The third day
In a day more memorable for the pink colours everywhere celebrating the Glenn McGrath cancer foundation, the Aussies built a formidable lead on a wicket baked by scorching sun. It’s been rifles v cannons with England chasing the games. “Magic Marsh partnership piles on more Pommy pain” thundered my morning paper.
I thought the SCG could not surprise me with its pathetic customer service. It has. To smelly toilets with long queues, unless you are lucky enough to be female, poor egress, little leg room, incessant loud music and a show-off repellent MC you can now add a 22 stone slob waddling like a fat duck who insisted I remove my cool Ray Ban blue shades to inspect my eyes for signs of intoxication in the long drinks queue at 11-30am. I told Fatty that it was a shame they could not re-allocate you somewhere useful, like showing us to the seats or giving directions to the nearest pick up point 15 minutes away, requiring a long and arduous walk in the sun.
