I'll Drink To That

So, Hazel Blears thinks we Brits will never enjoy the so-called "continental cafe" culture of drinking responsibly.

She's damn right, of course.

Firstly because, as she says, we have an Anglo-Saxon heritage of alcohol-fuelled marauding that we have to live down to. There's no way we'll ever give up our ancient birthrights of a pint of bitter or a yard of ale for some frosty, metricated, European nonsense, is there?

Well, perhaps not, and this brings me to my second point: we won't and in fact, can't, drink in a European way because there aren't any continental-style cafes in the whole of the UK. Not one.

In most European countries if you want a glass of beer or a cup of coffee, you go to a cafe. You sit at a table, a waiter takes your order and you feel sophisticated, n'est-ce pas? You probably have a freshly made pastry to go with your drink. You can even get beer in McDonalds.

In Britain if you want a glass of beer, you go to a pub; if you want a cup of tea, you go to a tea room; and never the twain shall meet. (If you want a cup of coffee, you go to France - what else are cheap flights for?)

The pub is always dark and dingy, and you have to stand at the bar for 10 minutes while they change the barrel before you spill your pint all over yourself trying to carry it to a table wedged under the loudest speaker this side of the Tannoy factory. The tearoom is full in equal numbers of elderly women keeping warm and children screaming in prams and buggies. You suspect the fiver you paid for a pot of Earl Grey and a scone might not have been worth it.

If this gap in the UK's licensing laws were closed - so that normal cafes with their sofas and newspapers (e.g. Starbucks, Costa etc) could sell normal drinks (e.g. beer, wine, Irish coffee), might it not normalise the consumption of alcohol in the UK?

People drink to get drunk because that's the only way most pubs are bearable these days and nowhere else offers a place to have a quiet, relaxing half.

Just a thought.

Footnote: It's interesting that this interview is published on the daddy of all drinking days in the calendar. I'll be celebrating my Viking roots in the traditional manner tonight, with much whisky and carousing. If I survive, I'll see you all in 2007.

Happy New Year!

Made to make your eyes water

*WARNING - Male Readers Take Care*

Wince-inducing stuff from Raleigh, North Carolina:

Police continue to investigate a Christmas party they say ended with a woman trying pull a man's genitals off.

That kind of opening line just makes you want to read on.

The victim's name is Kevin Russ (38) and the accused is called Rebecca Arnold (34).

It all started Monday night at a Christmas party hosted at the home of Tanya Nicole "Niki" Gardella, 32. Russ is Gardella's boyfriend. Arnold, who also goes by her married name, Rebecca Dawson, is a friend and was a guest at the party, Lillington Police Chief Frank Powers said.

The party continued into the early morning hours. The three had been drinking and were intoxicated, Powers said.

Drinking at a Christmas party? I think Chief Powers could be on to something there, don't you? Anyway, the juicy bits:

At some point, Gardella, Russ and Arnold got into a fight, and Arnold allegedly grabbed Russ' genitals with her hands. When police arrived at the house on Summerville-Mamers Road about 2 a.m., they found a disturbing, bloody scene.

"[Russ] was in pretty bad shape," Powers said.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. Such understatement from Mr Powers. I daren't use my imagination. Did anyone actually see what happened?

"We are interviewing witnesses that were a little less intoxicated," he said.

Smart thinking. Nothing gets past this guy. "Super" Powers, they call him at the station.

I should say that if you're not quite sure what sort of disturbing, bloody scene to visualise, the article includes this useful paragraph:

Castration refers to cutting off the testicles, said Raj Pruthi, a urologist at UNC Hospitals. The testes are soft tissue where testosterone and sperm are made.

Ah, right. Ouch. Thanks, Doc!

Pruthi said it's unlikely Arnold could have pulled Russ' testicles off with her hands. "I've never heard of it," he said, explaining that the testes are attached deep into the pelvis. "It's pretty much impossible to do."

That, I guess, is a relief to know.

So what happened to this woman?

