“Forgive and forget Major” (Hello Paul!). With such sangfroid disdain reminiscent of IVA Richards in his pomp, Fawlty sends the grudge-heavy Major Gowen back towards the bunker within his scotch on the rocks and Times crosswords to a world of gloomy recollection and unsettled scores.
I empathise with the dear old Major here. I too can never move on -have seldom moved on- from an unresolved disgruntlement.

Yes, it’s only thirty five dollars. Yes, it was nearly a month ago. How many more Caaaaald ones would that have got? How many SevenEleven Coffees? Thirty five actually.
But that’s not the point.
The point is, even in the great depths of consumer hell and abyss of the value for money crypt that is Australia, thirty five dollars for four hours of looking at Melbourne graffiti is stupefyingly horrendous. Every dollar counts in the world of the Backpacker, especially the alcohol dependent ones.

So imagine my relief earlier, when I signed up for China Tours and the complete and unadulterated Perth walking tour (sun cream not provided) all refreshingly gratis, save for a couple of Caaaaald Ones at appropriate intervals.
First in store is a mooch around the city centre taking in the underwhelming malls and slightly better cafes and bars, three Flight Centres, four Subways, no SevenElevens and a Ye Olde Englishe Market which isn’t so much mock Tudor as taking a wazz on the very legacy of Henry VIII and all of his wives. The tour meanders on along the wooden decking pathway behind the WACA alongside the Swan River. Kayakers, bored shitless and melting in the midday sun float inconsequentially past, hopeless fishermen stand perspiring on the rocks.

Then the crowning glory of the tour. Dolphins. Twenty metres from our shaded resting place on the shore. For ten minutes these graceful creatures amuse themselves and us by slipping gracefully in and out of the serene view across the river.

Lunch is a couple of bespoke Caaaaald Ones in the nouveau riche area of Victoria Gardens. More walking and more sights they don’t tell you about in Lonely Planet; like the fascinating award winning multi-storey bridge and the most violent water fountain in the Southern Hemisphere.

All this for free. There’s a gap in the market here, surely? What China could do is package this all up for gullible tourists and charge them extortionate amounts for doing so.

Now there’s a thought….

Action from yesterday’s Sandgate & Redcliffe District CC vs Western Suburbs District CC, Grade 1 cricket in Queensland. The home team, seen batting here, went on to win by five wickets.

The park was named after a Queensland cricketer who, having represented the club with distinction, went on to play seven Tests for Australia at the end of the eighties. His name is Trevor Hohns. The park is called The Trevor Hohns Field.

So this, presumably, is where he honed….

Herbed spring pea & lemon risotto? Pah! You didn’t really think I’d gone all posh did you?
The Gabba, a warts n’ all bastion of Aussie sporting supremacy. Home, down the years, to the likes of Lindwall, Border, Hayden and latterly, err, Johnson. Gutsy blokes need gutsy grub. In addition to the soft-cock fine dining on offer in the Members Stand, there’s proper tucker for the blue-collar boys too.
Having cocked a snook at the array of pork-knuckles, bockwursts and rissoles on offer at the marvellously authentic German club across Vulture Street (as well as the Member’s Lunch in the ground), we sought out something for lunch as authentically Australian as, well, their recent cricket failures.
Having been here for four weeks now and not got round to trying one, it was to time to get involved. Four N’ Twenty Meat Pies, it was time to come to Papa.

In a bad week for bad meat, it was a job to focus on the task in hand. Was I about to, as implied by the name, chow down on two dozen pastry encased Turdus Merula? Or would it be the meat of the moment; horse?
Just as I was about to bite my way into my imagined meat roulette I was abruptly halted by the Leddy brothers. “Whoa there H mate, what are ya doing?” Aw, look ya can’t have an Aussie pie without tomato sauce…..”

Heavens above. What madness is this? Why would you take a perfectly presentable, lovingly crafted meat pie and slather lashings of rich, red ketchup all over it? What sort of evil mind comes up with that? Furthermore, why is it, like shortening and sticking ‘ie’ on the end of every other word, the accepted norm over here?
Wrestling with this awkward clash of cultures, I found myself drawn towards the squeezy bottle of Tommy-K and while I turned over these conundrums in my overworked mind, the bottle, as if on auto-pilot squirted out a thick jet of sugary, scarlet goo on my pie top.

