Handbags at Christmas

Presenter: Good evening. Well, it's been quite a series hasn't it? One minute the chaps in saggy blue caps are cock of the walk, reports of the demise of Australian cricket are everywhere, and life as we knew it is over, then the main subject of ridicule rediscovers his mojo, Australia go from useless to irresistible and the scores are level. Two games to go and who knows where the destiny of the Ashes lies. To help you decide, we have two special guests with, I'm sure you'll agree, unmatched expertise - on my right, Donnie, and on my left, Dougie.

Presenter: So, Donnie, how do you explain the sudden switch in momentum?

Donnie: Well, to be fair, and with all due respect, all Poms are gutless cowards, with the arguable exception of Ashley Giles and Simon Cowell. Get them on a pitch with an ounce of pace and they don't have the heart for it. As soon as Andrew Strauss put us in at the WACA I knew the tide had turned. His team had made 1137 runs for the loss of six wickets in their previous two innings, for heaven's sake. They had our lot on the rack, but Strauss chickened out.

Dougie: That's a bit rich, my shrunken wallaby. Nobody beat a faster retreat to square leg than you did against my beloved Harold. And with all due respect, you're talking even more claptrap than usual. Only a couple of your batsmen were in even half-nick after Adelaide. Strauss got it right. The bowlers, with the exception of Tremlett, blew it. You lot should never have made more than 150. And I blame the soft-hearted management for letting Anderson go home. Baby before country? What a nancy boy. If he'd tried that scam with me, I'd have had a word with my pals in the Kremlin and ensured he spent the next two years in a Siberian salt mine and taken away his iPod.

Donnie: I'm with you there, but with all due respect, you're an idiot. Your batsmen buckled at the first sign of trouble. I popped by Chez Ponting after the Adelaide Test and, between all the ranting to Mrs Punter about Michael Clarke being as helpful as an extra sail on the Titanic, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat after a long weekend in a cream factory. It was all part of the plan - pick a crap spinner for a couple of Tests and, just as we did in 36-37, let the Poms get cocky. You lot don't know how to handle being favourites and you handle being odds-on favourites even worse. Besides, what better way to shift tickets for the Boxing Day Test than to suddenly transform expectations?

Dougie: Yeah, yeah, yeah. And we wouldn't have beaten Hitler without the Sydney Light Infantry. To be honest, and I say this with the utmost respect, you're about as perceptive as a brain-damaged frog. To which, by the way, you bear an uncanny resemblance.

Presenter: Come now, gentlemen, you know the rules - no taking the name of an animal or vegetable in vain.

Dougie: Okay, sorry. Anyway, you puny billabong-shagger, as I was saying, it's the other way round. Your board was so frightened of seeing the Ashes vanish before the Boxing Day Test that they bribed our boys to lose. And the way I see it, that's a win-win situation. More booty to take home and better odds for the rest of the rubber. Johnson isn't capable of two good matches in succession, Ponting's gone as a batsman, and our boys will make amends in style.

Donnie: Respectfully, sir, you need a lobotomy. Your lot have one in-form bowler and he's about as terrifying as a three-legged poodle with false eyelashes. Your best fielder is a passenger with the bat, your best young quick isn't very quick and has dodgy legs - and even the Bangladesh A team are wittier sledgers.

Presenter: Sorry to interrupt you in full flow, gentlemen, but may I introduce our old friend, the Ghost of Christmas Past?

Ghost of Christmas Past: May I remind you of the last time the teams went into the Melbourne Christmas Test at 1-1. It was 1954, and not even some illegal pitch-watering on the rest day could stop the Australian order from being blown away by Frank Tyson, the greatest bowler never to take 100 Test wickets.

Dougie: Right, and that fiendish spot of sneakery backfired, just as shifting the pitch to nullify Swann is destined to do. The trouble with you lot is that you don't know how to cheat with dignity.

Donnie: Come, come. With respect, you son of a female dingo, what about The Oval last year? I've seen better-prepared frozen turkeys.

Presenter: Welcome, please, another old friend, the Ghost of Christmas Near-Present.

Ghost of Christmas Near-Present: And I'd like to remind you of Melbourne in Christmas 06 - all over inside three days, with only one Pom, er, noble Englishman, scoring more than 31. Warne managed more in one dig than Bell and Pietersen mustered in four between them.

Dougie: Don't give me that. How can you possibly win when your captain can't tell heads from tails? Still, at least Flintoff was sharper than Ponting. Judging by the ever-expanding list of potential successors, I'm expecting Phar Lap and Rolf Harris to announce their availability any day now.

Donnie: Nice to see your sense of humour hasn't improved with age, my dear old thing-with-a-nose-the-size-of-a-small-but-extremely-steep-mountain. At least our selectors were decent players. Not as good as me, granted.

Dougie: Come off it, you arrogant clod of crud. We've got twice as many players in form, your lot are about as sturdy and consistent as lumpy porridge, and besides, apart from 1921, 1951, 1961, 1991 and 2001, we always win the Ashes in years ending in one.

Presenter: Ladies, gentlemen and New Zealanders, may I introduce a new friend, the Ghost of Christmas Future.

Ghost of Christmas Future (sounding remarkably like Mark Nicholas): Bless my cotton socks, jump my jiminy and cracker my jack - there it is. Morgan carves Smith over a gallantly leaping if non-existent third man and England have won. They'll be dancing on the streets of Belfast tonight. My oh my oh my. Heck, it's good to be alive.

Dougie: That's more bloody like it. Hang on, though, they're all wearing coloured togs. And unless I'm very much mistaken, that looks a good deal more like Bombay than Melbourne.

Presenter (smirking): Well, Dougie my old fruit, let's just call it our little seasonal surprise. Our ghostly friend's soothsaying abilities only work three months ahead of time. Still, I'm sure you'd trade the Ashes for the World Cup.

Dougie: Sod off. I'd rather trade my eyes for a couple of kiwis. (Turns to Donnie) And what are you grinning at, you dwarf? I haven't seen you look so smug since you got away with that snick to Jack Ikin at Brisbane in 46.

Donnie: Don't mind me, my old China. I'm just tickled by the idea of you being caught out by a spot of pulling-your-leg theory.