Sydney - we barely recognised the place. Well, for me that was hardly surprising since I've never been here before, but Julian had drunk from this particular barrel fifteen years ago and the city has been transformed since then. A mixture of Manhattan and Malibu, the skyscrapers and the seafronts and harbours create a riot of skylines and bustle. It is full of tourists but without the feeling that everyone is being gulled or pandered to. There is a brightness, not unsurprisingly given the blue sky and beating sun, about the place which is totally beguiling.
One of the problems with coming to Sydney in December is that so many locals tend to leave the place at this time of year. Thus, we both knew that we were likely to have a smaller gathering than in other places. In the event, just three Aberites joined us in the Quay Bar at the historic Customs House at Circular Quay. However, what they lacked in numbers they more than made up for in enthusiasm.
The venerable Doctor Pong, originally from Hong Kong from where he traveled to Aber to study Computer Science in the late 1970s, had photographs of his department from those days. There are still members of staff from then at the University who appeared in these photos, looking like Open University lecturers with their appalling taste in tank tops, whiskers (you will forgive me if I refrain from using the term "mutton chops"), and flared trousers.
Sophie Greenfield was a bubbling font of affection for Aber and infectious good humour, with tales to tell of her time at the University that I will not embarrass her to repeat here, but if you can imagine a sheep blushing .... Sophie had abandoned the design of her son's birthday cake for the meeting ... sorry, son.
Finally, there was Simon Ashley. Simon, having been in Australia for over twenty years but having "commuted" for a fair amount of that time to Las Vegas, and having been born and bred in Wolverhampton, has an accent one has to hear to fully appreciate. A passionate Wolves supporter, his good humour and charm can only be dented by the mention of a certain football team resident in Manchester and managed by a dour Scot.
I was treated like one of the family, and the group refused the usual in-room photo opportunity, insisting that we decamp across the road to the Sydney Opera House to take a suitably Aussie snap.
The formal proceedings having been completed, we were then frogmarched to one of many pubs in Sydney that proudly boast that they are the oldest in the country. Sophie and Simon had decided that Julian needed educating in the ways of significant Sydney watering holes, and the Lord Nelson was certainly a must-see. Having been raised on a diet of Aber grass and rainwater, I soon became a victim of Aussie hospitality. Julian appeared to keep his end up with more aplomb, but he's like a bear with a sore head this morning and I am keeping my distance.
Australians are suffering from post-traumatic stress following their defeat in the second Test, and it is taking all of Julian's not particularly legendary tact to avoid cavorting up and down the streets singing "Barmy Army" with the same monotonous and iritating regularity shown by the barrel-bellied fans who are still all over Sydney having failed to realise that the next test is in Perth. Tomorrow on to Melbourne, home to the MCG and Neighbours!
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