Ten year challenge

Not sure what Antigua airport has against me.  The last two times I’ve been there it’s cost me thousands. 

In 2009 I had to shell out $2000 just to get on an aeroplane I had already paid a ticket for. 

This time I left $1000 lighter after a blunder between the Antiguan equivalent of Bureau de Change and Santander.  It was a case of ‘from me to you’ between them with both saying the US dollars I’d tried to withdraw lay with the other.  The upshot?  I left the airport with plenty of sympathy but no cash.

Thankfully while it took the best part of three months to get my money back in 2009 it’s only taken five days in 2019.

It’s weird coming back to a place that I haven’t been to for such a long time.  Memories that have lain dormant are suddenly sparked off. 

From the Susie’s hot sauce to the Old English Rum, the posh yachts in the harbour, the cramped streets of St John’s and even the traffic jams leading to the Sir Viv Richards Stadium it’s all coming flooding back.

And the goose bumps were in overload when I returned to the Recreation Ground. 

The last time it was used for a cricket match was the last time I was there. With the shadows lengthening and fans allowed to stream in for free the atmosphere as the West Indies hung on for a famous draw got louder and more intoxicating as the day reached its conclusion.  Who says five day draws are boring?  The reaction among the home fans at the time suggested otherwise.

And what a wonderful way it was to spend a couple of hours. 

Unlike Plough Lane or other quietly crumbling sports stadiums in England you can still walk straight out onto the outfield.  Health and safety doesn’t exist in the same way outside of England and with no security in sight there’s nobody to stop you taking your life into your own hands by walking up to the scorers box where huge holes in the floor have now appeared. 

Nosing around the decrepit scoreboard reminded me of being a kid when you’d stumble upon and explore an abandoned house or deserted building.  The thrill of being caught or injuring yourself outweighed by the feeling you were somewhere you should be.  While half expected a flashlight to be shone on your face or an alarm to set off you also knew treasure and adventure was just around the corner.  This is living.

What I think about when I’m watching the cricket

What time will this match finish / Do I want to go out tonight / Has that money gone in or out my account / What’s for lunch / Any chance of a wicket / Is there anything on my to-do list that I can do / How will the sunburnt and drunk spectators feel when they wake up tomorrow morning / Why can’t batsmen bat any more / The shadows are starting to appear around the ankles of the players / Is that a rain cloud on the horizon / England have been lucky / England have been unlucky / Have children ever come to Test matches or was it just me / How many football matches can you fit into a five Test series / God, it looks cold out there / How is there still 42 overs left in the day / How was that not given out / It’s hot in here / Half the crowd here look bored out of their minds / I’ve eaten too much sugar today / What’s the football score / What’s the weather like tomorrow / What can I write about / Back to back Tests are a killer / I wonder if I could take a day off in the Oval Test and spend it with my family getting drunk watching the cricket / That’s a strange fielding position / I could do with a cup of tea / Wonder if I have enough time to go for a wee before the end of the advert break / What are New Zealand’s fixtures in 2020 / What time will I get home tomorrow / When will I see Franklin next

talkSPORT Tour Diary

It’s been a terrific few days in Barbados with the talkSPORT team reunited after a Christmas apart.  Our two month tour across Sri Lanka brought us all close together and there were big grins and even bigger hugs all round when the likes of Neil Manthorp and Darren Gough arrived. 

Possibly this was more to do with the relief of their long journey from South Africa being over than the pleasure of seeing Andrew Mckenna and Jarrod KImber.  But it was a lively first evening out with plenty of tales from the tour we’ve just completed.

One man who wasn’t looking so happy is young Producer Sam Ellard.  Sam is known as a talk-first-think-later type of guy and it had landed him in trouble. During the back end of the tour to Sri Lanka he agreed to a bet that he soon regretted.

Sam would be the first to admit he could do with losing a pound or two and thought it would be wise to challenge former professional sports man Matt Prior to a contest called #talksportsbiggestloser.  Whoever arrived in Barbados having shed the most weight would be taken out to one of Barbados’s most expensive joints.    

