Clearly not a plan

Last night, in the cab back to Huddersfield, we tried to work out the plan for the morning. I suggested we just wake up when we wake up and all meet up in Costa at an appointed time. Frank was concerned that he’d be awake at 6am with nothing to do. Nicktor suggested we meet in the car park at 8.

At some point during these deliberations, we decided we had a plan. The cab driver spoke up, claiming it wasn’t much of a plan. We laughed but he was right.

So, as we stood in the corridor outside our rooms, Nicktor suggested we all meet back there at 7:30. Frank said that was a definite plan and I agreed. We all went to bed.

At exactly 7:30 this morning, I stepped out of my room and walked up the corridor and knocked on Nicktor’s door. He was ready to go and we both knocked on Frank’s door. There was no answer.

We knocked, we called, no response. Nicktor tried ringing but Frank’s phone was flat (as we’d already discussed the night before). Eventually we gave up, deciding to go to Costa and wait there. With our luggage.

As we wandered across the car park, I said it would be annoying if we found Frank had awoken at 6am and strolled across to Costa and was still there. Oh, how we laughed.

Walking into Costa, sitting on one of the lounge chairs, happily reading the morning paper over a cup of tea, was Frank. And he had no defence for his non-adherence to the plan. Clearly, it wasn’t much of a plan.

And while I’m talking about plans, it’s a bugger when the weather intervenes to smash plans into a thousand, completely useless pieces. Of course, I’m speaking about the result of the Test match.

Australia was happy to declare over night, keen to rip through the English batsmen on the final day. And they came out fighting. England were clearly going to lose and the final day was going to be exciting.

And then it started raining. Occasionally it looked like clearing and Aggers, Boycott and co on TMS, were suggesting that the teams may yet return to the pitch. They never did.

At around 4:30, following a wet, dismal day, the umpires went out on the ground and decided to abandon the game. A draw then but, more importantly, the Ashes cannot be won by the Aussies. With two tests to go, a draw is the best they can hope for.

The crowd at Old Trafford…well, what was left of the crowd, huddling beneath their umbrellas…went mad, cheering and whooping like chickens on cocaine.

Apart from the sad result of the match, our trip home was nice and comfortable, consisting of general twaddle-chat (including much discussion around the general purpose properties of the word ‘clearly’) and a lot of silly laughter.

And we now look forward to next year.