French and Spanish Cricket

Enfin and le Dauphin. My book French and Spanish Cricket has finally been published. It is listed on Amazon and you can see a picture on Barnes & Noble.com. You know the sort of garbage I write, so treat yourself for Christmas. PS The missus is the star of the book so that's why I have used the same photo! PPS Please buy the book in your hundreds so I can go to watch England play New Zealand in March. OK thousands, so I can take the missus. You can read the synopsis on booksonboard.com. I'm not trying to make a fortune. I'm trying to find out who was it who allegedly invented the googlie instead of Bosie. See page 160.

Suns of Cricket, son

Hardly after the Lord Mayor's show Flintoff comes on to bowl. We may have a stroll before the sun goes down. Too late as le soleil disparued behind a cloud quicker than Flintoff's balls. 92 mph. 36-4. I think it is Mark Poucatch who comes on. He brings up the demi streaking ladies. Midnight. No the highlights not the twilights. Come on! Or was it Dexy's Midnight Runners?

Mark P keeps us well informed during the drinks break. A stroll around the block gets us back just before the light goes. A first swallow of local cidre precedes Alec Stewart as Summariser. Discontentedly Aggers Springs into action and opens up like he used to do as a bowler by telling us that there is a drop of rain in the air. As yet no umbrellas, he points out, are up in it as no rain has begun to Fall. 59-4.

The 'round the block' was from our group of maisons past le Richardais to Chosel where one of the houses has a pretty big fishing lake that again the boys would have relished. Back up the D149 and back to the cricket. I feel refreshed after the walk. Refreshed enough to drink the rest the cidre doux, with the missus also refreshing herself with her fair share. It is or was after the missus got hold of it. Cidre Artisanal Breton to be precise. 69-4. As with the missus they are well behind. You should have batted Dravid. Du Pays de la Gacilly to be preciser. Dravid hits a six. He must have been aware of the concerns being expressed by TMS. Elabore et mis en bouteille par Jean-PaulSouchet in St- Martin/Oust to be precisest.

There are more concerns from Stewie and Aggers. Indians don't play cricket at night. Where have I heard that before? Sundown? No that was the 'when'! These Indians don't in the freezing cold anyway. It's Arlo White not Mark P. Le cidre is La Ruaudaie which I forgot to say in my precision. It is delicious. The missus thinks it is less chemical than the Supermarche one which will of course remain nameless as well as demi tasteless.

The doux we are drinking won a Medaille de bronze from the ministrere de l'Agriculture et de la peche at the Concours General Agricole in Paris 2007. Flintoff deserves a silver as he's just got Dhoni out. Dhoni deserves a gold as he walked after gloving the ball down the leg side. He was correctly given not out by Billy the Doc when England appealed the ball before. Mat Prior begins his rehab as he catches Dravid again down the leg side. Pride may well come before a fall, but it is what comes after that matters. Ask Foinavon.

Mascerenas is the bowler. Sunil is easy to listen to, as he was to watch when he batted. Two helpings of Famous Five proportions, no not Lashings - that's a cricket team back in Kent - go to prove that the missus deserves gold as well. She'll have to manage with a bit of gold top in her cocoa. It's all I can think of without being rude, Auric, I mean Arlo.

Aggers tells us that half the crowd has gone home. See we are all affected by the cold, even with Global warming. TMS seem to be losing interest. Day nighters probably don't fit in with their digestive patterns. I'm not surprised as it's half past ten here, French time.

Two fours in the last couple of minutes following some prior demi shenanagins. It probably explains where the missing half has gone. Where's the missus come to that? Another demi bottle bites the dust. I didn't hear her pop the cork, and she promised to reciprocate mine in town earlier today. Aggers thinks it is to avoid the traffic. More likely, say I, that they would have gone off to find some Jelly Beans to liven up proceedings.

A daft run out of Agarker tries to help. 131-7. Next match is Vendredi. Another day nighter Aggers informs us, with 10 overs still to go in this one. Suits me with such good reception here. Subs on. Who's off? Have they gone home too? A hat-trick of run outs. It's a two horse three legged race. India 145-8. Alec calls it a schoolboy run out. A schoolboy awoler! Almost a six, but as Stewpot said all is now lost. 154-8. Arlo says the series is 3 weeks long which is longer than our holiday. Zaheer Khan hits a six. 168-8. 7 minutes before they ring the tunes of fining time. There are those who feel they should be clamped. 606 E-Mailers would suggest putting a ball and chain on a player for every five minutes of delay. Hit them where it hurts. On the ankle!

Another six for Zaheer. Off Monty this time. Ten past eleven for us. Serious stuff this for us as only the morning offers sunshine. A 'four for' for Anderson. RP Singh. though it was almost RIP after his first ball. 183-9. 4-23 according to Malcolm, who Alec referred to as Malcolm Ashton. 4 balls left. 184-9. RP got bowled by Monty. Finis, enfin, Dauphin, Dolphin.

Flipper, it's Friday. Back to cricket. I've missed it. Thank goodness for day nighters. There would be still loads of play to go. Now what about the state of it? 329-6 they got. That sounds loads. What are we? We were 76-2. Prior made 33, Cookie 36. Pietersen is in, no he isn't , he's out! It sounds like a Shane Warne/Mike Gatting moment. The young 18 year old leg spinner Chowdra ? got him 'Through the gate with the googlie' as TMS said. They didn't seem sure at first. It was a super ball. Was he caught? Was he stumped ? No he was bowled. 134-3 becomes 156-3 by the time I've written all this. 173 more to win.

We were very carbon friendly today. Push bikes by the canal. Fishing with no catches. €10 menu, beer, wine and coffee. The missus did a lot of texting while my line drifted. Her best friend at primary school is over here for a couple of days. We almost met them today, but tomorrow will be better all round. No cricket to miss. 163-3 becomes 171-3. Tendulkar was unlucky to be given out on 99 they said. Chowla has got Collingwood. 176-4. Jack Russell is commentating. His bark may be worse than his bite, but he didn't get himself into a hole. Flintoff got five for in the India innings. We'll see how he bats.

First ball goes for four. That's how he bats. 188-5. Freddie caught on the boundary for 9. That's how he bats. Next match is Monday. We will be travelling to the next bit of Britanny. Bhopara. The next batsman not the next part of Brittany. 205-5. Justin Langer is summarising, talking about barbeques. Did we see him in Australia? I'll check with the boy. Bhopara is out for 17. Lbw.
Hey Mascarenas. Bell's on 54. 233-6 as I drift in and out of sleep. Six for Bell after Aggers calls him one dimensional. He's out next ball. I think it came at him from a different angle. 240-7. Broad. 88 to win off 45 balls. Six for Mascarenas. 4 leg byes. 253-7. 77 from 40 balls. Another six. and another one. He's making Hay while the sun shines. If only! 265-7. Broad plays the wider supporting role and gets the single. 64 from 35. M gives it back again. Keeps it with a two. 60 from 30. Simon Mann is on. Broad gets a single. 55 off 4 overs. Almost 14 an over.

Mascarenas keeps us interested with another six, and ups it by adding another one; 40 to win off 16 balls. That's a lot of boundaries. Two overs. Only 19 an over. 4, ( 50 for Mascarenas), .,1,if they don't score a boundary this ball it will need a boundary every ball. It's a no ball which screws my figures. England are screwed anyway, but we are totally skewered as M is out. 300-8. 30 off the last over.

Where are Gary and Hertchill when you need them? This is before Yuvrav and besides he's playing for the opposition, and although Broad will eventually be beside himself he isn't now and he is batting not bowling. A six from him, nevertheless. 4 more will do nicely. 20 off 4 balls. 20 off 3. 14 off 2. They could only beat us by 2. A four. Only 10 off the last ball. Missed it. Not to worry. There's always Monday, as opposed to Tuesday. I hear it's a day day game. Night night.

Pressing Cricket Matters

15-0 as Cook gets the first four and the missus brings me a cup of tea. We are back from a map buying visit to Redon. We took ages to get there. We didn't have a map. The man in the Presse shop told us that it will rain until Thursday and that a good place to eat was the green restaurant down the road. The mademoiselle told us to come back in a demi heure.

As we had an hour to spare we went into the church to get out of the rain, like my parents and a few millions of others used to do in Ireland. In all this time of writing England have only got one further run 'in the gloom of the Rose Bowl with the floodlights on.' There was a bloke playing the organ ( In the church not the Rose Bowl! These days it is hard enough to bring in a trumpet voluntarily ) which gave the church an atmosphere belying its 11th century feel. ( More oxygen, less carbon dioxide, a tad more nitrogen and the rest in methane, due to farting out loud and running up to tap the nearest candlestick saying ' How's that for corkers.' being more commonly acceptable in those days. We lit a candle with a tapir as is the norm aujourd'hui. Just me mum and dad this time as all others are thankfully well.

The mademoiselle turned out to be of the English variety. She was from Bromley and had moved in to the restaurant business with her fiancee after negative experiences with teaching here in France. She had studied in Bangor where the missus had gone to college. I drank more wine than I should have while they reminisced. The steak frites was or were fine, the missus was not sure of the chicken curry. More Vesta than the Patak we are used to. C'est la vie avec Sag Aloo.

Prior hits a six just as I'm about to snide on him as an opener. More chicken chat between him and Zaheer, but no doubt not the sort of exchanges that the Bangor Belles engaged in. The missus had to drive back to the gite as I would have been over the limit. England are 40 with out loss.

165-1 as I come to. Belly and Cooky. Oceans of overs left. 199-1. Alec Stewart summarizes. 201 -1. They are freezing. End of the over. A four takes Cooky to 99. He gets it. His first century in ODIs. 222-2. Aggers refers to it as a Double Nelson. No wrestling jokes as you can't get a Half Nelson in cricket. In years to come HMS Associations will be more Mandela than Horatio, though hopefully never Andre or 'Ly The Elephant. Malcolm gives us the facts of Cooky's innings. Bill has retired from international one dayers (IODs) just like international cricketers have to doers one day.

