Jimmy's riddle

The cafe. The veteran, the daft lad and I. In agreement for once.

"You know there is something everyone in this country can do to bring back the Ashes," I say.

"What," says the daft lad, absorbed in drinking his tea latte. "Pray, burn incense, join the British Legion?

"No," says the veteran, "I know what he's on about. Stop talking about how lovely everything was in 2005." We've been talking about it."

"Right," I say. "That's history, done with, lets move on. But this week at least one paper has gone on about 2005 as if the game was invented that year. A big piece every day."

"I know," says the lad, "my dad kept going on about 1981, and Headingley, and Brearley and Botham. Just the same. We do love to live the the past, us."

"So," I say, all strategic. "Lets make a pact. No 2005, no Flintoff, no Pratt's run-out, not talk of the bad behaviour at No.10 Downing Street. And, by the way, unless I have a brainwave, this series is too close to call. So no bets all right."

The daft lad grins. "I want to back Jimmy Anderson to be top wicket-taker, both sides. He's all right is Jimmy. He says to me - I' like 70 not - 'my yorker is the key ball' but I take no notice and next ball he hits me on top of the helmet with a bouncer. Still I go on past hundred and he says 'you took no notice of me saying about the yorker' but then he bowls me one and I block it. No, he's all right is Jimmy."

"No he's not," says the waitress. "He comes in here and says to me, cheeky like, 'Is it you that has been making that young lad drink tea latte and serving him slops.' Then he runs out. At least I think it was Jimmy Anderson."

"Rubbish," says the daft lad. "You wouldn't pull a trick like that!"

"No," the rest of us say in chorus. "Cause she wouldn't"