1st Test : Day One - Honours Even?

So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Macbeth, Act I Scene iii

England - 1st innings : 336 - 7 (day one, stumps).

What a day yesterday! I have only just recovered. Who knew almost eight hours reclining in deckchairs in front of a big screen could be so enervating? In my defence, I had woken up at 7am to make cucumber sandwiches (crustless and rindless, of course) and assemble my ammunition (Welsh/English translation poetry in homage to the radical setting - check, 05 vintage n-power 4 n 6 card - check, orange and white espresso cups for gin imbibition - check etc etc). Somehow, I dragged myself from my sofa on time and trotted to the Tate Modern laden with picnic basket, test white coloured bag and golden case (carrying a new addition to the team - Edgar the Elephant. The Seven Spinners are no more; we have become The Epicurean Eight) for the allotted assembly hour of 10.30am. Alas, my comrades were nowhere to be found. I was alone for some minutes facing the Thames pondering our fate. The water was calm and quiet; the rhythm of the waves contrary to my febrile state on the morning of the "most anticipated day of a test series in history"...

The Eternal Optimist then emerged out of the mist and we hurried to The Bankside Complex on Southwark Street for the outdoor screening in the hope of seeing the toss and finding the answer to The Big Question - The Montster or Shakespeare? - before we settled down to watch the first day's play. But, to our utter dismay, we discovered the screen on The Cricket Caravan was broken. Ten minutes before The First Ball was due to be bowled, we faced potential humiliation - missing not just Katherine Jenkins and Rhydian singing homages to these "green and pleasant lands" but that aforementioned seminal first delivery and the opening overs to boot. We charged onto Doggetts, a pub bedecked in memorabilia and a home for sport aficionados everywhere, only to find that it wasn't open yet. The clock was ticking and we had three minutes left to capture that First Ball. The Optimist then suggested giving our destiny over to The Mad Hatter and, against my better judgement, I obeyed.

Suddenly, there we were in The Mad Hatter Hotel watching David Gower utter the last rites of speculation before the action unfurled in front of a big screen with only two Aussies drinking Fosters for company. We had arrived, at last. Our day, of course, passed with further incident - a Noah's Ark style storm and the disappearance of the Singing Spinner being particular high(or rather low)lights - but let's get stuck into the cricket. I am still struggling to digest the ninety overs that passed before us. It's hard to know how to unscramble yesterday's events so let's be linear about this and start at the very beginning.

MORNING SESSION : 3 WICKETS TUMBLE AS AUSTRALIA ADVANCE

The first ball from The First Emo Cricketer, a dot ball Strauss wisely didn't play, was a bathetic moment. But it was almost bound to be a forgettable delivery - Great Expectations are great folly. Given the hype devoted to The First Ball and the incessant re-uns of GBH's assaults on Langer and Freddie's bucket like hands in 05 and 06 respectively, we almost couldn't fail to be disappointed. This was a boon to England's opening pair if not the watching masses. Having won the toss and decided to bat, we survived the first half an hour unscathed and it seemed the Lord and the Chef, his vice-captain, were set to put on a large opening stand. But then Cooky, on 10 runs, spooned a testing delivery from Hilfenhaus to gully and the Hussler took a fine catch. In marched The Puppy, an Ashes rookie who came to the crease looking like an err Ashes rookie, and we were rocked. Ravi scratched around for some runs but a wicket always looked imminent and the tattooed Mitchell Johnson duly obliged unleashing a bouncer that deceived The Lord with ease. Batting with Bopara had been an exacting experience for the skipper and he departed for just 30 runs. It was Time for Heroes already. We were a’ feared. We may have greatly anticipated Kevin's entrance but we didn't want to hear a murmur of his swagger until after lunch. Typically uncertain at the start of his innings, KP survived a golden quack and it looked unlikely that we would manage to go into the afternoon session with our two exhibitionists at the crease. This most unfortunate of partnerships was almost broken before it had begun with our Pup being bowled by Johnson with mere overs to spare of the opening bout. We were 90-3 and reeling. "It's because the Elephant went away," muttered my companion. The Nurdler arrived to join Kevin and nurdled 'n nudged his way to safety and lunch. A characteristic collapse looked more than likely. The session was indisputably Australia's.

