Monday September 12, 2005
Right. Stand by for a good old fashioned hurrah, followed by a resounding chorus of ‘There’ll always be an England’ and, of course, a sky-ripping community effort to render ‘Jerusalem’. You can throw in ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, too, if you’ve the stomach for it.
We won the Series. The Ashes have come back to England. After years and years in the wilderness, we’re once again playing cricket the way it ought to be played. And we won! We beat the Aussies!
There. I’m over it now. Don’t worry about it. It’s a Cricket thing.
Other than that, I went to Boston for a strange mix of things. The Post Office, of course. Argos, for a multi-pack of time switches. A short step across the yard to the chippie where I indulged myself with a helping of chips with gravy and a batter-cooked sausage, to be enjoyed sitting in the sun outside. To Marks & Spencer where I bought myself a new shirt and a further pack of socks… and two custard tarts for a snack when I got home. And then to the pet store where I bought Dolly a new, very smart cat transporter to make her upcoming trips to and from Somerset safe and comfortable.
Home. By this time the heat of the day was back up to uncomfortable levels. I thought about running the vacuum round but took the coward’s way out, enjoyed my custard tarts with a big mug of coffee and then had a good nap, filled with the intention of doing the cleaning when I woke.
I didn’t, though. It was past the time when any call from the agent might announce viewers today, so I settled in front of the TV to watch recorded cricket highlights. The day you witness England recapturing the Ashes is not a day for vacuuming. Sorry about that. It’s a Cricket thing.