I have no optimism, I have no banter, I have no witty riposte for our Australian cousins, I'm just an empty, hollow shell, crushed like a brazil nut and trampled into the carpet.
How did we manage to lose the Second Test? How did we manage to allow the balance of power to shift so remarkably in such a short space of time? How do we recover from such a painful defeat?
Recover, though, we must and, for goodness sake, let's start picking our best bowlers and not one who has done us proud in the past but who would struggle to catch a cold on current form and who couldn't spin a spinning top.
Monty Panesar must play. Ashley Giles has already let the ball slip through his fingers Down Under when he dropped Ricky Ponting, don't let him drop the Ashes as well.
With all the best will in the world, at two-nil down and with just three Tests left to play, the Ashes have probably already gone back to the Convicts.
There is the feint whipser of hope I suppose. I mean, if Liverpool can recover from 3-0 down at half-time in the European Cup Final to beat AC Milan, perhaps Freddie Flintoff can galvanise his players into a similar mind-blowing act. Somehow, though, I doubt it and somehow I doubt I'll be going without sleep to watch them fail.
Mind you, it's my mum and dad I feel sorry for. They have flown to Australia to watch the Third Test in Perth. When they left, England were in complete command, but when they landed they were just in time to see the Aussies win. How harsh is that?
If that wasn't bad enough, my mum has lost her mobile phone somewhere at Hong Kong airport and my dad has somehow lost a suitcase!
Great start to a holiday. Next thing you know one of them will have been engulfed by box jellyfish during a paddle in the sea and the other will have been knocked unconcious by a rampaging kangaroo.
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