Unlike International cricketers are supposed to do one of the Indians mis fields for a roasting. Stewart and Aggers don't spot that he did it on purpose as he was so cold. 230-2. It isn't cold here but it is grey and wet. I'm waiting for Pietersen or Bell to slice one. Not that I expect them to as B has got his eye in and P is too good. I only want it to occur as the missus has found a useful word in tranche which she wants to use in future markets. B gets his hundred. P almost gets a six. Neither is a tranche.

Five overs to go. I'll make a stew Stew as the 250 comes up, It's the chicken in the round carcass that we got at the market yesterday,along with the Fresh veg. We bought cinq bouteilles de local cidre doux for just over €2 a bottle. 'Local' being St Martin sur Oust. Within cycling distance if the weather clears, I get the gears sorted and we finish the five said bottles. I don't know why I told you all this Stew as you went off air just before I began. I wonder who will be on between innings. I hope I don't cause them a tear or two as I slice, sorry tranche up the onions.

Bell comes off Nelson with a single. Suddenly it's 269. Two overs to go. I'm looking forward to chopping up the onions. Not because I'm maudlin. It's because we have bought one of those small vegetable knives as we always do in the first French market we visit. Bell finally slices one. He gets a four next ball but then tranches one for two to go to 221. I hear the missus bemoaning the weather as she turns on the French telly. I hear the double chop chop of the speedy knife, as TMS tells me that the Shipping Forecast will come on as soon as the last ball is bowled. 287-2. Last ball. Only one. I'll listen out for Finistere. Shannon? Have I missed it? I must have. It can't be on it any more. Most said rain. Victor goes. No he's still there. Who was Simon?

There is an Isle Aux Pies just down the road. More magpies than poor bowling. Warney would be welcome there for his heritage rather than his cricketing abilities. We might go for a tranche when the weather improves. By the time I get the radio on the missus has seen three 'Weathers' all of which emphasize cloud rather than sun for a few days. It's back to Friday before they reverse. I've cleaned and scraped the potatoes and carrots, lest they feel out of it.

'Tout la Sport' belies its title and says nothing about the cricket. Well what do you expect? 'French and Spanish Cricket hasn't yet been published. There's a programme on tomorrow night that mirrors our old 'Treasure Hunt'. I didn't quite get the name. It was something 'Treasure'. It follows the same trusted format. A pair of buttocks and a helicopter. We'll be clueless as with our version but it won't stop me following the bot, I mean plot.

The missus is good at getting us around here, by sticking closely to the signs, as you can see by the photo so she'll be able to nudge me every now and then like Kenneth Kendall used to do if I get a bit lost. She finally switched off when a sort of 'French Neighbours' came on.

27-2 when I turn on radio 4. Aggers gets a bit of stick about a past 'A View from the Boundary' with Frederick Forsyth. He was reminded by Victor as 'The Day of the Jackal' is on BBC 1 ce soir. Too late for us even if we could get BBC on our French telly. Victor got told off for stirring it up. 'A barrel of laughs.' Aggers recalled. I can recall listening to it but I can't remember laughing like a hyena.

Aggers homes in on some streakers and got some more stick as Victor said that they had bikinis on. They didn't go onto the field of play. By the sound of it Aggers will be off soon to get a different view from the boundary. I take back all I said about not missing live cricket on the telly. Despite TMS's best efforts over the years Cricket is still a visual game. Tendulkar brings the lie to that by getting caught by Bopara, as a sunset appears in a gap in the clouds like the gap on the leg side that Tendulkar thought he had. If this is a day night game what time are the highlights at home? Soon by the sound of it as Cook catches Youvraj.

We got the Sunday papers on the ferry so I can look to find out and send the boy a text. Victor proving the point I made earlier said that the only thing that Cook did wrong was to look surprised. Victor Hugoes on to tell us that if the next ball was a dot ball it would be a double wicket maiden for Anderson. It wasn't and so it wasn't. What you miss 'Tout la Sport'. What you miss!

Cricket services

Can't be bad, we have settled at the Gite in Brittany, with the news of Hayley's pregnancy confirming that we are able get radio 4, which means that I'll be able to listen to the one dayers or twenty 20's which ever it is on Tuesday, always Tuesday, on good old long wave.

How will digital balls up my future cricket listening? If a DAB clock radio gets recommended by 'Which' what sort of service will I get? Will I be able to listen to 'The Morning Service' if I stay in bed, and will I be able to pick up 'World Service' when I go to bed early on a Sunday night when there's only boring ranting mind numbing phone ins on 5 and educational bollocks on 4? How will the world receive World Service abroad when we go digital? Will we sell them short?

I can hear you now Aggers, even though I haven't got a radio on. Broadband, mobile phone, digital TV channels. Well at the moment Aggers, I am sitting in the Gite's back garden watching the twilight go down on me hoping that the missus would follow suit. Just like with the missus, two buttons and a twirl and I'm there on my Nancy Roberts radio. No seriously folks, no dial ups, log ins, passwords, memory cards, downloads or pod casts. Yes I know reception is everything, and I know you think that if I was not receiving due to poor signals I'd be fuming about the lack of the digitalis variety and admitting that what I said earlier when I was venting my spleen and stoking up trouble was just a smokescreen. I don't care if I am fueling the raging controversy as I've carefully thought out an analogurythmic answer that will clear the airways of dross and extend in true British Empirical fashion the shipping forecast to the rest of the world.

Like Labour became New Labour, Long Wave would become Longer wave, and the shipping forecast would reach further shores (or just off them). Thus weather reports would go to all 11 or is it 12 or 13 Oceans of the world. What a Service? In addition the rest of the world will benefit from the ruminations of Blowers and his birds, not to mention those of Eddie Grundy and his cows, and we all know that the world will be a better place for that. E-mailers who would tell me that Eddie doesn't own any cows should be reminded that the birds don't belong to Blowers either. We already extend the forecast to some extent as the informative brochures in the gite tell us that Finistere is a region of Brittany and I've heard that being mentioned in previous forecasts.


Up bright and early. English time at least. I see they haven't lost that hour yet. We have! We've overslept. It's 9.30 and the missus is on the itch to get to the market at Redon. I was on the itch to get on something else, but needs must. On y va and I'll look for mal y pense later on. People have said that Brittany is just like Cornwall. Sure enough as soon as we stepped out of the door it started to rain. Never mind le buzzcocks we are on our vacances. At least we wouldn't get soaked in the rain fiddling with the key unlike previous occupants who wrote in the comments book that 'la porte est juste une peu dure a ouvrir.' as I WD'd it.

According to all who have been here the gite has come out with flying colours. 'C'est un gite que nous recommendenons sans hesiter a notre famille et a nos amis.' Moi aussie mate , moi aussie. That's aussie as in 'also' not Aussie as in antipodean, Osborne or Clark come to that. We set off to Redon and I waved at the first French farmer we saw who stared back incredulously. Before I had a chance to pass comment to the missus we almost hit the second one head on. We had forgotten to sing' Always drive on the right side of the road' to the tune of 'Always look on the bright side of life.' Thankfully neither of us were driving fast. He waved in the same vein as I had to the first one. The missus said that I had poo pooed the idea of getting one of those things that plug into the cigarette lighter that tell you to drive on the right. It was almost her turn to pooh pooh herself this time, but luckily our guardian angels were about and we survived to tell the tale.

We do it every time we go to France. We like a traditional holiday. Hopefully this will be the last time though I don't mean that in a terminal sense. It's a shame you can't plug in your guardian angel into the cigarette lighter as maybe they would have coughed up the information a little earlier. We contacted 'Which' to see whether we could borrow a Sat Nav to test out in Europe, but they must have lent them all out already. If I do get one I'll look for a feature that gives out various warnings. You know like 'Remember your wellies, you are going to Brittany' and 'Have you got clean underwear on now?' The boys should have come. There are fishing places all around as per usual in France. They could have bivvied five minutes away and fished all night. A carte de peche for a 15 day period is €30 which isn't bad as a day's permit is €10.

We cycled up and down the Oust or Arz (Wasn't he a golfer?) looking for spots for me to fish, Blowers to bird and for the missus to yak, read her book, write the postcards and paint the scene for posterity. No good now as the rain doth fall, the ink and paint would run, the cricket would be off and it wouldn't be just the squid who would be damp. No King pairs, King Fishers, Fisher Kings, King prawns, King Kong (I'm reading a book too) or anything fucKing else!

French and Spanish Cricket at the seaside

Look out one and all. The cricket book to beat all cricket books is not far away.I'd love to say from all good bookshops, but we will have to see about that. The publishers have done a fantastic cover design, and I've done the proof reading. It's a tale of events, rantings and crickety thoughts that occurred as we drove to Spain through France as England played South Africa in late July 2003. Similar thoughts cropped up in Spain a year later, but were eventually torn apart and swept away by that terrifying Tsunami as I was watching England taking their turn in South Africa on Boxing Day. I'll keep you informed about its progress, but it won't be long now. We played Crowhurst on Saturday. It was miles to go for a game, but it was well worth it. A winning draw, a delicious tea, two wickets including a caught and bowled to die for. Back just in time to see Kent win the Twenty 20 final . Matthew Walker, Gravesend boy done well got 45 and plaudits from the pundits.

