Greg's at home

Greg here (from a secret location on Manley Beach, that's Sydney, just in case you did not quiet make out in geography),

Sorry I had to go home rather suddenly. The strife was getting too hot, specially from that lady in the cafe. No hearts broken, everything is apples, as we say Down Under, that person is not going to mourn very long, just tell the young boy to watch it; she is on the search.

But she tried the oldest girl con in the world - "I think I'm pregnant" she goes - but I'm not falling for that so I hop on to a plane like a demented wallaby, knowing she has more important bits of her life to tack together and she will not be following. But, look, a guy needs his freedom.

Anyway, I told Ted I was going and he says why don't I write a little about the Australian perspective from Oz, talk to the locals - he says! - as they head down to the Darling River on a personal suicide mission when they hear the lastest Mitchell Johnson bowling analysis. And chill.

I forecast a complete turnaround, Aussie win the next three Tests, run all the way back to Melbourne for a triumphal march, carrying Freddie Flintoff's knee warmer and Kevin Pietersen's Achilles tendons as the trophies of war.

See you the next time you're on Bondi,

Greg Orry