It Gets Into Your Blood

SP on the Darwin Test experience

Few places in Australia impose themselves on the senses like Darwin. Though the dry season is the gentlest time of year up here, August is its back-end, and what’s next - the wet season “build-up” - forebodes. The air is a little heavy, the foliage breathes deep and green, black kites circle overhead looking for their prey.

In the upper terraces of the Maurice Rioli Stand, waiters carry trays of a beer called “Territory Dry” and plastic goblets of red wine. It’s 9.45am on Thursday, it’s day one of the Test and local thirst is significant. Everywhere, there are sensible hats and people with their own stubby holders.

On the other side of the ground, people spring deckchairs under the five flags of Australia, Bangladesh, as well as the Aboriginal, Torres Strait and the white Sturt Desert Rose of the Northern Territory. Later on day two, I catch up with a mate from Sydney, here on a Buck’s trip. His compadres are talking to the standing cop, asking genially what the fine is for streaking. The cop laughs. They then mention that this must be a nice assignment for him, watching the cricket on a Friday. He says it’s hard to watch everyone having a beer, because that’s what he’d like to be doing. Mid-strengths taste great here, by the way.