One of the Crowhurst guys said that the last time he played against Gravesend was in the seventies. He was playing for Bromley. He said that in the team was Graham Dilley and Stuart Waterton. The photo above shows what's happened to the cricketer I would have really liked to have played with. The photo was taken at Glenelg just down the tram line from Adelaide. I told the bloke who bowled well for Crowhurst that I played indoor cricket with Stuart and Dave Nichols. The Sky lot were pleased that Kent had Kent people playing for them. There's future guys too. Some of the young uns who were in the Shrimpers only two seasons back are now in the firsts, and one is captain of Kent under something or others. They were always given a good game by us, as were all youngsters. You do feel part of it, as we did on Saturday. As I said it was a lovely trip all round. Across country to avoid the M25 traffic, through Meopham, The Hop Farm, Paddock Wood, Matfield which were my old haunts when I was a visiting teacher for hearing impaired children. Bewl water, which was where we went for fishing holidays with the kids. Finally historic Battle, before homing in on Crowhurst. If we get a fixture with them again next year, I'll see if the missus fancies fish and chips in Hastings and make a weekend of it. She can read my book on the beach. After all she's the star of it.

La Clem de la Clem, more Agricole than agricultural

Encore un fois it's been a time, but like that dog in Aumont-Aubrac you'll pick up my drift again eventually. It's a sign of the Times. I've been waiting, though not at tables, for my book 'French and Spanish Cricket' to be published. I know it's self publishing but it's not me delaying things. Hence my what I hope don't turn out to be vain thoughts have been on a more distant past rather than the recent one that the blog is supposed to cover. It was not surprising to see that the new 007 author rated Ian Fleming's Bond novels as being very well written. 'La double creme de la double creme'. He found only one cliche in the whole lot. If you've read them all and feel a need, 'French and Spanish Cricket' will more than fulfill it by the time you finish the first page.

Mixed fortunes continue with the cricket, I'm telling you. Some further serious slap. One of my overs took about 20 minutes. The batsman kept hitting me out of the ground and we didn't have that dog to help sniff out the ball. All the local gun dogs were at the Kent Show at Detling. 21 off one over, though he was dropped off my last ball. I may have been shaken but I was also stirred. Like Ursula I caught him out myself later coming in from the deep. People sitting around the ground broke into applause. It was very kind of all four of them. How it stuck I don't know. The batsman was young but already a gent. I wish I knew what his secret was. His 'Good catch' just beat my 'Well batted'. He was their opening bowler. He came back on to clean us up at the end. I got 30 not out, including a straight six so I was just about in credit. He was a credit to his club too.

We went back to their club house on Meopham Green where drivers returning from the Kent Show with windscreens intact waved to thank me for not bowling on the Green. One of our guys with whom I had not played for a while told me that he had seen myself and the boy on TV drinking at the pub in Brisbane where the Barmy Army were stationed. He also saw us going into the Gabba where the Gestapo ground authorities were entrenched. He could have been the last one to have seen my ice blocks that they confiscated. The missus had said that she hadn't spotted us, though it is hard when you are dozing off in front of the cricket and I don't think we were on Neighbours. I asked the guy where he had watched the Tour de France. Strangely he replied that he had just missed it. He must have been the only Kentish Man of Kent to have done so. Before I could rebuke him for missing an experience not to be missed, he told me that he deja viewed it in Paris twice. 'Apres moi le deluge' and all that. I'm not quite in agreement; the missus certainly wasn't. Coming into Gravesend dressed up in your lycras has its attractions as the hordes of Kentish ladies on the streets would confirm. Stop it!

Despite there not being decent knicker elastic in those days, let alone lycra, not in affordable prices anyway, and unlike Zoe and Dave who went to Brisbane we still spent our honeymoon in Gravesend. We wanted to move in to our new old house. I don't think it was out of order. You could afford first time buyer houses in those days. Today is a different sort of material world. It was the house warming part of the marriage ceremony. It's gone more global since. There's still a flicker of life in the old boiler yet even though the pilot light may have gone out, so perhaps Paris is not out of the running for a second honeymoon at this stage. I'll recycle as much as possible and catch one of the first trains from Ebbsfleet which is just down the road, near where Gravesend and Northfleet used to play, to reduce our carbon footprints to or is it from King Wenseslas proportions. By the way, shame on you for thinking that I was referring to the missus as an old boiler rather than my inner to outer workings.

I got quite a few photos of all and sundry watching the peloton, but only a brief recorded glimpse of a couple of thighs of the riders themselves. Never mind as I think the missus has them all etched on her mind. I'll get my own back when the female version that is featured on those adverts in the bus shelters au moment rides through. I'll be on the look out for the Queen of the Mountings who will be wearing I understand a titsy witsy yellow polka dot bikini. India Thursday. I'll see how things develop for the last day. I'll phone my mate the MCC member first this time in case of rain. I came across an old hand painted cricket print on a stand at the Kent Show which was still going strong on Sunday. It was £27 so I left it. The framed print featured the Aussie Team practising at Lord's in 1899. Tell me if I missed a bargain. It included Clem Hill whose Stand I am sitting in on this the oh so significant last day at the Adelaide Test. I don't know if Clem saw anything like it in his day. But if not here's what happened Clem.

As you know Clem, we are 59-1. All seem to think it will be a draw. What do you think? I think the wind will blow my hat off. I can't remember whether I had the pigtails on or not. I'll see as I write up this nonsense. It was the Adelaide Test Match dinner last night. It was my first Christmas dinner. Roast turkey and the trimmings. The 'trimmings' were unlimited drinks. All free. I know we'd paid for it. But that is the beauty of 'all included'. Everything is free, there's no cut off point. I must drink more Aussie wine when I get back in case I get Cold Turkey. A case of Little Penguin was reduced to £4 a bottle at Asdas. It was really tasty. On Oliver Twisting only the rose was available at the same price. Somehow Rose doesn't seem to have the same ring about it. Gazuntide! Come to that 'Cold Turkey' doesn't seem so bootiful either. Bless you!

Fellow hotel guests are on the field doing their warm up. Gower and Atherton's Hire Car has got them safely to the ground on time and they're talking to the world. Squire Ian Botham and Whispering Death Michael Holding are standing poised. How did you compare to this lot Clem? Pretty well according to Wisden as you it seems were second only to team-mate and fellow old cricket print icon Victor Trumper as 'The Leading Cricketer in the World' in 1902. We all have to give in in the end. The missus knows the people who had the Old Print stand at the Kent Show. I'll ask her to get the Old Print for me. Of course I'll pay for it. You always do in the end. Tony Greig is having the same trouble with his hat as I was having with mine. The only difference is that he's got people to help put his back on. Vive la difference as the gorgeous lady returns my hat after a fellow gust blew it off lodging it in her upper apartments. A very uplifting experience all round Clem. Quite a coop. Thank goodness this didn't happen at Brisbane where the Gabba Ground Authorities would have accused me of barracking and the gorgeous lady would have had to have given me a wide berth, in case she was accused of harboring an undesirable. Pew! Enough of this folly, or it will come back to haunt me. And I don't mean you Clem.

Atherton has a cricket bat in his hand. He's handed it to Gower. Bat in right hand, mike ( not Holding, and no more as the joke was made elsewhere) in the left. He's probably showing the world how to face Warney. The others look as if they are waiting in the wings to send one down to him. It is the hat that goes with the pigtails as I have had more compliments since the gorgeous lady tied it up behind. Holding and Botham are off now and Gower seems freer with the bat. He goes, not out as far as I could see. I hear a groan up in the wings of the stand. I don't know if it is Clem fed up with Gower's wafting or my waffling. The Aussies are still warming up. I don't see The England. They must be in the nets. The Barmy Army are not here yet, though the leader bloke is, already planning the day's campaign. The wind should bring their dulcet tones to the hearing impaired greys like me so we can help drown out the opposition, not that I have seen that many.

It's lovely and warm today so the wind is on the whole welcome. As I was saying before that wind changed the direction of my thoughts, the dinner last night was brillo. Merv Hughes and Goochie were on their mettle. I didn't get their autographs but I did give them a blog card each. They looked puzzled, so they may not be reading this. I looked at Goochie's signature that my mate got on his menu to see if it was the same as the illegible one I've got on Goochie's book that I got in a library sale. I couldn't read it, but I can't say that I recognized it either. They told tales of Botham of Warne and of Tufnell and other larrikins. It's not for me to pass on what they said. It's only hearsay. I SAID IT'S ONLY HEARSAY! What they did say added to the evening. I gave the lady who put sun tan lotion on my knees on the way to Moreton Island a blog card. She said she'd look out for my pigtails at the ground. I said to her that I'd look out for her next time I went to Sandy Balls Holiday Park. I swept back my blond hair secure in the knowledge Clem that if the wind took it, like my knees it would be safe in her hands. Was the ball safe in yours Clem? Where did you like to field?

Atherton is now leaning on the bat with Tony Greig pacing up and down the wicket waiting for his moment or his satellite to arrive. I can't help; I can only hear planes flying past from time to time. They don't come into view because of your canopy Clem. No I'm not complaining. did you have wingeing poms in your day Clem? Holding is standing with another media group. The one that includes Mark Nicholas. How was it in your day Clem? Who was out there when you were warming up in their various minor roles? The old print confirms you did go through your paces, but it only shows a fierce looking umpire besides your own players. Major somebody.

People went for a drink after the meal. I gave the boy some money as they wouldn't be free any more. We sort of ambered our way betwixt and between the red light district in a thin red line (Booze and sun). The line didn't take long to dissipate. Some went where angels fear to tread. I went back to the safety of the hotel bar and bought a beer just before the bar closed. Dave the Plymouth supporter joined me in his Argyle shirt. I gave him the beer. I was knackered and soon I was sound asleep. I checked the boy was back safely in his bed before I went out for my early morning walk. I met the two street cleaners again who I had palled up with the other day. They pointed out John Buchanan, the Aussie Coach, as he was returning from his morning jog. He obviously wouldn't have fitted into Both's regime if what Goochie had said was so. No I haven't said what he said, even though it's no state secret.

