Morning everyone.
I had hoped to have a break from writing but bad news is occurring thick and fast, the latest unhappy event being the ‘early retirement’ of Graeme Swann.
Whilst we will all miss Swanny, his departure leaves England even further out along the plank, and the prospect of Monty Panesar being our first choice spinner for the next twelve months sends shudders down my spine. Almost like manufacturing a chain, with a deliberate weak link in it.
Your timing does not look brilliant, Swanny, old chap.
And neither does your apparent decision to wash the dirty linen in public about the egos in the England dressing room, which of course the convicts have gleefully seized upon.
Talking of washing dirty linen in public I have just read Herbies rather one-dimensional and warped version of events on this tour during his brief stay in Australia, which seems to consist solely of a thinly veiled personal attack upon the writer.
Regular readers of my tour diary over the years will know that I have never resorted to purely personal abuse when relating events.
Whilst I do not intend to break this code today, a right of reply is called for.
I can only assume that Herbies post is motivated by his inability to control the dialogue on the tour diary, as he would normally attempt to do on Facebook, so his ‘followers’ tell me.
As far as I’m aware, despite repeated offers, Herbie has not been willing to take the time to read this blog whilst in Australia – in the same way he was not willing to try to sell any Addis Army books when asked to do so by Freddie – so I am puzzled as to the logic behind the title of his diary entry.
An object lesson to all internet trolls here – why not actually familiarise yourself with the target of your abuse and get your facts right. For instance, indeed you won’t read about Alfred Steptoe in my blog. There is no such character – as Walt quickly pointed out on reading Herbie’s piece, the protagonists in this sitcom were called Albert and Harold.
The vast majority of the events selectively described by Herbie are mentioned in my tour diaries, with the exception of my snoring in Perth – where Herbie conveniently omits the facts that I chose and booked the accommodation he so liked, and that Freddie and myself allowed him his own separate double room at no extra cost while we had to share a balcony – and my blue striped shorts.
In reality I’m not sure most people would be too interested in those, but for any who are, they are available from Debenhams for only £25-99.
On to hopefully more interesting material and events in Adelaide took an even more sinister turn on Saturday when Mr Blade’s elbow starting throbbing uncontrollably and swelling to garden marrow proportions. A reluctant visit to the quacks revealed that he had been bitten by a white-tip spider – which puts Mr Blade and myself in an exclusive club – “The Venom Victims”.
Thankfully, unlike my own episode in New Zealand in 2008, Mr Blade had the sense to visit the doctor quickly rather than relying on a miracle cure by Hahn Super dry and was rewarded with a Quality Street sized tin of tablets to consume – just in time for Christmas!
The best meal of the tour so far – ‘Our Place’, Willunga Hill. Only open on Sundays, a four hour Italian style banquet with plentiful quantities of wine – wonderful.
December 22nd saw me staying at Bill and Alex’s house in Glenalta – regular readers will remember them as Five-O’s sister and brother in law. Bill is a particular fan of New Zealand wine – he hates anything Australian – and I made sure that I brought a couple of nice bottles. I would end up taking one and a half bottles back with me!
I stayed in a self-contained garden room at the rear of the property, previously occupied by Five – O’s friend Andrew and to prove the point, a plaque on the wall read:
“Ronnie Wood slept here.”
We enjoyed a lovely tour to Port Elliott, Goolwa, and Victor Harbour, where we stopped for ice cream. The shop owner was so sympathetic about England’s plight he gave me a double scoop, most of which finished quite aptly slopped down the front of my Barmy Army shirt.
In the evening I heard from an inebriated Lofty and Irish Pete, propping up a bar in Melbourne and planning their Xmas dinner – I hope Lofty enjoys Irish stew and soda bread! Cheese and biscuits to follow, no doubt.
On Christmas Eve I awoke to more bad news – Marouane Fellaini will be out for six weeks due to a wrist operation. On opening the BBC Sport web site to read all about this tragedy, I chanced upon an incredible back article in the archive – entitled :
“I want to be the new Keane – Fellaini”.
I sincerely hope he meant the pop group.
Xmas day started with a breakfast of smoked salmon and eggs accompanied by bucks fizz. Afterwards a walk on the beach and a dip in the Southern Ocean whilst trying not to become Christmas dinner for a shark.
When we returned home Thomas filled the living room floor with the vast array of football shirts Santa had brought.
Our own Christmas dinner was a memorable affair, thanks mainly to chefs Walt, Christine and Mrs Blade, who turned out a superb feast including roast turkey and pork. Plenty of beer and wine was drunk, and in the evening we all watched the Steve Carell film, “Dinner for Shmucks”, which seemed quite ironic. Mr Blade and myself helped things along by polishing off a bottle of Chapel Hill Red Devil port during the film.
Boxing day started late for me, but thankfully without a cold, and Mr Blade knocked on to tell me that the cricket had started. I passed on the offered breakfast of chocolate liqueurs and settling down for coffee instead watched the Test match on TV. England lost the toss again and were inserted under overcast skies. A huge crowd, including several glum looking tour groups from the UK, who no doubt had flown out for Melbourne and Sydney.
A decent start, then another loose shot by Cook, but the most noticeable feature was the sheer number of flies buzzing around the players. Joe Root’s shirt reminded me of Freddie’s at Hallett Cove. Then the camera panned onto the umpire, who had even more insects on his back, together with the logo ‘Fly Emirates’. Clearly the correct choice of sponsor!
More negative batting in the afternoon – which seems to now be England’s trademark – was enough to drive myself and Mr Blade to the Lifesavers club bar at 2pm. 10pm found us in the Ramsgate, and a jolly good Boxing Day session was had, including locking Mrs Blade and Thomas out of the house. Mrs Blades mood was not improved when she found us fast asleep in the living room at 3am, or when Mr Blade allegedly spilt his wine over the living room table. Im afraid I cannot vouch for the truth or otherwise of this allegation.
Today we head off into the wilds – a houseboat on the Murray river. Hope the river police dont have breathalyser kits!
Regards, Midnight.