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.