And did those feet...

When Ivo goes back with the urn, the urn;
Studds, Steel, Read and Tylecote return, return;
The welkin will ring loud,
The great crowd will feel proud,
Seeing Barlow and Bates with the urn, the urn;
And the rest coming home with the urn.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm not the most patriotic person. There's plenty about the modern Englishman that I hate - the 'little ingerlunder' syndrome and the distinct lack of respect for other cultures that pervades many these days. I don't follow the English football team and I only mildly follow the England/Great Britain RL side. I don't follow the Union team, either, but that's mainly because I can't stand the sport anyway. However, there is one team and one event inparticular that brings out the Englishman in me.

And here we are, two games into the biggest sporting event of the summer, year, century, millenium and so on. Well, since the last Ashes series and until the next one, that is. The hype before this series has been phenomenal. The "Spirit of 2005" and so on. Funny how nobody's mentioned the last series in Australia though, isn't it? And there was people hyping England up beyond imagination, whereas most of us weren't giving us a chance in hell.

So we moved onto Cardiff. And thought we had a reasonable first innings score. Until the Aussies looked like they could bat on to a 1000 runs. Heroics from Collingwood, Panesar and Anderson saved the day and pushed Ponting into a hell of a wobbly at the end of the game. Now if there's anyone out there who's the last person to babble on about the "Spirit of Cricket" then it's that tosser. And I'm privileged to be able to say I was there for the last day. Although, those of you who actually read this thing regularly will already know that from the last photo entry. A marvellous day's entertainment.

And so we moved onto Lord's. The ground where we hadn't beaten Australia since 1934. Again, we got a good total in the first innings, but was it going to be enough? One fantastic spell of bowling later and another decent knock to put the game seemingly beyond Australia (I never doubted the follow-on decision, honest...) and everyone said yes, it was. Until the fourth day finished with them 313-5 and everyone getting a wee bit twitchy. Thank God Flintoff and Swann did the business this morning, then. The hoodoo broken and a stranglehold on the series. Marvellous.

So, where does that leave us? Well, who knows. Brett Lee threatens to come back at some point, which will turn the Aussies into a different animal. But, if we can keep a fit side together and keep the momentum going, then... Well, we've got a good chance. I'd quite happily have it piss down for the next few weeks instead, mind.

Come on the England.

The Ashes

Fine day in Cardiff...

Build me up, Buttercup...

The teams I support have a nasty tendency to build me up before bringing me back down to Earth with an almighty crash. This weekend has provided a perfect example of that with Salford RLFC putting in a fantastic performance and beating St. Helens and Lancashire CCC crashing and burning in the Friends Provident Trophy Semi Final.

Salford don't seem to know what kind of a team they are. We've beaten Leeds away, Hull away in the Cup, Huddersfield away before capitulating to them at home, Bradford at home, Saints at home after doing poorly in the away game, Warrington at home... Yet we've put in some poor performances elsewhere when you'd think we should've stood a chance. This weekend has built everyone up and people are getting a little carried away in some sections. Yet you know we'll probably struggle away at Celtic this weekend. Ah well, it promises to be a good weekend away, but more of that later.

Lancashire. Such a wonderful start to the season. A start that promised so much and now? Well, poor form in the Championship was no real surprise I guess but Sunday's meek surrender to Hampshire was just horrible. Putting them into bat in glorious sunshine was the first mistake. Batting poorly and not looking urgent in the run chase was the second. Dreadful. Still, Worcestershire at OT this week in a Championship game starting Friday. If we can't beat them then we are in trouble. Hopefully we'll have a points-fest to get a bit of confidence back in the camp.

And I finish with a mention of the Ashes and the weekend ahead. I'm currently watching England struggle through against the Aussies in the hope that they can drag this game out as long as possible. Not just to save the game, but also that after the Celtic Crusaders game on Saturday I'll be stopping over in Cardiff and going to the fifth day on Sunday. Promises to be a marvellous time, I just hope I see some cricket and something good for England.

