I skipped the moment of triumph for the Aussies, leaving the ground a couple of overs after Monty’s wicket fell, as I had a convenient dinner date with yet another cousin and her family. We ate in Chinatown, in a restaurant which didn’t seem to know if it was Malaysian, Chinese or Thai, but it mattered little as the food was great.

The cricket has also been great – watching cricket at the MCG is an awesome experience. I should confess that I found myself quite dismayed at the end of Day 1, after England had opted to bat on a day and pitch made for bowling, and getting out cheaply for 159. The problem with only being here for the cricket is that when the cricket lets you down it can be a bit disheartening. Add in that I find travelling on holiday alone a bit depressing at the best of times, and a day of weather which wouldn’t have been out of place in Manchester in April, and it doesn’t really add up to a good time. However, my cricketing spirits were lifted by Flintoff’s two wickets in two balls on Tuesday evening, and 3 more cheap wickets on Wednesday morning (including Ponting and Hussey), before the England skipper inexplicably decided to release the pressure on Symonds and Hayden by giving them easy singles, which built their confidence and ultimately their huge match-winning partnership.

Somewhere in all this I realised that the best way forward was to give up on England success and simply enjoy watching the cricket, which I did. It has to be said that this is an outstanding Australian team, and there is no question that even now, with the series already in the bag, their hunger to win is much greater than England’s. It can be seen in everything from their running between the wickets to their attacking in the field.

Enough on cricket for the time being. My solo-travelling spirits have also improved, and I now have 2.5 days to enjoy in Melbourne, with the weather getting gradually better. My thoughts at this point are to explore the city a bit, and possibly take a trip down to the Great Ocean Road. We’ll see what transpires. Suggestions involving the words “Neighbours” and “official tour” will not be well received. I will endeavour to update the blog more frequently, but have been stymied so far by a lack of internet connections and a lack of time.

Time should not be a problem for the next little while, and once I get back to Sydney I will have regular internet access again. But will certainly try to post before then.

Ciao for now.

Sydney, Christmas Eve


For my friends in the UK:

“It’ll be a blue Christmas without you,
I’ll be so blue just thinking about you.
You’ll be doing alright
With your Christmas of white
But I’ll have a blue, blue Christmas.. “

Actually, the weather here is cloudy and muggy, been like that 2 days now. Trying not to feel cheated. Experienced my first bona fide Aussie bbq last night, and pretty fine it was too. Killed my first mosquito as well.

Today I took a train into the city and am wandering down George Street heading for the Rocks. Christmas seems incongruous over here – at Manly I was confronted with the sight of tinsel wrapped around palm trees. Reminds me of the time at school when a couple of boys (prefects, actually) in my sister’s year stole a palm tree from the school foyer to use as a Christmas tree in the prefect’s common room. They weren’t prefects for too much longer as it turned out.

As I was mid-purchase in a store on George Street, the drought in Sydney ended rather abruptly.

Although I feel privileged to have been here to witness this event, I am now rather wet and taking refuge in Starbucks (any port in a storm, after all). Prior to this I was sheltering under an inadequately-sized piece of roof outside the store wherein I made my purchase (a rather fetching Billabong hat). Co-sheltering with me was a lady, with whom I struck up a conversation. She proved to be American, which wasn’t an altogether promising start, especially when I mentioned I had come over for the cricket.

“Oh, you’ve come over to watch the CRICKET?”
I nodded an enthusiastic assent, encouraged that she seemed to have heard of cricket and was able to pronounce it properly.
“And do you know, they LOST.”
“Yep, I know”
“So, do you play? You must do.”
I replied that I did.
“So, are you in DEfense?”
I looked confused.
“You’re not a fieldsman, are you?”
I explained, patiently I hope, that everyone was a fieldsman at some point.

I decided this might be a good time to don my new Billabong hat and make a run for it. She took one look at me in my Billabong hat and burst out laughing.

I ran for it.

London, Day 3 and the Losing of the Ashes

This is a poster up in my sister’s kitchen, espousing the good old British spirit which carried us through the war years.

