A sprig of wattle in my hand

As thoughts drift to the passing of yet another English summer with a whimper that pretended it was hot weather, I cast my eyes north to Leeds and Headingly, where the fourth test in the Ashes series is about to unfold. Yes, cricket. It wouldn't be summer without it, as far as I'm concerned, so given that this is my first summer in the UK with a team I care about doing the rounds, perhaps that's why it seems that it's also the first season I could even vaguely recognise as "summer".

Cricket brings with it all manner of associations, for me. Most of them are not appropriate over here. There won't be any sitting around watching the commentary of Richie Benaud and co - in their wisdom, the broadcasters over here have decided to air the Ashes tests on pay TV, not free-to-air. There won't be an MCG, SCG, Gabba or WACA, not to mention the Adelaide Oval. And that means that there's no Yobs Hill, Bay 13 (or what used to be a single bay, but now seems to extend to the whole lower deck of the Great Southern Stand). There's no VB-swilling blokes in Chesty Bond singlets. What I see instead, from my vantage points of living near Lords and working right by the Oval, are men in suits. Men in England shirts. Men on corporate days out that start in the pub at 9am and don't finish until 7pm. In between, they flood into every available lunch spot in a way that is unknown to visitors at the MCG. Drinking in Australian venues is tightly controlled, in an attempt to encourage a family environment. In the UK, it seems to be encouraged, with every patron at Lords allowed to take in their own bottle of wine and then top up with purchased bevies inside.

It is, undoubtedly, a strange sport. It takes 5 days to get through a match, in it's purest form, and at the end of that there may still be no result because they've run out of time. During those 5 days, the teams take it in turns to stand around in the field. The Australians are often criticised for their ungentlemanly approach to the game (being masters of the art of sledging, if nothing else) and, in my experience, there are few things more satisfying than being able to boast a clean sweep in the five test series against the English. Few things can be more annoying - to me, anyway - than the gloating that happens when the Australians lose, especially when it's as spectacular as the lose that let England take a 1-0 lead in the series. So as I type this, I have one eye resting on the scoreboard, hoping for another English wicket or four to drop, ideally before the home side makes it to a lead that...Oh, dreams do come true, another wicket tumbles.
Instead of eying off the scoreboard, I might just begin some sort of anti-rain dance - a sun dance.

Or maybe just a run dance. Because I have a theory that it's the unrecognisable summer weather that has the Australians so off balance so far in this series. Sure, after so long I'm used to overcast humidity and downpours, where the sun's position - or existence - can only be guessed at. But the Ashes rookies brought over in the Australian squad aren't at all used to it. Oh, hang it all, I'm really just hoping for at the least a tied series. Because I don't think I could stand to sit at my desk and hear the roars of a victorious England crowd. Come on Aussie, come on...