Arnold was charged with malicious castration and assault inflicting serious bodily injury. She also was charged with malicious conduct by a prisoner and injury to personal property because she allegedly spit on the arresting officer.

Clearly a classy lady.

But isn't this the oddest bit of all? They actually have a specific offence of "malicious castration" in North Carolina. Is it not covered by "assault inflicting serious bodily injury" as I'm sure it would be in Britain? How many cases do they get each year?

On second thoughts, it doesn't bear thinking about. Happy Hogmanay!

Worst of 2006

There are several reviews of the year around at the moment, but if you want to know which vlogs (that's video-based blogs) you should avoid now and at any time in the future, check out the list at 10zenmonkeys.

You certainly won't want to look at "www.dogsbarkingincars.com", which comes top (bottom?) and does exactly what it says on the tin. I urge you not to watch this sample video:



Didn't I warn you not to watch it? Honestly, some people just can't resist temptation.

Shitty Academy

In the Independent, another "Labour MP is hypocrite" story:

A former Labour minister has withdrawn her 13-year-old son from a city academy in protest at its "appalling" standards of accommodation and teaching facilities.

Karen Buck, who resigned as Aviation minister in February, said she had been "torn apart" by a "personal dilemma" over withdrawing her son, Kosmo, from Paddington City Academy, but denied "hypocrisy".

I dunno about the hypocrisy, but Kosmo? I'd have thought the school was the last of his worries.

Apparently he will now be moved to the same City Academy as his elder brother, Dibs.

Red Square

Here's a stupid addictive game. Try to keep the red square from touching the blue rectangles or the walls. My best so far is about 19.2 seconds.

The Ashes - 9

Well done, Australia, another crushing victory. The spirit of Yuletide generosity from the England team is something to behold ("Here, have another wicket, go on. Oh, you've had enough, perhaps you'd like a long hop or two to smash to the boundary, come on, tuck in. Now, don't forget those thankyou letters").

Anyone care to add to my list of adjectives to describe England?

"Hopeless, hapless, gutless, guileless, brainless, spineless, clueless, useless, chinless, witless, listless, thoughtless, aimless, headless, senseless, gormless, toothless, Vaughanless, mostly harmless..."

Of course, you can sum up the Aussies in similar language:

"Timeless, ageless, peerless, fearless, ruthless, relentless..."

The Sydney test starts next week. A whitewash is on the cards. Not even I will bet against that now.

The Accidental President

What's the post-Boxing Day juice?
Gerald Ford is dead. He was the longest lived US President, at 93 years and 122 days, and achieved the office (which he held from 1974 to 1976) without winning an election (a precedent set for Republicans to follow in 2000).

How'd he get there then?
Well, Ford, as vice-President, took over from Richard "I am not a crook" Nixon, when the latter resigned in disgrace after the Watergate affair.

Hang on, wasn't he voted in as VP?
Nope, GF wasn't originally elected as Richard Nixon's vice-President. That privilege belonged to Spiro Agnew (amusing anagram: "Grow a penis"), who discharged his duty with honour and integrity until, er, he resigned in disgrace amid tax evasion and money laundering charges. Who says lightning never strikes twice, eh? Perhaps Ford was the grass...

Did he do a good job?
Well, he was the original "safe pair of hands" to take over in a crisis, and heaven knows America had enough of those in 1974. As well as being the honest caretaker manager who manned the fort in the wake of Watergate, he also presided over the end of the Vietnam War and the infamous flight from Saigon (helicopters taking off from the US embassy roof). In those circumstances he did admirably and restored an amount of dignity and self-respect to a beleaguered nation.

And in '76?
He lost to former peanut baron, Jimmy Carter. So he wasn't a miracle worker.

Anything else of note?
Not much, I think he thought the longevity record was his most likely legacy and he invested most of his time going for it, but some people might remember the Simpsons episode where George and Barbara Bush move in opposite Homer and Marge. Homer and Bush Sr don't get on, and a serious feud develops. In the end, the Bushes move out and Gerald Ford moves in. Happily, he and Homer are like two peas in a pod - both tripping on the kerb as they walk off for a beer (D'oh!).