One's called Carlo the other is a Mark. Carlo was leaning on his brush and we were putting the sporting world to right just like the other Mark and the media minors. John the Yorkshire bloke walked by and quipped 'Give Mike a yellow jacket and make him do some work!' I couldn't work out whether he was returning to the hotel after a late night out or whether he was trying to intercept John Buchanan to give him some verbal abuse about his early morning exercise progamme. A pity Goochie isn't around, he would have been able to tell. He's had experience. As I said it's not for me. I'm keeping stum. The Coventry supporter, Pete, wondered what the two guys and I talked about. It's like Goochie and Merv Hughes both last night and in their day. I can't really say. It just flew off the bat.

There's not a great deal happening cricket wise. Give him his due Merv Hughes said it would be 5-0, but being an Aussie selector he may have had to say that. Goochie said that there were only two possible results. A draw or an Aussie win. Warney and Stuart Clark opened up. 64-1 after 25 minutes. That's all of five runs this morning. I think it was Coventry Pete who showed us his Robbie Williams concert ticket. He's on tonight in Adelaide. Like my mate with the Tour de France I might give it a miss. The ticket cost $150. The gorgeous lady said she'd pay £150 for George Michael. I'd pay that to see you bat Clem but I think the time capsule I'd need would cost more than that. What I did buy was another phone card. The conversation I had with Terry, the missus' replacement for me took up all of my credit not to mention my credibility, Clem.

While the radio lot discuss Flintoff's ankle I'm still thinking about the young lady in the shop who sold me the card. The particular one was recommended as being the cheapest and longest lasting. I showed her the empty one, so that she could home in to the right section in her box. She said that it had been helpful as she had been away for three days and was only just getting back to routines. I asked her where she had been.'Anywhere nice?' She said 'I've been ill'. 'Oh' I said 'I'm sorry to hear that.' 'Quite serious' she said 'I almost died'. A kidney infection, I almost lost it.' I'd almost lost it by then myself. 'Are you OK now?' I asked her, ignoring the glances thrown by the boss bloke who was worrying about other customers not being served. I almost bought another card. She said she was. I've known a couple of people who have had similar problems with viruses. They're bad news. I'll pop in tomorrow for a newspaper and another Bulletin. 69-1. Inevitably a wicket falls. It's Strauss for 44. 10 runs in 40 minutes. The gorgeous lady's friend was talking to Mrs Strauss and Ed Joyce's girlfriend. She says she knows all the Middlesex team. They were worried that Strauss was out late last night. The CCTV cameras proved otherwise. Only joking! We have some serious cricket supporters here.

Collingwood's come out. Bell is on 26. For Fuck's sake! A run out. Excuse my French, Clem. Bell's gone. what a balls up! Didn't we just know it! 70-3. Backs to the wall job again. KP is in. Now he is out, by his friend Warney. It looked like a sweep, bowled around his legs. 73-4. Drinks. KP made 2. Please, please no! We'll lose this if we are not careful. This is official 'I wrote this at the time during the drinks break. Honest! The Aussies get rid of the giant drinks bottle. They want to get on with it, I mean get off with it. Collingwood and Flintoff both on zero. 73 plus the 1st innings lead of nearly 40. Thank goodness for those runs. It's going to be mayhem in the hotel tonight ( in my notes I wrote 'murder'). A late breakfast for the Aussies whatever. Now Flintoff. Caught behind off Brett Lee. 77-5. From where we are positioned Clem we could see Rudi's finger get into position before it's journey onwards and upwards from behind his back. So we slumped earlier than others. Unlike the Barmy army whose very raison d'etre is for periods like these, I could detect aggression amongst the greys. The same grumpy moans that Goochie et al had to field began to emerge.

Jones in, Collingwood on 1, Flintoff gone for 2. Appeals from the Aussies. Shouts of 'Cheats' from the greys. The Aussie fans are surprisingly quiet, though the Aussie, Aussie, Aussie chant is more frequent now. Two kites are flying in the distance. Now there are three. The kites are white with long red tails. We'll need our long tail to wag today. There's 4 now. Like the Aussies tails up. Heads we lose. How many are in our tail? H, H, and A. One crashes. I hope it's not an omen. It's an Amen that we need. Warney keeps plugging away. Jones 2, Collingwood 1. Could this be another Botham's Ashes? Out for a 150 lead, then we bowl the bastards out. Excusez moi encore un autre fois, Clem and I won't be calling them that when they get back to the hotel rather earlier than they would have liked. Another big appeal. This time from Brett Lee. Thankfully Rudi's finger stays firmly behind his back.

Lunchtime. I help the gorgeous lady write her post cards. 'Glad you are not here, swam with the dolphins, danced with the lounge lizards, koalaed the kangaroos, that sort of thing. The gorgeous lady's friend said that Strauss shouldn't have been given out. It wasn't Straussy who told her. They said so on the radio. Hostilities recommence with a vehement appeal. Turned down. 90 up. Jones goes. Caught Hayden bowled Brett Lee. Somebody said 'Cometh the man cometh the hour'. It's 1.52 pm now. We'll see what happens. They say that it has been stormy back home, well it will get more than stormy for Gilo if he does not come up with the goods. Well he comes up with the bads. Caught Hayden bowled the usual for zilch. The Greys go greyer. I bet Hoggie didn't think after getting his seven for, he would be in now at 97-7. Collingwood is only on 8. It was about 2.05 pm when Gilo got it. So much for cometh the hour. 13 minutes or so. Hoggie survives an appeal. Another eruption as they all go up. Steve Bucknor's finger doesn't. This must be the earliest that Hoggie has had to do his night watchman role. 99. I was just about to join the Army with their wind assisted clap when Warnie trapped Hoggie. An inside edge on to the stumps. Harmison comes out. Collingwood takes the single. Lee has got 5 balls at Harmie. The birds did not fly off when Hoggie was out. It shows you how few aussies are here.

Harmie gets a single off the bottom of his bat. 107-8 at drinks and McGrath hasn't even bowled in this innings. 36 overs to go. Less 2 for between innings. McGrath comes on both fresh and refreshed. Collingwood must have great trust in Harmie as he takes a single very early on in the over. Harmie gets an edge but it goes into the gap. Harmie must be having an effect on McGrath as he bowls him a wide. All a plan of course as McGrath gets Harmison lbw not playing a shot. Once again we see the early finger movement. Were you a bowler Clem? Sometimes you don't need to see the twitch, you just know. 119-9. Warney. 1 ball to Collingwood, then 2 then 3. A single. The grouchy greys are grumbling. 'Ridiculous' they chant Gregorianly. Ils accusent Collingwood for not protecting the tail, but why should it be his ass on the line after scoring 206 in the first innings? 4/5/6 Anderson survives. Panesar comes out with a drink and no doubt with a message to provide Anderson with a shelter. Something like 'Watch your ass, mate. The greys have got it in for you.' For the first time Collingwood refuses a single. He got the message. He's got Anderson taped.

There's complicated things about when tea is. Oh how I love the game. We Dot Cotton on to what the Army are doing. We cheer every ball that doesn't take a wicket even if there are no runs off it. It's 3.31 pm 123-9. I think there's 2 overs to go. Anderson wants the site screen moved. 3-32 pm. McGrath sets off, bowls and appeals. We boo. Anderson isn't ready. McGrath has to restart. 3.33 pm another appeal and another. Warney appeals like nobody else can. There's an appeal every ball. The greys get confused. Even the bloke in front appeals. 3.36. They surround Collingwood. I'm sure I heard an appeal from the stand. Was that you Clem? He gets a two. There's a drop. Two of them drop it. 3.38 pm Warney's over doesn't get a wicket. McGrath bowls. A play and a miss by Anderson. The Hans go up, as I tuck into a Danish. I told you I was expecting tea by now. 21 overs to go according to my calculations based on what is on the giant scoreboard. You couldn't hear the sound of a pin drop but you could hear the sound of the site screen reversing to type. 3.42. The finger twitches. He's got him. He being McGrath. Him being Anderson. 129 all out, a lead of 167.

I've miscalculated of course. God knows what I was looking at. 168 to get in thirty bloody six overs. The gorgeous lady pours me a cup of tea from her flask. Tea at last, tea at last Oh God all my tea at last. Or 'Thanks, I can do with that' as I said at the time. They get 10 off the first over and 2 off Flintoff's first two balls. the gorgeous lady says that they are making it look too easy. They are running everything. Almost a run out. The giant screen shows that whoever it was would have been a gonner. Unruffled they take another quick single. Langer 7, Hayden 6. I tell you what. Ruffled or not, those birds won't stay grounded if we get a wicket. Waltzing Matilda drowns the Barmies. There seems more of them now. Out of the woodwork I expect. Flintoff slows things down. 2nd ball Hoggie gets Langer. Caught Bell. We go bonkers. The birds stay put. It must be the Aussie fans' bad breath that gets them to move.

Here comes your boy, Clem - Ponting . The Army sing now. Is salvation at hand? 14-1 as Ponting gets off the mark. We interrupt this blogcast with the news that there is no play at Lord's,TMS goes off air 5 minutes after I turn on the radio, 5 minutes after The BBC replaced The Open with an episode of Coast because of satellite problems in London. It didn't even work on terrestrial so it's not pie in the sky. The boy has had to cancel the end of term school cricket match. The Missus' school has got its summer barbecue tonight. No I'm not wingeing Clem I'm just having to change my 'What are you doing in your retirement?' answers. I don't know how far they got around the coast, but the golf is back when I turn the telly on again. India are 214 all out, but you'd know that as it was at Edgbaston in 1996.

