Parched pitches


I don’t want to be a “sour puss” but notwithstanding England’s victory at the Oval I couldn’t help harping back to those days when we didn’t win the Ashes.

One could arrive at the Oval clasping a bottle of Ch St Baillon Rose to assuage one’s thirst during the early overs, a bottle of Jean Philippe Fichet’s Meursault Chevalieres to get one through to lunch and a bottle of Laurent Ponsot’s finest to accompany a Marks and Spencer’s spread (N.B. this year’s M&S sandwiches were close to being inedible).

Now one wanders around listlessly, desperate to find something to drink. Wolf Blass entices you with extremely pretty assistants but, in spite of some serious tasting, their wines don’t quite fill the vinous void. Luckily Martin Krajewski’s Ch de Sours Rose 2008 was to be found lurking in the Pimms tent.

Now back to the cricket. Who can say hand on heart when Ponting and Hussey were at the crease that they weren’t worried that the Australians were going to score 546? Thank heavens for Freddie – we will miss him.