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Writing13th December 2010

Back to Perth and the imminent arrival of wives and girlfriends is having a noticeable effect. Our hotel crèche facilities are currently being besieged with requests from cricketers desperate to ferry their children straight off the plane and out from under their feet. Nothing, it seems, beats the love of a father, except perhaps six weeks where the most feminine thing you’ve seen is Stuart Broad getting a pedicure.

Meanwhile, Cap’n Ring-on-a-string continues to be a real cultural sponge. Not content with becoming a northern soul via a recent screening of Kes, he’s pushed the envelope yet further with a late night Blaxploitation double bill. Today he appears to be attempting to strut as if accompanied by a Funkadelic soundtrack, and if that wasn’t disturbing enough, his efforts to speak jive are enough to make you want to perforate your own eardrums. I don’t think anyone at today’s press conference was expecting his tribute to Graeme Swann’s bowling – “That brother is ten miles of bad road”. I think it’s fair to suggest that Mike Atherton and Jonathan Agnew were some way out of their cultural comfort zone with that comment.

I hope he realises I speak a few phrases myself, because if he tries to run cold past this blood I’ll kick him up side the head; dig?

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