The Wisden Cricketer included my Blog in their classified section this month even though I hadn't asked them to. I should really send them the £15 as there is much about the Spirit of the game au moment. Are you part of that Clem? England in New Zealand is tempting? the sun shines, but I think our game will go the same way as Lord's today. A bloke in the Wisden magazine letters moaned about the sky high prices at Lord's such as the '£5 pies'. He could have read my last blog entry for support. Amazingly Lord's will be fit for play in about 20 minutes. Maybe the pies are paying for the drainage system. A worthwhile investment if they get 10 overs in, which didn't look to be a possibility just a couple of hours back. The radio said that the outfield water drained through as if going into a sponge. Gordon will be on the phone by now to see if he can get his money back that he gave towards the flood victims. The Gabba ground authorities will certainly be using up the credit on their phone cards as they get a whiff of how to infiltrate the ground more efficiently. Excitement at Lord's. Pietersen must have been taking notice of Christopher Martin Jenkins' Cowdrey lecture as he walked. Did the wicket keeper know? Who knows? Justice prevails. Even though the umpire gave him out. So much for justice as Pietersen is out the same way. England lose 4 wickets as their good start drains away more quickly than the surface water did. Did I hear Vaughan's phone ring? Monty comes in.

Monty won't be much use here will he Clem, as he can only come on with drinks and messages. The message has got around the fair city of Adelaide. The Loony Boonies have grown in numbers. Four to Hayden. 20 up. A good ball by Flintoff. Six overs gone after this. Thirty to go. Four to Ponting. 28. Big hit for Hayden off Freddie. 32. Yes! Hayden is out. If we can screw up so can they. Collingwood took the catch. It was so high up we could sing 'That's out! out! out! 20 times before he took it. Gilo comes on not Harmie. Botham makes the same point about flood victims coveting the drainage rate. Monty doesn't do much with the bat against India. Bell is bowled not Anderson so I can't say that both Bell and England who are left high and dry.

At least I can concentrate on Adelaide. You must have the same problem Clem. It's hard to choose what to watch with all the satellite channels. It must be impossible with those Heavenly views. Here Ponting is on 20. Hussey half of that. 23 overs to go after this. Ponting gets a four. The gorgeous lady like England is beginning to feel the heat. She said that in other circumstances she would drift off to sleep. I said that if she did I would whisper sweet nothings in her ear like 'Ponting's out'. If that didn't work I'd mimic Cyril and ask her for the next dance. It didn't work for Harmison either. 84 runs to get in 19 overs. 77 runs as the birds change ends, driven out by the fanatics who are out arriving the seagulls by 4 to 1. Like the birds we are in disarray. 100 up for them. Ponting 38. Flintoff is exercising. He's probably practising his excuses now as Pietersen comes on. The birds clear a path between mid-on and mid-wicket. One run to mid-wicket causes the birds to close ranks. The greys are already in this formation. Indeed unlike the gorgeous lady who didn't manage it, the first of the few have drifted off.

The missus texts. She's listening to the radio in bed after my alarm call. She's tucked up in bed with Ginger the cat so there's no need for alarm. The drinks bottle is poised to come on. 2 for 109. 59 to get. 15 overs to go. We are fucked! Sorry Clem, not that you are.48 for Ponting ,35 for Hussey. Even the Barmies seem down. That may well be but it is Ponting who is out. Gilo got the wicket and according to the missus' next text Ginger got the push. 116-3. They need 52. Alice Springs eternal. A four brings the birds back to our end despite the ever increasing din. The departing greys are replaced five fold by bleached blonds. Flintoff gets Martyn out. 125-4. 6.03, 11 overs to go. 43 to get. They get 7 off one ball. Overthrows. Which kung fu that? 'Are You Scotland in Disguise?' I don't know which lot are singing it! 31 off 9. Where are Dave and Zoe now? 25 runs. It is the Boonies who are singing. 'You're not writing! You're not writing! You're not writing anymore! You're not writing any more!' It's an ill wind, Clem.

Tarts, pudding and pies

I'm finally ready to account for day four at Adelaide. Not that it will be me who will be held to account. What took the time? Various things, events and manifestations. The day itself was traumatic. It can take a long time to recover. Ask Cyril! I bought the school hat and pigtails from the Fancy dress shop. It didn't fit particularly well in more ways than one. It was going to cost me $40, so I was dithering. The lady who for once had opened the shop on time was not. She pulled it down over my head for a better fit and pinged the elastic under my chin. Now that sort of thing may turn some people on but pas moi madam, so I paid her the money and left pdq just in case she was going to put me through a different sort of training regime to the one I should have been watching that the England boys were going through at the Adelaide Oval. England may have been under the cosh at Brisbane, but that doesn't mean that we want a whipping in Adelaide.
I walked the mile or so through the city to the ground. Three people smiled. I gave each one one of my blog cards. One young lady was really supportive. 'Good on ya , mate'. She returned to her mobile phone saying 'You wouldn't believe what I've just seen' At least I think that's what she said, as the pigtails were hanging over my ears. After my earlier morning stroll around the City, I had gone back to the hotel to get my back pack. The Aussie team were exiting ready to get into their minibus. Good to see it was a Budget Rental. I gave a card to McGrath, Warney, Pontin and a few others. I'll ask the boy later to say who they were. Only McGrath looked as if he was looking down his nose a bit. The other guys said 'Thanks mate' as they went by.
The notes for this were being written while the Aussies are getting on top. Not 'of the minibus' but 'in the match'. Gilchrist has just hit two consecutive fours off Harmison. 350 is almost up, with Gilchrist on 38. He hit Cook at forward short leg just before drinks. It could have been bad. Gilchrist went straight over to him to see if he was OK. Good for you Gilchrist. I'm not one of those ex-teachers who profess that if they field that close it will teach them a lesson if they do get hit. I know its a bit academic but in my opinion they would not be a million miles from thinking first about running out people like Gilchrist rather than going to see how their fellow player is faring. On the other hand you can bank on it being a learning curve for Cook.
I've been staring at the gorgeous lady's thongs. Don't read me wrong. They weren't what she left behind when she came down to visit the missus and I a few weeks ago, though that was one of the manifestations I was talking about earlier on. Neither was it so boiling hot at the Oval that we had all stripped off. 'Thongs' are 'Flip flops' over here, though she refers to them as 'sandals'. Again to be clear, she's after an official Aussie hat, and one of the tour guys is an MCC member and thinks that he can get her in to the official shop in the pavilion. He thinks they have rules about the wearing of baring feet shoes. Some clubs seem to take things to almost fetish proportions, and no I haven't visited one in Hindley Street. Gilchrist has got his fifty. Welcome back Gilchurch, especially after your kind and immediate reaction towards Cookie. Don't take it too far though, we know how you can dominate. 373, with no flag waving except for Harmie's first over. Last night the lovely lady went off to buy what I think they call a pie floater. No jokes about them being all gone as Warney had got there first. I think it's mushy peas that they float in. Graham the bus driver recommended them, but don't let that put you off. He wanted his commentary as he took us up and down Adelaide to be compulsive listening. It wasn't! It became compulsory. We had to be ordered to listen. It wasn't quite Cyril, but it was close. Clarke gets his fifty but Gilchrist gets out just like I asked him to. I told you he was a nice one Cyril. Caught Bell bowled Giles. 'A Warwickshire wicket' says the bloke in front. More Bears. Warney is in. There's an appeal. Rudi doesn't give much and he doesn't give this. 384-6. The Barmy Army abuse Warney a bit. He does look a little larger than yesterday, though I didn't notice this morning. Perhaps it wasn't him that took the pies. He'd take to the missus' Cornish pasties, but I won't give him the chance if I see him again in the hotel, if what the Aussie Barmies are singing turns out to be so.It's baking now, even in the Clem Hill Stand. I promised the gorgeous lady my missus' recipe, but she said she didn't have time to bake. I couldn't do one over here anyway as in this heat it would be alfresco as well as my usual alfredo, and I wouldn't want to get my fingers burnt, or caught in the pie. As with Warney you can't have your cake and eat it, as if you do, like Marie Antoinette you like me would have had your chips, like you must have had if it wasn't the pies Warney.
The gorgeous lady said that the way to a man's heart is through the stomach, and that she wasn't a good cook. I held in what was becoming a bit of a beer gut, and almost said that there was more than one way to skin a cat. Remembering that cats were revered by Cleopatra in Rome, where all roads lead, like Tom I said nothing. I should have said 'You don't need to be, all the other attributes are there to pull the heart strings.' But like Bagpuss, The Clangers, The Soup Dragon, Captain Pugwash, Ivor the Engine and Cut Throat Jake I didn't say that either. Bit of luck I didn't really, as it wouldn't just be Jake and the French who would be after couping my gorge, Cornish accent or not! If this is driving you nuts, there's more in store as KP comes on.
392-6, Clarke 61 n.o. 410 now. When did that 400 come up? 4 to Clarke, 2nd bowl off Giles. Harmison was warming up at Lunchtime, bowling to one stump. I got only one wolf whistle and that from the Boonies as I went to get two lagers. As usual every action deserves a reaction so I gave the bloke in the middle of the group a blog card. I didn't have enough to give one to the rest of the pack. 430-6. Warney is on 20. 447 as we finish our choc ices. Clarkey gets the single he wants for his century. Having run off what I said about him,Warney runs a three and goes up to 36 as his team goes up to 469. As if stirred by Warne's success, the Aussie Boonie Fanatics or what ever they call themselves insult Warney and our Queen to the tune of 'You've got the whole world in your hand...' They then had a go at Fletch. 'You've only got one spinner in your side...' to the same tune. We hadn't been singing it but we'd been saying it even before we landed in Brisbane. Our lot replied ' You've got a Sex Pest in your side'. I didn't join in. You know my standards by now. Proving that there is bound to be a market for my book:- the soon hopefully to be published (by me)'French and Spanish Cricket' ( It's my blog and I'll do what I want) to the tune of 'It's my life and I'll do what I want', two blokes in front were counting seagulls. Despite the abuse Warney goes to 36. It also indicates that nobody present in the ground with the possible exception of Glenn McGrath and Merv Hughes expected a finish in favour of the Aussies. The gorgeous lady is reading the paper about a second person who was poisoned at the dinner table in London. She loves 'Medical Thrillers'. There's more to come to enthrall I'm afraid as we all know now. I'm still pleased that it was Cedric's back that went rather than him being bitten by a poisonous snake despite the fact that it would have made a riveting read for the gorgeous lady. An Aussie bloke bares his ass to the English supporters. They have CCTV here so they should be able to identify the asshole, hard as it could be with the number of them in evidence. What do you reckon? 500 before tea? I mean runs not bums. Last over before tea. Hoggie. 3 dot balls before Warney edges a four through 1st slip. 502. Hardly a cheer goes up. All seem to have lost interest, or was it that they are all purists and it was an edge rather than a drive? Their vibes reach Warney. He's out caught behind. Well done Hoggie. A chance to wave the flag. We are there. All out 507. Hoggie got 7, Anderson got the last one. Out comes the light roller. The betting odds came up on the big screen, but I couldn't see them. Not that I would have placed a bet as I'm not exactly a high roller. We have 19 overs left, or do they take away 2? Remainder 17. whatever!
Whatever it is, it should do nicely. The flag should be a bit more prominent with a few fours. We hope! Why is it you always get the feeling that they will take the initiative as well as the mickey? Is it me? I know I'm a Mike. Is it because we are the England 'The mighty mighty England'? Are those Aussies influencing us? Like the cold drinks 'A Pom's worst nightmare'. Straussy, this is your moment.To upset his learning curve Lee goes around the wicket. I thought I'd seen the pepper and salts differently positioned on the Aussie tables this morning. It's good to see that they use the same techniques as I used to do with the kids before their school football matches. The missus reckons that is the reason we don't sit round the table for meals any more. At least it reduced their salt intake if nothing else. 16 overs to go. I didn't listen to the radio today because of the pigtails interfering with the earphones, so I don't know what the pundits are saying about how they feel the game will go. I'll be doing a lot of listening for the next three matches as I'll be back home. Like that kangaroo koala I'll need to become nocturnal to keep up with it. The trouble is that it will be too cold to kip during the day in the hammock hanging from the tree in our garden. It's not Eucalyptus but life often isn't. Cook gets a four off McGrath. Up goes the flag. 0-15 (Aussie influence) becomes 0-19 off McGrath again. 11 overs to go. The Boonies are singing but not by much. We've got Goochie and Merv Hughes on the menu tonight. Shane Warne comes into the attack. A sort of victory to us, but the Aussies would not look on it that way, and Warney himself certainly wouldn't. You can bet that he won't be bowling pies. A bat-pad appeal gets the Aussie supporters going but not Stve Bucknor. Warney certainly gets things going. 0-31 as Stuart Clark the early wicket taker in the series so far comes on. Good on you Straussy 22, careful Cookie 9. Sod it! The early birds fly off which means a roar from the crowd which means a wicket and of course it's Clark. The birds stay put for Bell's welcoming applause. He's also welcomed with silly fielding positions. He gets one away towards the birds but they don't fly off, they just move. Strauss sweeps, Bell gets one to mid-off. 7 overs to go. 12 overs gone. So has the maths. We all shout 'Shot' as one of them gets a three to mid-on. Another appeal gets turned down. There's loads of birds now. The bloke in front's maths can't be up to it either as he has gone. 44-1. They run three. Strauss 27. 49 and the flag is at the ready. The aim is to get the birds to fly off. We don't manage that. It's the numbers again. There's safety in them. Last over coming up. It's Warney. Somebody shouts 'You Tart, Warney'. It's probably the knobhead as he doesn't know his Joan from his Ass over tit. No eventualities, 59-0. Bring on Merv the swerve.
Oh yes. A great game of Twenty/20 last night at the St Lawrence ground, Canterbury. The surrounding famously named stands looked tatty, but as was in the paper today Kent have also noted that and have huge plans for development. A couple of helpful improvements that you can be making in the short term:- I don't think many can make head nor tail of what comes out of your PA system, and your cardboard drinks carriers need redesigning. Well done though for continuing to let all and sundry play on the ground between innings and after the game! The scene is one to behold in being almost medieval in nature. The lime tree is coming on too!
Your pies. I brought my own.