But, once again, it's them hopes being built up. Don't break my heart...

A thin line between reality and fantasy...

I've always been interested in writing, to the point where I was constantly told I should've done English in college and maybe beyond. I decided the people telling me that didn't know what they were talking about. Probably a big mistake, to be honest. Still, the interest has kept up to the point where I've done the odd bit of fiction here and there, but nothing major. In an attempt to expand my horizons I thought I'd give something like this a go, although with not having too much experience in this kind of writing I decided to make the setting around two people going to the match. It seemed to work - after all, that is one area that I'm pretty comfortable with! Hope this reads alright and someone, somewhere enjoys it.

The sun shone brightly as a beautiful day did not look like ending even at this stage of the evening. It had been a glorious day so far and the sunshine had put him in a good mood as he wandered up the steps, pint in hand, to take his spot. Not even the thought of what was going to happen on the pitch was enough to knock him off his stride, so what else could?

Then, suddenly, he realised. She was here. For the first time in months.

'Oh for fuck's sake', he thought. This was not what he needed right now. But there she was, summer dress on, looking radiant. And there he was, half cut, sweating like a proverbial pig in the sweltering heat and with a large group of his mates inbetween himself and her.

What to do? How to approach this delicate situation? He could not just go striding off to talk, he would never hear the end of it. Not to mention the fact that she would probably find it a little unnerving. Time to play it cool, other people would move around, you both would need to move out of the way of anyone coming past, so rely on that to get close and it will be easy to look across, say hello and start a conversation.

Some hope.

She stayed talking to her friends. He could hear her speak over the chatter of everyone else. The sound of her beguiling voice was some comfort, albeit a slim one. He strained to listen, but it was no good. Conversation was flowing far too well amongst his own group to pay any real attention. Although, that did work favourably for him in some instances. The odd louder joke or comment did draw her attention towards their direction. But then their eyes would meet briefly, a smile would be shared and then their gazes would be directed back towards the pitch.

"Jesus Christ, I'm making a right mess of this. How the fucking hell am I at least going to say hello?"

It didn't get easier. The eye contact and shared laughs got a little more frequent, but the latter was more of a communal happening throughout everyone nearby. It was not enough.

"Bollocks to this, I'll collar her on the way out, even if it's just a quick 'alright, how you doing?' That'll do, it's conversation."

So, he waited. Patiently. Until, finally, his chance came as she moved past him and looked up with an expression that summed up everything they'd just seen.

"See you next year," she said.

He smiled. And laughed. He watched her walk away, resplendent in her flowery dress. Pining. And then, she was gone. For who knows how long. He stood there and pondered the situation, the moment, the missed opportunities. Then he had a sudden realisation.

'Did I just fucking laugh? Oh wonderful, I've just made a right cunt of myself and it'll be too fucking late to try and explain my way out of that one next time I see her. If I see her. If I could explain it. Bollocks.'

And so, he left. And wondered. He knows full well that she will never, ever be his. There is still a faint hope that things might change eventually, but in reality friendship was all he asked. But making a fool of himself like that on the increasingly rare occasions he saw her was going to do him no favours at all.

And he knew it.

Heroes in a half shell...

Heroes in a half shell..., originally uploaded by MichaelGT.

I've been undergoing a bit of a regression lately. Retro is definitely in.

I'm too early for a midlife crisis, surely?!

I know this is late...

But I've been a bit busy lately.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that, if you voted for the BNP, you're a c*nt.

This country's problems can not be solved by kicking out anyone who's black.

The BNP have no other realistic policies in place that would make a positive impact on the country.

Think on next time. If you voted for them, be ashamed and next time vote for someone who can make a difference. If you didn't vote at all... Get off your arse next time.

I don't like cricket...

I don't like cricket..., originally uploaded by MichaelGT.

Riverside Stadium, Chester-le-Street, Durham. Durham CCC v. Lancashire CCC