AFTERNOON SESSION : KP AND COLLY LEAD THE WAY - ENGLAND REGROUP

All our hopes now rested with this contrasting couple - Pietersen and Collingwood, "The artist and the artisan" aka the flamingo and the ferret. A collapse may have seemed inevitable but this pair have a history of resurrection and they complimented each other once again. We didn't lose a wicket for the entire afternoon session and the Aussies were visibly frustrated. The aggressive running of our favourite odd couple vexed Punter in particular. The ball had now lost its firmness making the wicket look as if it had flattened out and suddenly it was England who seemed in control and impenetrable. KP and Colly were going along steadily at a similar rate and though it wasn't always pretty, they restored parity taking us onto over 200-3. A somewhat soporific afternoon was more than welcome. With the runs flowing and both batsman securing 50s, the game had been turned on its head...

EVENING SESSION : KP FALLS; ENGLAND's COUNTER-ATTACK SLAYED BY SID VICIOUS - TOPSY TURVY TIMES

We started the evening session in confidence, hoping for a century or two and targeting a total of at least 300 runs. Any disappointment about Colly's dismissal for 64 was tempered by the fact that Kevin was still at the crease. A century for our Black Sheep seemed pre-destined in the land of the Sheepshaggers. But disaster-struck, blinded by his hubristic over-confidence, FIGJAM (Fuck I'm Good; Just Ask Me) fell sweeping to The Haur aka "the non spinning spinner" for 69. It may have been frustration or a loss of concentration - he had been unusually disciplined in reaching 50 with just four boundaries - but, ultimately, this was another dismissal that defied logic. It was eminently avoidable - Kevin should have just left the ball, it may have even been given as a wide. As ever with KP, we were all left stunned by his shot selection. Nevertheless, it was a much needed innings and perhaps we should forgive him his moment of irrationality. The best things in life are an affront to rationality.... if not that remarkably foolish shot!

Our subsequent partnership of Prior and Freddie was counter-attacking cricket at its best - both batsmen played glorious shots at a rate of almost a run a ball and echoes of the Flinstone's bludgeoning batting heroics in 05 were loud and comforting. Sadly, they couldn't see out the day. Freddie was bowled by Sid Vicious for 37 dragging onto his stumps and the Lord chose to insert night-watchman Anderson to protect willow-wafter extraordinaire Stuart Broad. This defensive move altered the tone of the play - we lost momentum and Prior fell just before stumps to the Vicious one leaving us on 336-7 at close with Westlife at the crease after all.

The balance of power after the first day's play is unclear. On this wicket, a first innings score of 350 - 400 could be enough. However, losing seven wickets in a day will have encouraged the Aussies. All our top-order batsmen, save Cook, got themselves in and then out again. In an Ashes series, a team needs to deliver big scores, centuries and double centuries are the requirement not 50s or 60s; the potential is there but the temperament of our batsmen is questionable. Sport, as ever, is all about the mind. In the end, despite our inability to record a big individual score, there were more than enough signs yesterday to show that we can regain The Urn - there was positivity throughout the team (until Brocket's decision to send Jimbo into bat) and both Freddie and KP look in the mood which is rather ominous indeed...

Quote of the Day: The Eternal Optimist (victorious again) - [in front of the big screen] "I hope that wasn't rain. I hope that I was just spat on".

Ornithological Count : Sadly only a solitary pigeon to report and that flew past the Caravan not Cardiff.

Barminess Barometer : 5% - just a single man in drag today. Poor effort from the Sheep-shaggers. He was dressed as the queen, however, and did sport rather exquisite white gloves and some natty pearls...

I'm off to stock up on fags before play starts. Let's hope our tail wags this morning...