And the crowd goes somewhat wild....

On the way back to Oxford from Blenheim we were looking forward to stopping in the pub that was in the building that we were staying in. It had for the previous couple of days seemed rather a cavernous, empty place, and that seemed like precisely what we needed to sit and discuss dinner plans in.

When we arrived the place was packed. Jam packed. Chairs full, people sitting on the floor all along the wall, estimated time from entry to barman twenty minutes and try not to step on anyone packed.

The Ashes were wrapping up, and things were going well. Unless you were an Australian.

We figured out where the nearest Pizza Express was. Two reasons for that:

1) We like Pizza Express

2) They don't have televisions

Two thirds of the way through the dinner cheering erupted in the street and crowds of people began pouring in for dinner.

England Won!

The walk back to the room was spent greeting happy weaving people, some of whom had decided to play what was the most festive drunken impromptu football/soccer match I've ever seen. In the middle of the high street.

The pub was deserted, but for a few souls who seemed delighted for a chance to hide from the revelry. We decided to get the beers that we were looking forward to before dinner. Almost all the beer was gone - which explained why the clientele had left. As I ordered, I noticed that the barman was American.

"So there was some cricket in here?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes and looked around. "God, yes." He leaned closer. "Do you understand it?"

"Some. Well, a little," I admitted.

"I'm glad it's over. Everyone thinks it's fun to quiz me."

"All over but the parades and the woo-ha. And all the commemorative recaps."

He started to look pale as he handed me my beers.

On the news that night, they already had the parade mapped out for the next morning. We would not get to London until after it was over.