There’s no picture for prosperity of this seminal moment in my pie eating life, but the Leddy boys seemed impressed that the dollop atop my lunch looked like a dead ringer for a tomato-ey silhouette of Australia (with the omission of Tasmania, sadly). This ceremonial nonsense rather took my mind off what lied within.

Beef, not horse or indeed blackbird. What a relief! But not as I was expecting. No chunks, no onion, no finery, just a glorious concoction of mince and gravy. It was as delicious as the Australian batting collapse unfolding in front of me and the perturbed twenty thousand Queenslanders present.
While the Gabba is something of a fortress at Test level, its record in shorter forms of the game is rather sketchy. Even the unusual combination of the omnipresent tomato sauce couldn’t distract me from the fact that the home team were getting absolutely buried in their own backyard. In fact, maybe that’s the way us Poms should approach the pie plus tomato sauce conundrum;

Best Served Watching The Aussies Getting Dicked

I finished my pie with a flourish, licking keenly every last fleck of pastry from my sated chops. So simple, yet so good. I’m sure the Australian selectors must wish Mitchell Johnson was this uncomplicated.
There’s a good chance Four N’ Twenty pies, like Lionel Richie and Sharpe novels will end up in the corner of my conscience labelled ‘guilty pleasures’. I enjoyed this taste sensation so much, I went back for another, this time, at Leddo’s insistence, topped with heaps of barbecue sauce.

Maybe, as long as Australian sporting misfortunes are happening in front of me, anything goes…. Now then, anyone know where I can get a witchety grub omelette?

Epilogue. Australia, having been bowled out for 74, went on to lose the third Commonwealth Bank One Day International to Sri Lanka by five wickets inside twenty overs. The Leddys and I went on to a nice meal at an Italian Restaurant on Brisbane’s Southside with the rest of the family.
Grazie mille Mr & Mrs Leddo, a lovely gesture and a lovely occasion.

Sorry Friday Pie-Day fans. As you’ll see from today’s menu below, there’s a distinct lack of pie action on the menu at The Gabba for the 3rd One Day International between Australia and Sri Lanka.

This means I’ll have to review two pies next week, I’m sure I’ll cope. Also, bearing in mind it’s Burn’s Night (Hello Kevin!) next Friday, hopefully there’ll be a lamb pie to pass comment on in addition to an Aussie staple.

In the mean time, damn that Rosemary baked loin of Victorian lamb…..

Gabba Members Dining Room

Sportsman’s Lunch

Entrée
Roasted vine ripened tomato & goats cheese tart w caramelised onion

Main Course
Rosemary baked loin of Victorian lamb w sweet potato dauphinoise & minted runner beans
or
Roasted breast of chicken w herbed spring pea & lemon risotto

Dessert
Hazelnut meringue w milk chocolate mousse
or
A selection of fine Australian cheeses w fig paste & wafer biscuits

Premium blend coffee & a selection of traditional & herbal teas

There’s no hope. There’s Bob Hope. Then there’s this.

A one horse town on the New South Wales mid-coast in between Port MacQuarie and Byron Bay.

Pronounced ‘war-hope’.

Not Wanchope as I first thought. Football’s getting bigger out here, unquestionably, but not to the extent they’re naming places after iconic, nation-carrying centre forwards of the nineties.

Not yet, anyway. Right then, next stop on my tour of Australia’s East Coast: Stoichkov’s Harbour

Forgive me. Coff’s Harbour. Sorry.

Coldplay’s Paradise greets our entrance to the ground. They’ve either got very low expectations round these parts or they had a big helping of irony thrown in with the deal that, last year, brought one of English football’s cult heroes to this part of New South Wales.

It’s Saturday afternoon in Newcastle. What else can a man do but head to the football?

The Hunter Stadium, principally the home of the Newcastle Knights rugby league team, during the Australian Premier League season hosts the Newcastle United Jets. Presumably wearing the Knights red and blue is a caveat of the tenancy agreement. This is Newcastle United, but not as any regulars of the Gallowgate End would recognise them.

The Jets players saunter on to the field for the warm up. He’s not there. The raison d’être of my weekend, no where to be seen. Not just my weekend, two Plymouth Argyle fans have also come to Newcastle for the weekend just to see him.

He’s definitely not there. A deflating moment.

Lets be honest, as England fans we shouldn’t be surprised. This is yet another moment where Emile Heskey has failed to turn up.