His wife inhaled, right?
Damn straight. Inhaled, imbibed, injected etc.
Gerald Ford was married to Betty Ford, she of the drying out clinic. She conquered her demons and helped others beat theirs. I'm sure there's a joke about ex-alcoholics and drug users in the Whitehouse to be written somewhere.

Clearly not here! A final one-liner, perhaps?
An oldie, but that's probably appropriate: Being a Ford, you know what to wear for the funeral (any colour as long as it's black).

The Godfather of Soul

RIP James Brown.

They don't make 'em like that any more:

A Seasonal Message

Whether you're chewing carp tonight, or gobbling turkey and mince pies tomorrow, I hope you have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. And that Pai Natal brings you all you wished for.

Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without a James Bond film, so enjoy this clip with your mulled wine:



Merry Christmas!

P-p-p-p-pick up a...

The Independent on the rise of the penguin motif in popular culture.

It mentions the new Happy Feet film, the familiar chocolate biscuit, the paperback publisher, Pingu and the Batman villain.

I think they're missing something, don't you?








Yes, there's absolutely no mention of Sister Wendy Beckett. For shame!

Ho, ho, hola!

From a forum, somewhere, a reworking of a seasonal favourite for you Spanglish speakers:

The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the casa,
Not a creature was stirring -- Caramba! Que pasa?
Los ninos were tucked away in their camas,
Some in camisas and some in pijamas,

While hanging the stockings with mucho cuidado
In hopes that old Santa would feel obligado
To bring all children, both buenos and malos,
A nice batch of dulces and other regalos.

Outside in the yard there arose such a grito
That I jumped to my feet like a frightened cabrito.
I ran to the window and looked out afuera,
And who in the world do you think quien era?

Saint Nick in a sleigh and a big red sombrero
Came dashing along like a crazy bombero.
And pulling his sleigh instead of venados
Were eight little burros approaching volados.

I watched as they came and this quaint little hombre
Was shouting and whistling and calling by nombre
"Ay Pancho, ay Pepe, ay Chucho, ay Beto,
Ay Chato, ay Chopo, Macuco, y Nieto!"

Then standing erect with his hands on his pecho
He flew to the top of our very own techo.
With his round little belly like a bowl of jalea,
He struggled to squeeze down our old chiminea,

Then huffing and puffing at last in our sala,
With soot smeared all over his red suit de gala,
He filled all the stockings with lovely regalos--
For none of the ninos had been very malos.

Then chuckling aloud, seeming very contento,
He turned like a flash and was gone like the viento.
And I heard him exclaim, and this is verdad,
Merry Christmas to all, and Feliz Navidad!

Fog Blog - Update

Latest news on the fog afflicting the south of England is that domestic flights from Heathrow (and several other airports) are likely to be cancelled tomorrow. I guess I was lucky to fly back on Tuesday - I might have been stuck in sunny Portugal for the whole holiday. Hmm.

For those who live outside the afflicted areas and the mention of fog does not yet cause a great wailing and gnashing of teeth, I refer you to the following fog-related video, which I can't believe hasn't been aired on any of the major media channels:


Drive safely, folks.

The Father of the Turkmen

There are several voices in the blogosphere who rave and rant, quite appropriately, at the centralisation and bureaucracy in Britain caused by Messrs Blair and Brown's infatuation with the nanny state. Spare a thought though, for the people of Turkmenistan, who have endured a far worse leader for the past 21 years (facts and quotes from here and here):

Saparmurat Niyazov, the hardline president of Turkmenistan, died from a heart attack early today, bringing the curtain down on one of the world's most eccentric personality cults.

Niyazov, 66, had turned his former Soviet central Asian desert state into an object of international ridicule through a series of bizarre decrees that left Turkmens living in an isolated world where fact and fantasy were blurred.

How so?

During a 21-year rule he turned his country into a hymn of praise to himself: kindergartens, towns, factories and a month of the year (January) were named Turkmenbashi.

