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Writing11th December 2010

After yesterday’s debacle, when England’s bowling attack wasn’t kept in the loop regarding our deliberate policy of butter-fingers, Cap’n ring-on-a-string has had to do his best to make amends.

AJ and I were taken aside late last night and assured we were still part of “the tour zeitgeist” and that he understood “the innate sadness of a northern upbringing”. A comment confirming my suspicion that Strauss’s knowledge of anything north of Watford is based on Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads monologues and the Criterion Collection edition of Kes we watched on the plane over.

“Innate sadness”; cheeky bugger. The only innate sadness I feel is a lingering existential angst that mankind’s Pavlovian response to existing hierarchical structures coupled with England’s class based educational system means I’ve ended up being captained by someone who doesn’t understand the correct meaning of zeitgeist.

I should have told him that. Instead I quietly fumed while Ajmal patiently explained to him that neither of us had ever got misty eyed over a coconut macaroon or found a dead kestrel in our dustbin. That seemed to do the trick. You could almost feel the class divide melt between us and the great big public school ponce.

If it sounds like there’s still a touch is resentment there it’s down to a dropsy amnesty being declared as soon as the batsmen got to turn their arms over today. Three wickets for Colly. Embarrassing. Then to top it off, Strauss gets a wicket himself. I wouldn’t mind but he’s got a bowling action like a robot operated by a drunken chimpanzee.

Still, at least there was a bit of good news later in the day when we found out Jimmy’s wife had given birth to a brand new baby girl. We’ve already started a sweep on her name. Trotty came up with the nicest suggestion, Peach, because Jimmy bowls two or three of them every over.

I was going to suggest lollipop for similar reasons but on reflection that’s more of a nickname isn’t it?

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