I’m here with Alex and Ellis, themselves touring this great country, and similarly sports tragics. We take our places on the grass bank behind the goal and soak up the atmosphere of a matchday in Newcastle, Australia style.
The Carousel, a local band, kick off the music side of things. Spouting snarly American covers and home made grunge they are as far removed from Rodgers & Hammerstein as you can get. Dire Straits blaring Local Hero, a happy feature of watching the Magpies home games on Match Of The Day is replaced by a local Aussie legend; the best part of ten thousand people join in with the chorus of INXS’s Never Tear Us Apart. As unexpected as it is surreally beautiful.

Then the Ultras take over, not for them The Blaydon Races. A tall chap with a megaphone, turned away from the action, stoically faces his orchestra in the Front Novacastria and Nova Youth whipping them into a frenzy that will last all game.
Twelve minutes before anything happens and it’s the visitors, Brisbane Roar who work the home keeper with a routine far post save. Jets miss their talisman. Balls are played down the channel or into his deputy’s feet but nothing sticks. Roar look comfortable, at the back their captain Matt Smith looks a class above and fittingly for a team in orange, they get the ball down and try and look to work their openings rather than opting for Newcastle’s more direct approach.

However, Brisbane’s commitment to the passing game becomes their undoing, as dallying in possession, the Jets midfield starts to snap into action. Down the right, James Virgili begins to get more space and starts making things happen for his team. On the half hour, he creates a good chance that the erratic Ryan Griffiths spurns, dragging his shot wide from just outside the area. Then James Goodwin flashes one inches past Roar’s Michael Theo’s right hand post. Having laboured at the start, Jets end the half well. Griffiths misses another presentable opportunity before, in stoppage time, Smith expertly muscles the generously monikered Josh Brilliante off the ball as home fans scream in vain for a penalty.

Jets fans don’t have to wait too long. Two minutes after the break, James Brown makes ’em feel good. From another midfield tussle, Brown’s smart back heel finds Brilliante, whose cumbersome finish, reminiscent of you know who, finds the back of the net. Jets think they’ve doubled their lead again through Brilliante only for the linesman to correctly rule it out for offside.

Brisbane finally fashion a chance. Jets’ Mark Bhirighitti smothers a one on one situation. The offending Roar striker, Mitch Nichols, is regaled by the Newcastle Ultras with a version of the (much beloved by England cricket fans) Mitchell Johnson song on account of his profligacy. Bhirighitti then shows a deftness that Matt Giteau would be proud of to thwart another Roar attack. At the other end Griffiths misses again. Brown fails to get on up to head home a deserved second.

At the back for Newcastle, captain Ruben Zadkovich and Taylor Regan are called into action as Brisbane apply some late pressure. The locals love Regan and his combative style of play is your actual Aussie street fighting larrikin personified. Door duty in town somewhere undoubtedly beckons for these two granite featured individuals afterwards. Brisbane’s last roar is more of a terminal croak and they fail to make the best of three stoppage time corners. Zadkovich, for the umpteenth time holds firm. Newcastle cling on and the final whistle signals three welcome points, fifth position and with it a play off berth.
There’s not long of this season’s A-League left. They’ll need more Regan resilience, more Brown brilliance and the return of a certain centre forward if they are to challenge for honours.

The Bradman Oval, Bowral, NSW. Wednesday, early afternoon.
The view from Cow Corner.

Not sure how many of Sir Donald Bradman’s runs he made as a fledgling cricketer were scored in this particular area of the ground.

(Hello Lewy!)

2012? Pah! If 2013 carries on in this rich vein of form we’re going to have a cracking year. First Phil The Power Taylor bags his sixteenth world title, then the Mighty Hatters stun the world of football and now my beloved Elstow Cricket Club (www.elstowcc.co.uk) are up and running in what will be a very important year for the club. Kudos to Matt, Dave and Tom for some great performances and to Dan for some great writing. It’s right here folks.