From Ashes to Ash

The day has warmed up from the day before. Like England's score the numbers of us who eventually went to the Italian restaurant went up and up. It got to twelve. If it had gone up by one more the table would have stretched into the bakers next door. The restaurant couldn't cope. Two meals didn't turn up. Some were cold. The knob head who had called out 'loser' to Warne walked out. No loss there. Others were more accepting. I expect the knob head went off to ring Gordon Ramsey so that he could come round and have an F word with the restaurant.
There was a Sunday market en route to the ground, and today was a Sunday. The missus would have loved it. All craft type stuff. I bought a bag for the daughter. I bought a grate ceramic fireplace type tile. It depicted Ponting getting out at Brisbane. I also bought the original drawing, to go with it and a cheap as chipped tile depicting who I thought was Warney, but turned out to be Lehmann. The lady did tell me who it was , but I thought she was using a defamatory term for Warney rather than the South Australia captain's nickname. She had done quite a good one of Gilo, but her one of Flintoff didn't really look like Freddie. I also bought an etching of an emu trapped behind a rabbit proof fence from her and from someone else a picture of ibises if that is the right plural. It could be ibisi or it could be ibis. In fact it is ibis as the picture is called 'Coorang Ibis' and unlike the one that was in the riverside bar in Brisbane they were not by themselves. The lady who painted it arrived in Australia in 1974. If you want to see the artist's work go to www.jordanfineart.com.au. The lady who does the cricket tiles is Glenda Bowen. A search engine rally should find her. She's the only one besides me and the other boy who has left a comment on the blog. So 'Good on ye Glenda'. They had the security on the gate to the Adelaide Cricket Ground but they were more Luftwaffe than Gestapo, S.S. or Gabba. The bloke I went to saw the tile and said 'What's that mate?' 'Something I'm going to savour.' I told him, as I licked my lips in anticipation. 'Ponting getting out.' 'Take a good look mate.' He replied with conviction ( No offence intended ). 'You won't see that happen again.'
We got the other one out though. Hayden, or 'Haydos' as the tile lady would call him. It's 52-2. I got told off by my mate back home for using the flag to cover the gorgeous lady's knees. He said 'No wonder we couldn't see you.' He wasn't fooling me, I always knew he was a leg man. He had a point though so I brought two jumpers and a fleece, neither of which was made of possum, ding bat or ru, and the only connection to a wally is obvious to one and all. The sun is out today. Ponting puts one up towards it but Like Icarus it falls clear of any fielders. A terrific over from Hoggard. I waved my fleece, jumpers and flag none of which were required for knee duty. Ponting 28, Martyn 5. We are all confident and like the lamb and flag up for it. The flag goes up as they go three down. 78-3. Martyn is out caught Bell. Hoggie again. Come on Harmie. Ashley! Ashley! He drops one. Ponting! I admit to feeling glad that I didn't buy the picture of Ashley now. It won't just be Glenda who uses the photo of that drop. Think of the sales Glenda if he had taken it. There's a good one of Ponting that I hope she got of him on the floor avoiding one from Harmison. You can write it yourself. OK I'll do it for you. 'Unlike Icarus he may be down but he is not out.' Ponting's luck doesn't change. With the exception of the Grand Old Duke of York, when you are up you are up.The first ball from Anderson comes off the bottom of his bat. He goes to 49 and almost gets run out. He gets the extra he needs for his fifty with the overthrow, though those of us in the know know that it's not really an extra, and though I can't remember now whether the overthrow went for four and I didn't write it down at the time, I did write down that a sixth sense of foreboding was beginning to raise its ugly head. I know it may well have been five, but I didn't have a sense of fiveboding and if I had mentioned that, it would have left a significant number of people at sixes and sevens.
97-3. It cannot be many times that Australia have not reached 100 by the end of the morning session, and this one with the extra ten overs from last night. This unfortunately won't be one of them as it turns out as Ponting gets a four. Deliberately to achieve the milestone I have no doubt, so it would not be hanging around his neck at lunch. 105 they get to. I won't be hanging around either. I need to get to the market. I want to see if that tile of Gilo shows him dropping a catch. If it does I'll ask her to do one of Flintoff holding up a stump. The tile of Gilo had been sold. Glenda said that it was an English supporter who seemed a bit of a knob head saying he was going to drop it down the stairs in the hotel where the England team were staying to see how 'Gilo likes being dropped'. That's the trouble with certain knob heads, they can't avoid poking into other people's business.
158-3 as the bloke in the wheelchair in 'Little Britain' goes by. He gets a cheer as Ponting goes to 82 with Hussey on 42. before we know it, it's 212-3, then 240-3. Ponting 132 and Hussey 74. It's a lull to us with only a run out decision getting my woolly jumper to twitch. It goes against us. It took 142 runs before the bloke on the gate turned out to be wrong. Hope and Alice Springs eternal. 267-4. Hussey goes as the cops throw out an unruly Aussie fan. They spoke to him quietly twice but he continued with his aggressive ways so they had no option. On the highlights Tony Greig mentioned the King George Whiting. He said it is delicious and he's right.It is and it was. Ozzie Clarke was also right. The tram ride to Glenelg was special. Like those in the know when one follows the other they become extra special, especially on a Sundrey.
What else? Ironically I was beamed out by Ash CC coming out of the sun, last week. I'd made 15 by then and we outlasted them in their pub which sort of changed their victory into ours. I didn't play yesterday. We had a school do. At Cobham Hall. Those in the know will know the Ashes link. From Dawn 'til dusk from Ash CC to Ashes. From Lord Darnley to Lord's. I went last Monday. I only went to spite the missus. 'I know you' she said. 'You'll look at the forecast and stay in bed.' I paid my £20. It cost me a pound an over. I saved a fortune though by only buying one cup of tea. I sat under my umbrella just in front of the giant screen. I could pick myself out easily later in the highlights, even though I didn't take the flag, and I was wearing both the fleece and jumper to keep warm. There weren't many alternatives for the cameras to home in on. I'm not a critical person as you know but if the notice on the scoreboard with the blown light bulbs had said that because of the reduction in the number of overs for the day the Lord's museum would be free to those with a ticket, even though I was stuck to my seat in the wet, I would have fallen off it. I saw my mate on the Wednesday after. I told him what I've told you. He told me that he was also there. He's a member of Middlesex, so while I was cowering under my umbrella wringing out my home made 'Rip off Britain saving' ham sandwiches, he was in the pavilion drinking gins and tonics. At least both he and I had time to dry out before the public announcement of Public School teachers teaching state school teachers a thing or two to pay lip service to them maintaining their charitable status. I was so cross I had to change the traditional fund raising activity during the School do at Cobham Hall. For the last couple of years we did 'roll a pound', with the nearest winning the target brandy bottle. Well a not insignificant number went down through the gaps between the floorboards in the Great Hall, and as cricketing and Darnley Lords know a pound is a pound and an earner is an earner. Now it's me that is being uncharitable as Cobham Hall did not charge us for being there. Perhaps one day they'll even invite me to forage below those historically significant floorboards to retrieve not only the one pound coins, but also maybe the actual genuine long lost dusty urn!