Spent most of Saturday setting my a wireless network and generally tidying up my sister’s laptop. IT literacy, like most things in life, is a relative measure. To my sister and her partner Angela I am fully qualified technical support. To someone like Jones I am a technical disaster waiting to strike. He knows the latter is a more accurate appraisal of my IT abilities because he has to field the panicky calls from me whenever I blow something up. However, this time all appears to be working ok after my tinkering.

This weekend I also had the chance to meet Jo and Stewart, friends of my sister, who will be in Melbourne at the same time as me. They are heading over there for a wedding in Airlie Beach, and are very sensibly only attending one day of the 4th Test at the MCG. Rather less sensibly, they are taking their baby son Lewis with them on the trip. Although Jo, like my sister, is a nanny by profession, so if she can’t handle it, I’m not sure who can.

Looking forward to seeing them again in Melbourne, it will be nice to have a couple of familiar faces there.

Last night, I joined my friends Tom and Joy at a carol service at St Paul’s Hammersmith. Tom was one of three flatmates who put up with me for my final two years at university.

All three of my ex-flatmates from that flat are now married. Probably the first to go (my chronology of these matters is a little vague) was Koji – who married Hwee-Sng when he returned to Singapore after graduating. Hwee-Sng was also studying in Edinburgh with us. Tonight I fly out to Singapore for 2 nights – sometime tomorrow I will see them again for the first time in over 10 years.

My sister, with her customary sensitivity, stops outside my door this morning, and announces “I think you’ve lost the Ashes.” Like I lost them myself, personally.

“I know” I reply, gruffly. I had, at some point during the night, switched on Radio 4 LW on the little radio I put beside the bed last night for precisely this purpose. Mercifully I missed the denouement itself, but I got the gist of the way things had turned out, even in a semi-conscious state.

Mornings are not a time when I like people telling me things I’d rather not hear, especially if I already know them. Tom and Koji, I imagine, both learned this. But Alison sounds positively cheery about England’s capitulation. Having recently opined that “There’s too much cricket chat on your blog”, perhaps she thinks this will reduce it.

Ha! Little does she know. Plenty of cricket left in this series. Still time for England to win two Test matches, and cast a gloriously artificial sheen on the series result.

Come on England. Keep calm and carry on.

Pietersen, and the demise of McGrath and Warne

A couple of late night cricket-viewing sessions later, things are looking decidedly rosier for England. Which must be an enormous relief to my work colleagues, since my mood seems to be index-linked to England’s cricketing fortunes at present.

Last night, after a party at my church to mark the forthcoming return to Oz of Diana (she of the pro-Aussie comments and threats on these pages), a whole gaggle of folk descended on Mr and Mrs Robbo’s to see if Kevin Pietersen and Paul Collingwood could carry on the good work from the previous night. Leading dignitaries such as Wiseman and Kenny D were present, as were many others with a less pronounced interest in cricket, and many explanations were required to facilitate informed viewing. Mercifully there were no lbw decisions to explain – indeed, there were no wickets to explain at all, as Pietersen and Collingwood established a new record partnership for the 4th wicket.

Those without a pronounced interest having faded early, I managed to stay up until KP completed his century, retiring to bed at 2am-ish somewhat mindful of the fact that I would be required at work in a little over six hours. I was outdone by most of the gathering, who only left after Robbo had accidentally fallen asleep on the sofa. Robbo’s endurance has to be called into question, as on the second night of the First Test I caught him snoozing after approximately 5 minutes’ play.