He has also renamed April - and bread - after his late mother.

He erected a revolving gold statue of himself in the capital Ashgabat and giant billboards of the leader hung all over the country.

Interesting. "Chris, February, March, Mum, May, June..." Actually that's got a nice ring to it. But surely no ego could cope with this?

He often feigned embarrassment at the adulation. "I'm personally against seeing my pictures and statues in the streets - but it's what the people want," he once said.

Indubitably.

But the pressure to worship the leader was relentless. Children in the gas-rich state were forced to learn his book of poetry, the Ruhnama, at school, and a copy of the book was sent into space for good measure.

The book is required reading in schools, where children must pledge allegiance to him every morning.

Pledge allegiance every morning? What kind of ridiculous brainwashing is that? No free country could tolerate such thing, surely. Oh, right.

Did he have any good ideas?

Niyazov outlawed ballet and opera and banned men from listening to car radios; he also banned the use of recorded music at weddings and other public events. When he gave up smoking after major heart surgery in 1997, all his ministers had to follow suit, and he banned smoking in public places.

I'd probably vote for all of those measures, but they're perhaps a bit draconian. Any chance of a cheap ideological comparison with Ross Perot?

Young men were banned from having beards or wearing long hair.

What about old men? Are they allowed beards? I guess we'll never know.

Anyway, it sounds like the world is better off again for the departure of another old despot. Let's hope the people of Turkmenistan can elect themselves a better leader very soon and enjoy a 2007 full of opera, car radios, beards, gold teeth and months with traditional names.

Shane Keith Warne: He scared batsmen and he scarred me

I want to add my own quiet voice to the chorus of tributes pouring in for Shane Warne, who has announced his retirement from cricket.

My first reaction (as an England fan) was thank God for that, he won't be tormenting our poor batsmen (and bowlers much of the time) any more after the end of this series.

Since he emerged on the Ashes scene in 1993 (follow the link on this page to "Warne's Wonder Ball to Gatting"), Warnie has consistently flummoxed and bamboozled English players - as if he were bowling hand grenades or sea urchins, rather than the familiar red leather cricket ball. Before Warne appeared, Australian cricketers were mainly of the big moustache variety (Merv Hughes, David Boon etc) and beat us by virtue of their outback spirit and strength derived from chasing kangaroos around the bush to grill on the barbie. They saw English cricketers mostly as effete ladymen whose public school educations were nothing compared to the grounding in life one gets from consuming 52 cans of beer on the flight from Sydney to London.

Warne added a new diabolical malevolence to their attack. Rather than just being tougher and grittier than us, they now had a player who could mesmerise and confuse us, something that only the mysterious spinners of the Orient had managed before. In fact England had been utterly confounded by Pakistan's Mushtaq Ahmed the previous summer and Anil Kumble of India in the winter (another disastrous tour). In order to prevent this happening again, we recalled the experienced Gatting, who despite a mediocre test record, was said to be good against spin. Well, Shane Warne debunked that particular myth by pitching one miles outside leg stump and hitting off. Making a ball turn past Gatt's bulky frame is no mean feat and the delivery later became dubbed the ball of the century (perhaps a touch hyperbolic, but incredible to watch nonetheless).

Warne's arrival that year was greeted gushingly by Richie Benaud, a former great leg-spinner, who happily demonstrated the different hand positions required to produce leg breaks, flippers, top-spinners and the devilish wrong'un, or googly. All this was fascinating to observe: I suspect most of the variations were as new to the England team as they were to a nation of callow youths watching the proceedings on television. Actually, Warne didn't bowl that many googlies, but the psychological effect he had on the England players was such that he could have bowled a beach ball underarm and they would have misread the line of the thing.

