My friend John* flew home today. Part of me wishes I was going with him. It’s been a chastening few days here in Perth.

Thanks to the heroics of this man we had a ghost of a chance this morning.


Ben Stokes, the Geordie with the Kiwi accent had done enough to pull England back into a chance of getting something, anything, out of the Test Match. His magnificent innings of maturity and mettle gave England hope. Hope, that most mischievous of mistresses fluttered her eyelashes, once again.

Regular readers know my thoughts on hope. The strumpet.

An hour or so later, this is what hope did to us.


She kills you, does hope. Australia’s Ashes, emphatically.

I now hope we don’t get buried five-nil. Damn hope.

*Safe journey sir, and thank you for the excellent photos.