Round Five of the Bedfordshire County Indoor Cricket League featured Elstow A’s encounter with top of the table Dunstable A. After the previous early start pre-Christmas, a more welcoming start time of 12 noon awaited us (albeit this time does play havoc with the Sunday roast). Tom Wisson won the toss and elected to bowl, opening up with Phil Johnson and Stu Robson against an experienced Dunstable opening pair.
The scored ticked over for the league leaders, however in between the threes and obligatory wides, some good dot balls were had. However, both opening batsmen retired in quick succession after reaching 40. Dunstable had reached the half way stage on an imposing 96 runs for loss of no wickets.
Two newcomers created the change in bowling of Dave Riddle and Wisson (Tom – for those in doubt!). The number four lasted a solitary ball, the yorker from Tom proving too good for him. However, runs were kept to a minimum (in indoor terms) despite the best efforts of R. Blake who clearly had a licence to play expansive shots, with two Dunstable batsmen in the hutch, ready to return. In between dogged back wall fielding some lusty 4s and 6s were had, before a smart stumping by Matt Stevens off the bowling of Jonty saw Blake depart for 16.
Batsmen 5 and 6 for Dunstable tried to quicken the pace in the remaining three overs but good bowling from Robson and Tom Wisson kept runs to a minimum and prevented the retired batsmen of Horton and Boocock from returning to the crease.
Dunstable finished their allotted 12 overs with 171 for 3.

Elstow’s reply started with the ever dependable Tom Wisson and Riddle. Tom played some expansive and exquisite off and on drives before retiring on 40. Only one minor scare was had whereby Tom managed to run two singles, to Riddle’s none but a wayward throw allowed Tom to scramble home. Dave soon retired as well once Stevens was well set. Dan Wisson joined the fray and the scored kept ticking before Dan was caught excellently on the back wall by A. Lewis.
Robson (aka the self titled finisher) was adjudged LBW for nought. However Stu was pleased that he had at least managed to use his new pads. Proclaiming he ‘didn’t feel a thing’ as the ball thudded rapidly into them- which was heartening to know. Johnson came and went fairly quickly. However, Elstow were always above the run rate and managed to knock the winning runs off with an over to spare for the loss of only 2 wickets.
Thank you once again for Ali for scoring and the support of a good dozen Elstow supporters.

MoM: A tricky one this week as Riddle, Tom and Stevens all retired on 40.
The four bowlers of Stu and the aforementioned three were steady and all
went for roughly the same amount of runs. Despite Riddle again being the
most economical bowler, this weeks MoM goes to the skipper for setting
the platform and intensity at the top of the innings – Tom Wisson.

DoD: Again a tricky one – a professional performance, leaves little
calamity to pick through. A misfield from Dan Wiss costing three and
Riddle’s non running nearly costing a run out were the only real two
candidates.
But wait – two late entries of Stu and Jonty. Stu narrowly misses out on
this award (as he at least used his new equipment) whilst Jonty didn’t
use any of his. DoD goes to Jonty.

Thank you to everyone for the texts, tweets and emails. Being a Luton Town fan, for the most part, is no fun. Then every so often, when you least expect it, something absolutely, indescribably wonderful happens.

It’s mid-morning in the hostel, residents rummage around for something approaching backpacker breakfast. The sun’s beating down outside. The fog is clearing. It clears quicker with the news.

Luton Town 1 Wolverhampton Wanderers 0

Unbelievable Jeff!

Eagle-eyed readers among you will note a recent post where I proclaimed to be giving up drink in January. Thanks to Dimush Karunaratne this all went horribly wrong.
Shame on me for blaming him, people who know me best will know there was absolutely no chance of me going through with that folly. I did actually do drink-free January once. I’m still apologising for it now. The boy Karunarane’s demise called time early on this year’s efforts. My 56 hour prohibition ended via mine and China’s resolution to have a drink, despite all our previous best intentions, at the fall of every wicket.

As it turned out, the first day of the Sydney Test Match was eventful. Not as much as the Melbourne one though. Aussie captain Michael Clarke’s strange decision to put the opposition in backfired as Sri Lanka lasted the whole day and were better value than the previous match ending on 294 all out. Australia look as though they are still unsure of their best pace attack with the Ashes just six months away and their plan to roll the opposition over went badly awry as Sri Lanka got stuck in.

Back to the Devil’s Brew though. Thankfully, there are better people than me on God’s earth, people with more resolve, heart, people that back their conviction and stick with it. Readers, we should celebrate these people and the good that they do. Step forward a pal of mine, Gareth. He is going the whole of January without a drink. He is going to make a difference. He is going to raise money for Cancer Research for going beer-less in January. I encourage you to donate the price of a pint to Gareth to help him in his quest. Please see the link below and get giving for this great cause.

http://www.justgiving.com/dryathlete-gareth-copley

Meanwhile, here’s a picture of me with one of of my heros.