As a fifteen year old that year I imitated Warne's wizard-like sleight of hand as best I could and managed to bowl some legbreaks that turned square (an ability sadly lost due to a later broken finger). Unfortunately, a la Ian Salisbury, I'd only hit the mark with one in six, so could only claim a very weak association with the great Victorian. However, later that summer I was on holiday on France, staying in a gite with my family, when, while practising the whirling motion of Warne's greatest deliveries, my hand smashed into a low hanging glass light fitting, breaking it into a thousand shards, one of which lodged in the back of my hand. After the screams had died down and the cut been cleaned up and attended with a sturdy suture to keep it closed, a small but quite visible scar formed. I gaze at it fondly even now. Shane Warne is the only cricketer to have such an effect on my person and I imagine I am not the only fan he touched in this way.

Warne's great strength has been his consistency (at least on the field - he's wavered somewhat off it with various sex and drugs scandals, not to mention the hair commercials) and for 13 years he has plagued England teams (and the rest, he has great records againt South Africa and New Zealand too) with monotonous ease. He was written off in some quarters before the 2005 Ashes, but came up with 40 wickets (almost half the Australian total) and over 200 runs, enough to keep the series competitive when around him his teammates were floundering. This time around, England have played him a little more successfully but he still has the knack of tearing through us at the right moments.

I'm not that surprised that he's announced his retirement now: I think this will be the last test series for a few more of the Australian over 35s. Damien Martyn has already gone, and I suspect Glenn McGrath and probably Matthew Hayden will also call it quits after the Sydney test. Warne has done some commentary work already and is an intelligent and engaging observer of the game (more Mark Taylor than Bill Lawry) so I'm sure he'll have a great career ahead of him behind the mic. Australia will miss Shane Warne badly - he's such a massive part of their team - but so will cricket fans everywhere. I'm glad to have seen one of the all-time greats at his peak and will definitely try to catch him in the flesh at Hampshire over the next couple of seasons.

In the immortal words of Ian Healy:
"Bowling, Warnie"

Flying the flag

From my friend, Jon, via email comes an entertaining post from a Japanese blog. Anyone who thinks full employment is a good idea should take a look at these chaps. The video at the bottom is particularly amusing.

Fog Blog

Well, this is exciting. I'm posting this from Lisbon airport, on my way back to England for Christmas. I was supposed to be on the noon flight, but it's been cancelled, due to fog in London. I'm sure anyone reading this from the UK's fair capital will be able to vouch for the Dickensian pea-souper that is undoubtedly hanging over the city.

What's odd is that my flight wouldn't have landed until 1445 anyway, and in all my years of living 15 miles from Heathrow, I've never seen fog at that time that would prevent a plane from touching down safely. Perhaps there's a backlog of flights or something.

It's actually been a bit of a stressful journey so far this morning. I got off the bus from Torres to Lisbon only to find there was a tube strike (fantastic) so yomped avec baggages about a mile to the airport bus stop. There was, of course, nary a bus in sight with all the disruption so, after hanging around for a fair old spell, (oh the irony) I grabbed a cab so as to not be late. Could have walked it and still been on time.

For those who are interested, Lisbon airport is not a particularly pleasant place to while away 3 hours, although the bar does serve pints, rather than the tiny standard measures of beer one normally finds in Portugal. And it's 5 euros an hour for wi-fi access.

One for the dog lovers

Analysis of my visitor statistics (a quick process, I'm sad to say) reveals that there are a significant number of surfers who come to this blog in search of information about dogs, specifically Russian wolfhounds. This blog is called "The Russian Wolfhound" for a hard-to-explain personal reason which I don't wish to go into in detail. That makes it sound dodgy, but I promise it's all above board. In fact, I didn't even realise there was an actual Russian wolfhound before I started this. I have to admit that although I like dogs, I have never owned one and know very little about them, except that one end bites and barks, and the other end has a tail. As far as wolfhounds go, my preference is for the Irish flavour - if I ever get a dog, that would be top of the list.

Anyway, I feel that I should provide some links at least to proper content about the Russian wolfhound (also known as the Borzoi) for those readers who want it. There don't seem to be many blogs devoted to the breed, which is a shame, as it is a handsome and graceful beast.