Was this cricket or ginger pussy? We'll ask Confucius.

We managed a game on Saturday, and I managed some runs. 11 n.o. going in at number 11. We lost in the last over, but I have no arguments with that. I umpired for a long time but I didn't mind that either. The other guy who was umpiring was debating whether we should no ball the bowler who he thought was dollying up some so that they came out of the sun. I wasn't so sure. He sent one up or down which in my opinion was plumb lbw. He didn't appeal. Somebody else did but he was at fine leg and in no position to see and far enough away for me not to hear. I told him I would have given it out if he had appealed, but he said that he didn't think it would be fair on the young lad as it had come out of the sun. Respect to the bowler who was no old 'un himself. When I was batting he complimented me on my late cut which almost went for four. The wicket keeper sighed in exasperation not being the sort to recognize a quality shot when it he sees one. Respect again to the bowler. He got his wicket caught and bowled in his last over, so justice sort of prevailed as it often does in friendly matches.
I had some questions in my mind but I didn't air them, this being as I said a friendly. I gave the bloke in question my blog card in the pub afterwards so he can make up his own mind. What do you think? We'd reached tea with a wicket on the last ball. As we walked off their team shouted to the batsmen, 'You only want two more'. The bat who was out thought they meant him and told them that he was out. They then said it was the other guy who was 2 short of a century. We dutifully walked back on again and as was his custom he edged one down to the third man boundary. It wasn't a deliberate stroke. I wasn't bowling so had no axe to grind. I'd bowled well enough against him and it was only my usual one over too many that they got hold of. Anyway I clapped and started to walk off. I looked around to see that he was facing up for another ball I had to get back to my short mid wicket position by the fence. They played on for the rest of the over getting another 8 or so runs. Well that's not cricket is it?
Not to worry I suppose, and I haven't named names and I didn't make a fuss at the time , as there's more to life. My mate and I and the bloke he gave a lift to went to the pub afterwards. It was entirely non-smoking already. I had a weak shandy as I was driving. I shouldn't have been, as my mate had arranged to take me back from the ground to his place for a curry with the missus joining us later. What the missus hadn't twigged of course was that he was going direct to their ground and wouldn't be coming to the meet. As he hadn't turned up of course by well after leaving time I reassuringly waved all the others off, so they wouldn't be late. After seeing two first team wickets fall, with various chats and phone calls I finally sussed the problem, so I walked back home to get the car. The missus offered to drive me there, but I said we'd only probably row so I'd come back after the game and get her, but not in the vindictive sense. Our skipper was new, this being the fifths and didn't know that my mate had been asked to pick up the name on the team sheet that nobody at the meet had heard of. He also didn't realize that part of the reason in collecting money off the players was to pay the opposition for the teas. Luckily my mate had a twenty and I had a tenner, so we could pay our dues. I noticed that the centurion who had stayed in for the extra five balls didn't buy a jug, certainly while we were there. I wouldn't have accepted much of it anyway as as I have already said I was driving, but that's not the point and that's not cricket either is it? I hope it's not going to be like this in every pub from the beginning of July. No wonder smokers cough.
As I'd got eleven runs, and had bowled six or seven overs without knee problems, the soggy memories of the pre-match wait in the rain had dissolved away by the time I had got home. The evening was most enjoyable. Besides my mate and his missus, there was another couple there. They are both good company. Both are artists. Next weekend they are off to a James Bond theme fancy dress do. It was great going through all the options. We ended up with Goldfinger and Pussy Galore. They will have to get hold of some plus fours and some jodhpurs. I couldn't remember the name of Pussy's pilots as the lady reckoned that her husband would want to go as a female and she didn't want to go as a man. I'll look up Pussy's Pilots on the internet though I may be some time. Alternatively I'll phone a friend. I phoned a friend on Saturday night. Nobody believed me that the 70's David Carradine TV Western was called 'Kung Fu'. Their suggestions ranged from 'Grasshopper', 'The man who shot Fu Manchu', to Shenandoah and the Shaolin Monk', as far as I can remember. I told you it was a good evening. I gave the couple a blog card each. I'll give them the option of putting the photos of themselves on the blog. Confucius he say ' One who say no wore wrong outfit'. I will write about Day 3 at Adelaide but I had to get this out of my system first. Oh yes. For our century making batsman or his skipper. Confucius he say 'To go beyond is as wrong as to fall short.' And you managed both in one day. See you next season, probably.

A Birds Eye view

Batman and Robin are at the ground today. I saw them very early on in the day outside Adelaide main Post Office. Some Joker must have told them it was open on Saturdays. They were not receiving a lot of attention. I'd tried to join them. I'd got to a fancy dress shop that was next door to Vittorias the Italian restaurant where we ate last night. 'We' being the gorgeous lady and her mate and moi of course to make the nous. I got to the shop at ten when it was supposed to be open, even on a Saturday. I'd seen some pigtails which I thought might go down well. The day was due to start at 11, and as I've already said, the day was Saturday, and fancy dress on a Saturday is a feature over here. I'm writing this in retrospeck. I gave them ten minutes, then gave up. I didn't want to miss any of the cricket. Unlike B & R I didn't have access to a batmobile and the trams went in the opposite direction. Pietersen takes two fours off of ( I so like saying 'off of') McGrath. The third four brings up the 300. The sun seems to be taking its hat off more often than it puts it back on again. 304-3.
The gorgeous lady decided to buy a kangaroo kangaroo rather than a kangaroo koala. She'd already got possum slippers from New Zealand and a couple had already been in and bought all the penguins. The lady in the shop seemed a bit fed up. She asked whether the gorgeous lady wanted it put into a bin bag. 'A bin bag?' came the reply echoing the important and Earnest 'A handbag?' retort from Lady Bracknell. If Maggie T had been the gorgeous lady which I'm happy to say she wasn't, and in my diaries never could be, she could well have hit the disinterested shop lady with her handbag, crocodile or not, even though she wasn't one for snap decisions. It's one thing collecting kangaroos from the side of the road and putting them in dustbin bags. It's something very different to re-introduce them to the same bag at the point of sale. That's 5 bags in all. Unthinking children at some schools call the dinner ladies 'dinner bags', though I think Jamie Oliver has attended to that now. It's dinner ferrets now, as in 'The Great Escape' prison guards at Stalag Luft III. Nowadays they have to be ready for an ever changing role. Not only are they X-Raying packed lunch boxes, but they are soon to be monitoring pupil obesity, taking their carbon footprints and assessing and reporting on their energy profiles. There is a course being run at that school which is overlooked by the Gabba. The ground authorities follow the same tactics as the German guards as they have their suspicions that the kids are tunneling under the Gabba to get to the only shop in Brisbane that will sell sweets to children without informing the Moreton Island immigration squad. Michael Atherton is to be applauded as he has been acting as one of the penguins for the tunnelers.
347-3 but I've still not waved the flag much. The same reasons apply. The boy and his mates have moved down on to the sunny grassy knoll, and so I moved to be in front of the gorgeous lady and my flag was once again over her knees as it is colder up here sitting in the Clem Hill Stand. A bloke arrived to sit in the seat I'd Kommandeered. I moved up one. Like in the bar there were loads of empties. The absent occupants were probably lying with the boy and his mates on the grassy frontage increasing the number of empties of probably the worst lager in the world. The best lagers were probably banned to prevent the opposing armies clashing in an unharmonious fashion.
The bloke in the next seat turned out to be very chatty. He was a chartered accountant. I suppose it is the chartered part that makes the difference. He hadn't been to Brisbane but he was going to go to Perth. Now Perth didn't begin until December 14, and with the wicket playing as it is at Adelaide this one will go on to the fifth day, I asked him what he was going to do for the gap week. He said he was going to Sydney and then on to Tasmania to stay with an old girlfriend. The old devil! He'd said that they'd gone out together thirty years ago when he was down there on holiday. He said he was 73 and she 63. Now I mean, not thirty years ago. They never married . Each other or anybody else. The boy brought me up a lager. It was a fair trade exchange. I had given him a cheese roll and some fruit during 'drinks'. The bloke said that he had asked the question and she had turned him down. He thought that her mother hadn't approved. I told him that she would be probably long gone by now, and so he should 'go for it.' Not that it was any of my business, but I asked him about his business. He said that it runs itself anyway, with a young guy who keeps an eye on it and he was thinking of handing it over to him. He said he was going to go to find somewhere warmer. I told him that Britain was warming up and I asked him to come back the next day and I'd give him my blog card so he could let me know what happened. How romantic. He said he was not very good with the internet. 'There you are then', I said. 'Wind up your business. Nobody will notice.' He didn't return. Somebody might know him and let me know. I've hopefully advertised my blog in the next 'Cricketer' magazine. I'm not sure in what section. I didn't see a 'Lonely Hearts' section, but with a bit of luck he won't be reading that sort of bit anymore.
Just to annoy the Aussies, and to undermine what underpins the 'Pom's worst nightmare' advert I warmed my hands up on the lager before finishing it off. The gorgeous lady says that she likes to read medical thrillers, which is probably why she'd like to know the outcome with Cedric after the air ambulance dash from Moreton Island to Brisbane hospital. The temperature difference from where the boy is to where we are is significant. I've got my fleece zipped up and my legs crossed. I'm dying for a pee, butI'm not going to the loo until the sun goes in as I'm worried that if I leg it down to the facilities, I may not make them in time. Not that anyone on the grass would notice as they have spilled plenty of lager on it already with the wind being what it is. I watch McGrath bowl a maiden in the sun, and see 2 runs taken off of Warney. ( There's consistent.)
Things move on. I've swapped my fleece for the flag. Knees must. I'll need the flag for the 450, Collingwood's 200, the 300 partnership and Pietersen's 150. I did most of it. Collingwood was out for 206. The Aussies pumped everything wide down the off side and eventually Collingwood got fed up and got an edge. 408-4. Flintoff in. Warney almost gets Pietersen out caught. The seagulls are arriving in patches as the shadows lengthen. A magpieish bird (see picture) searches the canopy for juicy tit bits. On the way to the ground I saw one of his species attack a bloke on the head 'Hitchcockian The Birds' style, with a swooping glancing blow, the sort that got Melanie Daniels when she was in the boat. No offence to the seagulls who in this case were calmly avoiding the odd leg glance and the even odder McGrath. 'Odd' because he was the only one of the Aussies who looked disbelievingly at me when I offered them my blog card. Unless of course all the others were odd by saying 'Thanks mate.' The bloke was only two yards in front of me. Not McGrath. The one who was attacked by the bird! Relief? Bloody right. It was only today that the Euro powers that be confirmed I could say 'yards' without being arrested. At least now referees will not be so reluctant to make sure players are ten yards back at free kicks . I'm not so sure about Jamie's dinner ladies. Give them an inch and they'd take a bloody mile like the queues going in to the Gabba. The well behaved birds move off after Flintoff just avoids mid-on. Maybe the magpieish bird had told them about way that the bloke who he attacked had reacted. He pursued him with a level of vengeful ferocity that took the residents of Bodega Bay quite a time to rise to. P gets run out. You could see he was out from here. You didn't need a replay, but with the birds not reacting they probably needed to increase the tension somehow, as the Aussie fans were visibly losing interest. Flintoff had a word with Jones. It was his second warning. He'd been almost Warned first ball. Jones goes for 1. Martyn and Warne were responsible. Panesar comes out with a drink for Flintoff. Is he asking or being told? Giles arrives. He got a few runs the other day. We could do with a few quick runs. Some Barmy Army wannabie tries to get a Mexican wave going. It only gets a few yards on the grass below and a few inches up here. It wasn't a lack of willingness. The muscles and sinews were frozen to the enchiladas.
F & G stutter through the 500. We declare at 551-6. The Mexican Pete goes South a bit and managed to get a six man conga going. The last man who became generally abusive later moons but doesn't attract anything else but flies. You can see the bird in the canopy considering the options for a few moments, but having seen the guy literally on the piss for most of the afternoon, the thought of what solid food had accompanied it obviously put it off. Even the bird knows you are what you eat mate, and will probably be telling its aggressive pal to stay off the nuts. Flintoff the captain is out practising with the bowlers. He was the main one in Brisbane so lets hope some of his whatever it is rubs off on the others. It may well have done but he left plenty for himself. Bye bye Langer. See you in the hotel. Well done Freddie. You got out probably the best Langer in the world. 28-1 will do for me. What's on the menu for me tonight? Starry Gazy Pie? Cornish Pastie? Washed down with Lizard Ale maybe or is it washed up? Victor Who Knows.

