Morning everyone.
The weather forecasters predicted temperatures of up to 38% for the opening day of Perth but they got it wrong.
During the afternoon the gauge reached an astonishing 43% and sat as we were on the back row of a temporary stand full of Australian knob-heads at mid-wicket, this made for less than ideal viewing conditions. A bit like a barbecue with us as the meat.
As usual England lost the toss and despite early encouraging signs allowed Australia to recover to a strong position. Unable to stand much more we left the ground early and repaired to the Brass Monkey pub in Northbridge.
I led our group to where the railway bridge used to be to find to my horror that it had now been demolished and we would have to retrace our steps in the sweltering heat.
This unplanned detour was the last straw for Herbie:
“I ought to charge you Midnight for the amount of hours of my life you’ve wasted on this f*cking tour. I bet there won’t be anything about this f*cking cock up in your f*cking blog!”
We were joined in the pub by Gaz the Diplomat, who I had met earlier at the ground, and seems to be staying at the same backpacker place as Lofty on Hay Street. The three of us went for a low-cost, low-service Chinese meal in Northbridge while Herbie and Spud went highbrow to a local ethnic food festival. Freddie the food fascist dined at Subway!
On Day two of the Test once again England started well but faltered in the afternoon, after Herbie moved seats to the grass bank. We also had the misfortune of an appalling decision by the visually challenged umpire Erasmus, who gave Joe Root out with a terrible call.
In the area of terrible decisions I must also mention Herbie and his suggestion that we
Call at a sandwich shop during the lunch interval. After slogging for about a mile in the blistering heat on a trek akin to the Bataan death march we reached this oasis, which instantly became a mirage – it was Saturday and the shop was shut.
Not major news but after the comments yesterday I thought it deserved a mention in ‘my f*cking blog’.
Herbie also distinguished himself on the train back to Cottesloe after stumps. Two feral looking local hillbillies got on, and as they passed Herbie he emitted a tune very much like ‘ Duelling Banjos’ from ‘Deliverance’. Cue collective tittering.
We intended to watch Premier League football that night in the Ocean Beach Hotel but were distracted for a large part of the night. Firstly, by yet another spectacular sunset, which Spud in his lyrical Irish way compared to a pint of Guinness settling.
Later, hi-jinks at the taxi rank outside the pub where various drunken Aussie women had very different ways of hailing a cab – one lying down in the middle of the road, another lifting her skirt and dropping her knickers, flashing her bum at every passing car.
By sheer coincidence, it was Arsenal we were supposed to be watching!
We arrived at the WACA on day three still hopeful of a fightback.
Lofty, who has been absent for most of the game thus far due to the heat, joined us, as we were all sat under cover in the Inverarity Stand – well, under a corrugated iron roof similar to that enjoyed in the heat of the Burma jungle by Alec Guinness in ‘Bridge Over The River Kwai’.
There would be no fightback. England have been chillingly consistent in their level of ineptitude on this tour and sure enough six wickets fell in no time courtesy of a number of idiotic shots. All out before lunch, leaving Australia to bat out the rest of the day at their leisure and build up an unassailable lead. More humiliation.
Enough for me. There is only so much sh*t I can take, and I left the ground shortly after the hapless Prior had missed a stumping and a catch from successive balls at around 2pm for a swim in the hotel pool followed by the Cottesloe Beach Hotel famed Sunday session.
Throughout the afternoon the Barmy Army carried on their singing as the Australian total climbed to ‘inevitable defeat’ levels – and discussing this aspect in the pub later we wondered exactly what this was bringing to the party. Blind faith, or merely a way of amusing those punters who may have purchased expensive tours with BA? Certainly it all seemed a little pointless and redundant to us.
A terrible day got worse for me personally upon being thrown out of the pub at 10pm as it closed – just thirty minutes into the football where, for once, my team was winning. A red mist descended, and I stormed back to the hotel abusing every Australian that crossed my path.
Fair play to Freddie he was up and at ’em on day four despite the prospect of certain defeat. He was probably encouraged by the statement from the England dressing room that the injured Stuart Broad would ‘bat if required in England’s second innings.’
At least their spokesman still has a sense of humour!
Herbie has lost his sense of humour and sacked the cricket, in fact he swears that yesterday will be the last time he ever enters an Australian cricket ground.
Herbie spent the fourth morning firing off offensive texts while watching the cricket on tv and for a change, a ‘text message podcast’ from Herbie will now follow regarding his views.
See if you can link the text messages to the events of day four.
“Surrender monkeys. Waste of time going to the ground.”
“Swann hoists white flag – can’t take any more punishment.Totally lost the plot.”
“96 runs in under an hour……”
“The comedy show continues with Bell and Anderson f*cking up the easiest catch this year. Surrender monkeys.”
“F*cking hopeless.This is the worst English performance I have ever seen. They are totally humiliating us.”
“If the English team were a dog, they would put it down…..”
“F*ck off back to the dressing room and write your resignation letter as England captain”
“Carberry top Eng batsman so far with 157 runs in series. Top 3 convict batsmen have scored more runs than the entire England team put together.”
“Carberry gets in, looks good, then gets out.”
After that one I think Herbie got bored and went to do his washing.
Freddie and I left the ground when KP got out but there was enough time for us to see a livid Lofty going ballistic at the nature of his dismissal. While I do enjoy the way in which KP plays, it is hard to defend him this time.
Our journey home on the train featured drunk and abusive aborigines, who were crafty enough to get off the train at the same time the Transit Police, who had been watching their antics on CCTV, got on.
A collective decision was made to bin the cricket on day five, and instead visit Rottnest, an island about thirty minutes boat ride off Fremantle inhabited by quokkas – strange rodent like marsupials.
English cricket must be in a sad state indeed when its supporters choose to visit a desolate, vermin-infested island for the day rather than watch the Test Match.
We called in the Fremantle shopping mall to buy food for the journey and as we waited at the delicatessen for our sandwiches we were regaled by a Womens Institute choir singing Christmas songs.
Herbie showed that he has not lost his Christmas spirit and engaged the Chinese sandwich man thus:
“How do you put up with that f*cking noise all day?”
The trip to Rottnest was enjoyable and as we travelled on a miniature train across the island Herbie made me another ten dollar bet about how many runs Stuart Broad would score. I said less than 15. We were all out and lost the Ashes at approximately 2pm, with Broad on 2 not out.
I am still waiting for my ten dollars. I won’t be holding my breath until it comes.
Cricket-wise, so far this tour has been an unmitigated disaster, and I am not interested in consolation hundreds that mean nothing in the final analysis. We have been blown away, and changes now need to be urgently made from the top down.
One fine decision I made early doors back in the UK is not to travel to my favourite city of Melbourne, instead I will be enjoying Christmas and New Year in Adelaide with the Blades, and Walt & Christine.
No blogs for a week or two therefore, but I may be back in the New Year to fill you in on what Lofty and Spud had for their Christmas dinner together at the MCG.
Happy Xmas and New Year to all.
Regards, Midnight.