So, if you are interested in the Russian wolfhound (or wolf hound), you might be better off trying one of these links:
Wikipedia
History and breed standard (Chest-The Borzoi’s chest will appear narrow but will have depth in the thorax area.)
General info (US)
General info (UK)
Nutritional requirements
RW/Borzoi T-shirts
Borzoi ornaments
Dogdecor.com (more t-shirts, ornaments and miscellanea)
Borzoi pics (Japan)

My statistics reveal that most people who search for "Russian wolfhound" are from the USA or Canada, so hi to you guys across the pond and I hope the links I've posted are helpful. I also hope that you might check out some of the rest of my (extremely parochial) blog and enjoy it - although there's nothing about dogs outside this post. If you know of any other Russian wolfhound or borzoi sites that you think are worth linking to, please leave a comment and I'll be happy to add them to this page for the benefit of future accidental visitors.

It's a wonderful turkey

Another December, another poll to find the worst Christmas film and again, Arnold Schwarzenegger's 1996 effort, "Jingle All the Way" takes the top spot.

Other contenders in the top 10 included Santa Conquers The Martians (which sounds bad) and two efforts from the execrable Tim Allen (The Santa Clause and Christmas with the Kranks). Now, in the face of such competition, I feel I must speak up for Jingle All the Way. It's certainly not the worst, ahem, holiday movie I've ever seen. There was something on Channel 5 a couple of years ago starring John Boy from the Waltons about a scientist investigating flying reindeer. Now that was truly appalling.

JATW's redeeming features are, in my view, legion. Not only does it star Arnie (this must rank as his best comedy) as a father attempting to get his son the last Turboman (a Buzz Lightyear-esque must-have toy) in his city, it also features the comic, Sinbad (a hero of mine since I first saw him in A Different World), as a rival dad after the same doll. If memory serves, the film also sees the late great Phil Hartman (you may remember him from such Simpsons roles as the washed-up Hollywood star, Troy McClure, and the hapless lawyer, Lionel Hutz) as Arnie's neighbour, who outdoes the Governator at every turn.

There is something to be said for a film you've seen in the cinema. Somehow they are always more special or memorable than those you only see on the small screen. That's one of the reasons why National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation is so close to my heart (though clearly any movie with Chevy Chase is a cut above the usual fare). Now, I didn't actually see JATW in a cinema. In fact I watched it on a plane from Tokyo to Okinawa on about the 22nd of December 1997, but that's close enough to a big screen for me. You still have the sense of not seeing properly because of seat backs in front of you. Naturally, I was very happy to be able to watch it again on the return journey on Christmas Day itself.

As an aside, that Christmas holiday was worthy of a short film in itself - somehow I ended up spending Christmas morning translating at an asylum hearing for a paranoid Taiwanese submariner who thought numerous faceless enemies were trying to run him over or poison him. He slept with ear defenders on. It's amazing who you meet in youth hostels. Needless to say his attempt to claim political asylum was rejected. I had my Christmas lunch in a pizza parlour that day. It was all you could eat for 600 yen - yummy.

Back to the defence of JATW, the important thing is that you don't take it too seriously and I defy anyone not to chuckle when Arnie punches a reindeer on the snout in the Christmas parade. The film, set in Minneapolis (with a starring role given to the Mall of America), also provides a positive view of a Minnesota winter, something that the grimmer, yet better received Fargo and A Simple Plan singularly fail to do. There are many worse films with sickening "holiday" messages that make you want to vomit. Love Actually, anyone? Ernest Saves Christmas? Home Alone 2? Home Alone 3? Lord of the Rings? These are the real Christmas turkeys, which you can go and stuff, as far as I'm concerned. Any Sinbad fan who's ever lived in Minnesota will have a soft spot for JATW: I know I do.

The Ashes - 8

In American parlance, the boys in the Baggy Greens are 3 and 0.

Australia deservedly won back the tiny sacred urn this morning; something all too predictable for England fans from the moment Steve Harmison's opening ball of the series went straight to second slip. As always used to happen (i.e. before 2005) England have played well in patches in the three tests so far, but haven't consistently been able to put pressure on the Australians. When we won the Ashes last year, there was no let-up from England. All the bowlers did well, and not once did Australia make a total of more than 400 or declare an innings.

