Well now. Turns out that James Anderson is quite tall, and that my cricket teammate has no fear going up to him and telling him that I’m annoyed with him because he’s been embarrassing my countrymen on the field all summer. Apparently I should carry on being embarrassed to be an Australian cricket fan for a while. Pah. I’d like to clarify I am not embarrassed to be an Australian cricket fan now nor will I ever be. Even if I kind of wish Steve Waugh, Adam Gilchrist and Glenn McGrath could come back.
(Jimmy had come to be the celebrity, along with some Radio 1 DJ I’ve never heard of, at the opening of a new cricket pavilion at the club against which we were playing this weekend. If that sentence didn’t make your head hurt, well done.)
If you don’t like cricket, you’re going to struggle with this blog on Sundays in the summer.
But sense prevailed and rather than driving 2 hours home tonight and 2 hours back tomorrow morning, I plumped for an extra night in the corporate hotel and only a one hour drive. That choice also came with steak which was an excellent post-cricket meal.
Reading reading reading. So I didn’t open an actual book this week, but I wrote some reviews, and I listened to another two discs of Mister Pip by Lloyd Jones, which I am *really* enjoying. I almost wish I was spending another 15 hours in my car this week so I could listen to more of it.