Adelaide adalast

Thoughts of cricket permeate my mind as do the traditional aches and pains that emanate from the first cricket match of the season to my body. My physical state rather than my achievements were brought to the fore by my featured friend Heath ( pronounced as in Calluna Vulgaris, no offence Heath, as opposed to Morning Cloud who fortuitously came around Saturday night to unwind over a bottle of Brindisi Rosso that I was just able to open despite the agonies I was experiencing. I gave thanks that I was not a wrist spinner and that I did not roll my wrists in getting out for a duck caught at long leg. Fortissimo as the missus was still up the ladder decorating with the high moral ground when I got back from the game, and both of us were too sore to phone for a take-away. Heath kept us from being sore with each other. Her incredulous 'Only three overs?' contextualised my plight.
Anyway getting back to past thoughts, we watched the Aussies toing and froing from breakfast and meets in the hotel. I walked down Hindley Street through the Red Light District as I'd been told there was a printer down that way who would be able to do my blog card. I eventually found it and placed my order. As with all the Aussies I met the guy in the shop was very welcoming and chatty. It was the first day of the Test Match and it was also International Aids day. I bought a T-Shirt, a badge, a wrist band and a thing that's between a dog lead and a key ring. The boy commented that I looked as if I were selling their wares. I felt the T-Shirt looked appropriate, it was a sort of cross between an England shirt and a Castlemaine 4X logo. I had thoughts of asking the Aussie team to sign it and I'd put it on E-Bay and give the proceeds to the same charity. I'd do it properly. The teams must get inundated with such requests. I know it wouldn't take much. They could pass it around over breakfast. Of course it would be washed. I've hand washed all my own T-Shirts as the Hotel prices for Laundry are sky high like the floor we are on. I didn't get anywhere. The concierge must have had orders to be very protective, which is fair enough. We won the toss and elected to bat. Still no Panesar. 'Stubbornness, stubbornness the greatest gift that I possess'. I bought a battery for the radio that the lady in the coffee queue in Brisbane gave me so I was able to agree with Richie that we were all on the edge of our seats. We were on the edges of ours to get as far forward as possible towards the sunshine as there's a fair wind that is not warm. I waved my flag, as if this is like Brisbane there will not be many opportunities. Lee opens with a maiden but there's no wickets. McGrath is bowling from our end. The radio guy says that Cook doesn't like it up him. Who does? They must have worked that out at their meeting in the hotel last night. They all looked relaxed. Richie tells us that many of the stands in the ground have not changed. They were the same in his day. First runs. Up goes the flag. Careful Cooky boy. A bottom edge almost gives a catch. We zoom up to 5. The boy has gone to the grassy slope in front of us. It is in the sun. The gorgeous lady is in a different section this time. It's not that Cyril again is it? Even though like Panesar he didn't make the Adelaide test, though unlike Panesar Cyril was injured. If the Aussies don't sign the shirt, I'll ask the gorgeous lady to sign it. Perhaps I should buy her one and offer to sign it. Now there's a cricketing thought, Richie.
It's cold here too as I write up this stuff. I turn into a hunter gatherer and I bring in some wood from the garden to burn in the wood burning stove. I have to go to the loo even though I've been once already. It must have been that prawn dish last night. How fortunate for many that I don't live in Edinburgh. A snick falls short of the slips. Richie reckons that they are too far back. I don't see any of them with earpieces in, so I don't know if they got the message. We'll see. The radio says that Fletcher wants to 'show faith in the players'. Another chancer goes by. He's got Aussie shorts and grey leggings. The boy says he saw him dancing in the streets the previous night. He is definitely here to be seen not to see. Fletcher will be dancing in the streets if we win this one. I don't like the look of him, not Fletcher the show off. I have not seen another Int Aids Day T-Shirt. No wicket for 15. Ian Chappel says that the wicket is flat and dry and they won't get England out. The Aussie crowd are either chanting 'Boring' or 'Warney'. I can't work out which, as I've got one ear tuned into the radio. McGrath is doing a lot of boot fiddling and Lee threatens to throw down Strauss' stumps. He's not like that in the hotel, despite the fact that he's a fast bowler. Up goes the flag. We've got a 4. 24-0. I see through the binocs that the Aussies are wearing red ribbons-pinned to their shirts. Good for them, they are already doing their bit. That's scuppered the T-Shirt signing. Never mind. Now where's the gorgeous lady? Lee comes off. Shane Warne is off the ground. Mitchell Johnston is on as a replacement says IC. Clark is bowling. England are wearing the ribbons too. Well done the teams. There you are. Another drinks break wicket. 1-32 He just chipped it. Damien Martin took the catch and according to Richie it was a good'un. Strauss came off looking accusingly at his bat, again according to Richie. Cooky goes. Not Warney but Clarky again. 2-45. Bill reminds us that there have only been two boundaries so far. I don't need reminding as my flag can tell me that. 58-2. Lunch. I can't hear the Barmies. They are on the opposite side of the ground. Like the lagers we have to put up with the watered down Aussie version. 22 each Belly and Collingwoody. A 4 for the lattery. Flaggy upppy. That's quite enoughy. There's a massive crash behind us. The empties are being dumped. 2-96. 39/25 to Collingwood. Michael Clarke is bowling. Some sort of victory there, I suppose. I think I went up in the lift with him. He was very pleasant. Not normally a bowler I suppose. The gorgeous lady had gone back to the hotel at lunchtime to get a jumper. It was that cold out of the sun. Warming us up was the thought that both Bell and Collingwood got their fifties off Warney. Icicles! Bell's out.
Although we went on to get to 266-3 by the end of the day, with many opportunities in the interim to flag wave, I didn't wave it once and I didn't write anything about the cricket. As I'd said the boy and his mates had moved to sunnier climes. The gorgeous lady had taken pity on me and had come up to join me. I gave her my flag to put over her knees as they were cold. ( Shame on you for such thoughts).It was freezing. The session was very fruitful. She solved all my present pressing pressie buying problems. Koala bears made out of dead kangaroo would feature, as would opal. I told you it was fruitful. She would take me shopping on our day off to all the places. She'd been here before, but not in the cold, Richie.