As the light fades on my journey – from Lauren Filer on another plane to Stuart Broad’s Oval exit – joy at an epic series lingers
You know you’re getting on a bit when you gesture towards how things used to be. It doesn’t have to become that special mix of nostalgia and resentment that can distil in later life, just a measure of distance. You’re farther along the line, looking back at youth as something that happened rather than living within it as the only state you’ve known.
My first Ashes tour was in 2013, and it was shoestring deluxe, from random couch-surfing hosts to the floors of backpacker friends, stashing free sandwiches at tea breaks and scanning the pub for cold chips. Even so, the trip was pure discovery, bursts of activity in the longueurs of a glorious English summer, where the leaves glow with that golden green to the point of bursting, the sun that illuminates your pint but stays gentle on your neck.
Continue reading...