But back to Pietersen. Definitely an interesting character. I am not especially drawn to him as a person, he strikes me as someone who does a lot of talking without prior engagement of his brain, but I can’t deny it’s exhilarating watching him bat. I would contend that he has been an absolutely pivotal figure in England’s cricketing resurgence over the last few years. I understand that England were going along nicely in the period immediately before his Test debut, with series wins over the West Indies (home and away), New Zealand, South Africa and Bangladesh. However, I believe it was his aggressive assault on the bowling of both Warne and McGrath, in the opening defeat at Lord’s, that helped infuse the rest of the team with the beginnings of real belief; belief that Warne and McGrath, such bowling champions for so long, could be attacked successfully. This confidence found its initial expression in the first innings run-fest at Edgbaston, (where McGrath wasn’t playing) and grew and grew through the matches at Old Trafford and Trent Bridge. Pietersen, if anything, has stepped up his aggression against McGrath, who I still maintain will not see out the series. I had originally made that assertion on the basis that his 36-year-old body would not cope with the rigours of five intense Test matches, and this may still prove correct, but if he continues to take a pounding from Pietersen et al, he might well be dropped! Almost unthinkable for such a great bowler as McGrath, but I suspect he can’t be objective enough about it to withdraw from the team himself. England’s task will be even easier if Ponting continues to under-bowl Stuart Clark, who, in this match at least, has been more dangerous and effective than McGrath and Warne put together.

Only two weeks now until I head for Sydney, via London and Singapore. Somehow it’s easier to cheerfully battle along Princes St in the face of biting wind and rain, when you’re clutching a bag containing SPF50+ sun lotion. It may be useless in the current situation, but it holds much promise for better days around the corner. Or at least warmer ones.

It helps, of course, that England have now played well for two days on the trot, which all increases the possibility of the series still being alive come Boxing Day.

I’ll drink to that.

First Test, the Aftermath

Today’s text comes from Psalm 127: “In vain you rise early and stay up late, eating the bread of anxious toil…” Or in my case, eating chocolates, anxiously. Have now spent two fruitless late nights/early mornings watching England’s miserable performance in the First Test. Followed that with a late night showing of the new Bond film, in Glasgow, which was great fun, but another late night… naturally I was working the next morning, so no respite there either.

But here I am, after a few days’ intensive sleep therapy, ready for my enthusiasm to take another battering at the hands of the Aussies in the Second Test. Starts Friday. Empirical research* has shown that the Aussies are susceptible to Mingles, so they will be the sweet of choice.

Michael Vaughan, out injured for a year now, is making noises about being fit to play before the Ashes series is out.. question: with the series tied at 2-2 going into Sydney (humour me here), would you play Vaughan if he was fit? He played a warm-up game today against some 2nd XI in Perth, and scored…. 0. Ashes-winning captain he may be, but am unsure how many runs he would contribute, so the primary attraction of fast-tracking him back into the side would be for his captaincy. And if Freddie has skippered England to two victories at that stage (humour me here) would you dump him as captain to accommodate Vaughan? If he hasn’t managed to win or draw a game by that stage, it will all be academic anyway…

Sigh. Come on England. Restore our faith in you (well, mine and Friendy’s faith anyway) and give the Aussies a good pummelling this weekend. I’ve got a box of Mingles in specially.

* Outcome of trials indicates that the more Mingles consumed during a session, the more emphatic the beating taken by the Aussies. Research only undertaken on the PS2, but extrapolation of these results to real Test matches is surely a reasonable approach.

First Test, Day 1

So, it hasn’t been a great start for England. Australia 346/3, with Ponting unbeaten on one hundred and thirty-something overnight, and Mike Hussey looking ominous as well.

There are two clear reasons why Australia dominated the first day so easily.

(1) I didn’t manage to finish reading the Times Ashes supplement, which threw my whole Ashes buildup into disarray

(2) I was eating the wrong chocolates for the first hour and a half of the first session. Big packet of Aero things, green packet. GREEN packet, I ask you. It’s Maltesers tonight, red and white packet, can’t go wrong. And Empire Biscuits (thanks Neebs) – more red and white.

So I think I’ve put (2) right, although the Malteser supply has been significantly depleted by Mrs Robbo. However, despite some speed-reading, I haven’t quite finished that jolly supplement yet. Been a busy evening. Mr Robbo is installed on the sofa sous duvet and ready for the cricket to recommence. Time for me to sign off and join him. In watching the cricket, not under the duvet.

Duvet? It’s not often I prefer American terms to British, but I think ‘comforter’ might be more appropriate.

Come ON the Poms 🙂