The first cricket weekend day 2

Up at 6am…as usual. The house was very quiet.

Had a quick sit down shower. The bathroom is massive and has an excellent skylight which floods the room with soft natural light. The bath is centred on one wall and sits on claws, a Victorian style shower head and taps (ala East Worldham) sit above the edge. There’s no shower curtain so a shower consists of sitting down and holding the rose.

I assume that baths are the norm in these parts. Alistair lives and works in Belgium. He’s a big guy and a proper shower would be a lot easier for him. I assume he has a proper one in Belgium.

They have an odd though seemingly satisfactory, relationship. He lives a bachelor’s life in Belgium with the benefits of a relationship at home. Heidi works and seems to be a high flyer. They’re not married.

I had a lovely chat with Heidi before Nicktor and Alistair joined us in time to leave for the bus. We walked down the hill (and what a hill) to the stop and met Neil on the bus to Huddersfield. At Huddersfield station we met Pete who had bought the train tickets to Old Trafford.

I had a bit of ribbing because of my Aussie cricket shirt but a lot more joined us on the train, outnumbering the English.

At Piccadilly station (Manchester) we switched to a tram. Three carriages and completely packed. It seems they (whoever they are) had not considered putting on any extra transport to the game. I felt a bit sorry for anyone who was catching the tram to actually go anywhere else.

We eventually arrived at Old Trafford and followed the crowds to the main entrance where we joined the queues – this was the same as then ‘crowds’ only not as mobile. Had our bags searched by a couple of friendly officers then gained entrance to the ground.

Because we’d had no breakfast, the sausage in a roll with the occasional bit of bacon van was our first stop. The second stop was the beer queue. The third, our seats.

And what excellent seats they were. Square of the wicket facing the clubhouse. Old Trafford is not a massive ground so we could see everything.

Overall the day consisted of some excellent cricket (though a sad result for us) lots of beer and trips to the loo as a result. A lot of good natured banter with the people around me given my cricket shirt. Everyone called me Bruce and took the piss whenever the Aussies faltered. Actually, it was as if everytime I went to the loo, an Aussie wicket would fall…I was sent to the loo far too often!

One guy in the crowd built a massive tower out of the plastic beer glasses – very funny. It all collapsed and a steward came and took it away to the light-hearted jeering of the crowd.

All in all, it was a lovely day. There was a 20 minute rain delay but otherwise the weather was warm and sunny. Fortunately, not the ‘hottest day in history’ as forecast by the Sun on Monday.

Getting back was hellish. A lot of people trying to get through very very small spaces already full of other people. It was a suicide bombers wet dream.

Terrible tram ride with some odd banter from English fans:

“You a real Australian?”
“Yes.”
“Do you play cricket?”
“No.”
“Well how could you be a real Aussie? Do you play rugby league?”
“No. I like football.”
“You’re not a real Australian.”

It seems all real Australians play both cricket and rugby league. He had a t-shirt on with ‘I am Spartacus’ printed across the front. I should have asked him if he was from Rome and whether he spoke Latin otherwise he couldn’t possibly be Spartacus. Though I think this may have been a bit too subtle for him. I might wear a Pakistani shirt for the England v Pakistan test if we go to Old Trafford again.

If the tram ride was bad it was nothing compared to the train. We were crowded into an airless, windowless, box, standing all the way to Huddersfield. Decidedly unpleasant.

Finally arriving at Huddersfield we headed straight for the Head of Steam, the pub on the platform, for a pint of Black Sheep. By now we’d dwindled down to just Alistair, Nicktor, Pete and me. Alistair had promised us a kebab to remember so we headed to Kebabish where the kebabs are so big you have to eat them with cutlery. We fancied a coffee…but the machine was broken.

Eventually we left Pete (he lives in Huddersfield) and hopped into a taxi for the ride back to Neverthong.

We finally had a coffee and watched the Big Brother finale which Anthony (ho hum) won. Heidi claimed that Eugene was as interesting as bread.

We all went to bed at about midnight after a fantastic day.

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