I still don't think that the Australian team, although very strong, is all that much better than England, but they have got players who are fit and in form, which has made the difference. I personally backed the England selectors in two of the key decisions they made: I supported the reappointment of Flintoff as captain, because I thought he would be able to lead from the front and inspire the players, as he did in India last winter. I also backed Jones as the wicketkeeper, a little harsh on Chris Read perhaps, but Geraint has looked a proper batsman at times in his career (albeit infrequently) and his glovework is test class, despite what his detractors might say.

In hindsight, those decisions will be questioned by the media and fans for a long time to come, and I think they were probably wrong. Andrew Strauss was doing well as captain, and his form had improved with the increased responsibility - perhaps the burden of batting, bowling and captaining was too much for Freddie's broad shoulders to bear. Read's supporters will point to his good batting against Pakistan in the summer and I suspect he will play for the final two tests here, although playing Australia away is a tough assignment and I don't know if he'll score more runs than Jones has (mind you, he could hardly score fewer).

The decision I thought the selectors got wrong from the start was the non-selection of Monty Panesar. Whether for Ashley Giles or James Anderson, he should have been in the team from the first test in Brisbane. It's Geoff Boycott's second favourite aphorism (after "batting is easy, my gran could score a hundred against this lot wi' a stick of rhubarb") that "you need to take wickets to win matches". Monty has been doing this since he arrived in test cricket in February and dropping him was a big error of judgement. Giles and Anderson took 5-565 between them in the first two tests. Panesar took 5-92 in the first innings in the third. If we'd batted better in our first innings at the WACA, we might be looking at a different scoreline now. Sadly, Ashley Giles has left the tour to care for his wife, who is seriously ill. Whether this had any effect on his form is hard to say.

The Ashes are back in Australia, and in the words of an old show tune, England need to pick themselves up, dust themselves off and start all over again. The gamble of reuniting the majority of the 2005 team has failed and we need to stop resting on those particular laurels. I suspect we'll pick the same team for Melbourne, but with Read in for Jones. Jones had never made a duck in 33 tests before this one, but bagged a pair in this game. I think that speaks volumes about his confidence. There's a chance that we might play Ed Joyce as the extra batsman, for Mahmood, but I reckon he'll stay on drinks duty. Jamie Dalrymple might come in as the second spinner at Sydney.

There are thousands of England fans in Australia already, with thousands more flying out this week to watch the final two matches in Melbourne and Sydney. The players owe it to the fans, who have forked out massive amounts of money to watch the team, to put in better performances over the next two weeks. With the pressure off, I hope they'll do so. The Australians are now all talking about a whitewash, but even they will find it hard to sustain their levels of intensity over 5 tests. Let's try to win the second half of the series and take something positive into the New Year.

Because if you think this tour has been depressing, just wait for the World Cup.

What's the only country named after a mountain?

Here's your starter for ten:
What better for Christmas than a lovely quiz?
The answer? Why, nothing, of course - and few holiday pastimes can be as enjoyable as reading out quiz questions to one's family after they've scoffed the turkey and trimmings and marvelling at their general ignorance of the world around them.

Trawling the net (funny, nets used to trawl, now they are trawled) for something to blog about, I came across the San Francisco Chronicle's geography quiz which is rather a good'un.

Here are some sample questions:

1. Name the only nation in the world with Latin as an official language.
9. Is South Africa among the five largest nations in Africa?
13. What is, by far, the most common three-color combination on the flags of the world's nations?
23. If you crossed the bridge over the River Kwai, what country would you be in?
50. True or false: Kazakhs play a traditional game on horseback called Kuuz Kuu - "Catch the Bride."

The rest of the quiz can be found here (only 50 questions), with the answers underneath. No cheating, now.

Oh, and the only country named after a mountain is Mounteverestlandistania, but then you knew that anyway.