After all the tension and excitement of The Win [Ed. Hopefully not the last one this summer] it was good to get home today. Thea was at work, but had set the place up really nicely with a bunch of washing and ironing for me to do, and a list of “jobs” that need doing around the house. It’s nice to feel needed! She obviously didn’t yet know I’m off to Tassie tomorrow, so I had to share that news carefully.
This next few months is going to be very different to the two recent Tours – to India and England – that I’ve been on. The group scatters across the nation between the matches, either to snatch a few days at home, play in a Sheild game or attend a series of painful and unpleasand medical procedures. [Ed. No, you’re not getting any names] We’ll have to work hard on keeping the team spirit tight. That’s easy when you’re winning of course.
I’ve finally found out what happened in the tattoo parlour in BrisVegas. No names, of course, but here’s what happens when you’re not able to give the tattooist clear instructions.
Dad dropped by later in the afternoon, carrying a large cardboard box. He carefully unpacked thirty copies of Ashes Dairy – Summer of the 17th Man for me to autograph, and carefully explained what I had to write in each one at least twice – he really is giving a copy to all his friends for Christmas. He was supervising the signing when Thea arrived home with a bag of shopping. By her reaction when dad said “Oh, Hi love, what’s for dinner?” it was clear that she had given some thought to preparing a romantic dinner for two.
With Mum away overnight at a tournament with her bridge-playing friends, it was no easy task to get rid of Dad once the books were signed and double and triple checked. He wanted to talk all night about The Win, and I’m sure that would include constant probing about the poorer performances in the team and therefore my chances of forcing my way into the Eleven for Adelaide. [Ed. None and Buckley’s] In the end I slipped him some cash and convinced him to have a treat at the local steakhouse he really likes but that Mum thinks is a bit “full of itself.” I don’t know what she’s talking about – there’s no quinoa salad on the menu as far as I can remember.
Which is unlike here, where Thea actually did make a quinoa salad to go with the steaks we cooked together on the bbq. There is nothing like a home cooked meal! We sat down together with a bottle wine, talked about what she’d been up to, The Win and went through all the arrangements for the coming month. The one thing we’re going to have to sort out is what’s happening at Christmas. It’s not clear whether we’ll be included in the traditional team festivities in Melbourne or not. Not sure I want to watch a bunch of absent fathers splash their abundant cash on their offspring – but I’d rather be in Melbourne on Boxing Day than stuck in front of a telly at home – like I have every Boxing Day of my life so far.
PS Dad rang late tonight. His car got broken into in the carpark of the steakhouse, and the box of signed books was stolen. He assured me that he’ll order some more in the morning and that I can sign them all again when I’m home again after Adelaide.
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