It was always going to come to this at some point. An Ashes series that has already given us pretty much everything reached deep into its rummage bag at Old Trafford and came up with another element of jeopardy: a day of soppers, moppers, bruised skies and the sight of a funereal Martin Saggers planting his spiked umbrella close to the sodden pavilion boundary as the tectonic plates of the summer’s cricketing drama seemed to shift his feet.
Hello 90% precipitation my old friend. I’ve come to commune with you again. And while England’s supporters, doggedly present in ponchos and sodden hoodies, will feel only frustration at losing two sessions of a must-win Ashes Test match, there is a comforting summer trope even here.
