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Last Friday saw the TMS wrap party for the recent England-South Africa series. A fine turnout (well, more people than you'd get on a damp day at Pontypridd watching Glamorgan 2nds) of Sofa legends and assorted groupies made for a fine night. Not unlike Studio 54 back in the day, just with fewer dwarves walking round with bowls of the ol' marching powder on their heads and I, for one, was not the recipient of a blowie from Bianca Jagger in the khazis. I can't vouch for the others though. I'd seen nothing like it since the Young Conservatives spring conference, Winter Gardens, Blackpool, '93. That one still haunts me.

If I'm honest, the evening was all a bit of a haze, courtesy of a few too many euro-fizzes and a light lunch. I do remember some chat about the merits of the Bangladeshi spinners and am amusing Zoob-aside about the damage women in comfortable shoes can do to one's lawn. Johnny Sapphic Handmaiden, no respector of the fair greem sward apparently. No wonder Lord's was so reluctant to let 'em in. Apart from that, nuffink, zilch, zip. Can anyone else fill me in?

As no one else has posted to the blog I'm getting a bit worried that they didn't make it home. Do I call their mothers? The police? It'll be way past their bedtimes.