When a restaurant on Barbados is known as expensive you know you’d better start extending the overdraft.  The day after I arrived I was charged £8 for two litres of milk.  I thought my jet lag was playing tricks with me it wasn’t just the milk.  A packet of corn chips is more than a fiver and a steak will set you back £13.  Let’s hope the talkSPORT bean counters aren’t reading this. 

Either way Gareth Batty, who will be part of the team for the limited overs leg, was so confident Sam wouldn’t be able to cash the cheque his mouth had tried to pay offered to front up the money for the entire 12 strong team if Matt lost.  Suffice to say his money is safe.

Fair play to Sam though when the big day came he fronted up.  He was thankful that Matt has decided not to drink this tour so when the bill came in it wasn’t anywhere near as horrendous as Sam had feared.

Aside from Sam losing the shirt off his back it’s been a wonderful week.  Every member of the talkSPORT team is a cricket tragic and for many it has been a first experience of visiting the Kensington Oval. 

Just walking past the famous statue of Sir Garfield Sobers, then across the lush green outfield where the names of the legendary figures leap out at you from the stands is enough to give us all goose bumps.

From the first black man to captain the West Indies, a man who reshaped the identity of the side forever, Sir Frank Worrell, to the most fearsome opening duo to ever play the game, Gordon Greenidge and Desmond Haynes, to the bowler who looked up to no man, Joel Garner.  A reminder that Barbados has provided our wonderful sport with some of the best to ever play the game.

With stadium facilities and view of the pitch nearly as impressive as some of those who’ve represented Barbados and the West Indies we are an excited bunch less than a day out from the 1^st Test.  We hope that this enjoyment and delight is apparent when we take to the airwaves on Wednesday.

American eavesdropper

I spent a lot of time listening to other people on my flight to Barbados.  And I found it fascinating.

It's been 14 years since I was last in America.  Fourteen years since I stood outside LAX smoking a cigarette laughing with relief that I had managed to get away from that place without getting my head kicked in.  That's a story for another day.

Not that this is why I didn't go back.  Life just took another turn.  And I suppose after visiting four times in six years I felt I'd see other parts of the world.  Unlike South America, Africa and Australasia, work hasn't required me to go.

So here I am in-situ in America.  On my own with nobody to talk to and sitting in among a people who love to do exactly that, and loudly.

It didn't take long to remember that there are subtle differences between Americans and any other Western culture.  Take the bar I was sat at in LAX the morning of my flight to Miami.  It was 6am and I was having an early morning beverage.

 
A guy sat down to the left of me and studied the menu.  He has short very blond hair, a strange nose and late twenties.  He called a waiter over and asked "are the biscuits and gravy good?"  The waiter pulled a face.  "Good answer" the guy said and ordered an American breakfast with extra bacon instead.

Soon after an older gentleman sat down and the first guy passed on the advice of the waiter.  The older man was in denim, with longish dark hair and a creased, tanned face.  He ordered the American breakfast as well.  He didn't say anything but when it arrived he probably regretted not ordering extra bacon.

The two picked up a conversation in that effortless way Americans do.  They talked rapidly, clearly, at length and predominantly about themselves.  They asked each other very few questions.  Just took it in turns to talk.  And at the end they went their separate ways.

In that time I learned that the older gentleman had been to every state in America and while well traveled the younger man had never left the country.  That the guy who ordered extra bacon was a 3D printer technician who would drive anywhere up to 16 hours to reach a client.  Anything over that he would fly.  And that after being punched badly in a fight he had trouble with his ear.  A problem that was sometimes exacerbated by flying. 

I found it strange that the older guy let this comment pass without a response.

Watching them also reminded me Americans eat in an almost childlike way.  Both used their knifes to chop up their food in advance of eating it.  Making it easy for them to just use a fork to scoop up their breakfast.  I only do that when I'm eating spaghetti.

On board the flight to Miami I sat behind a thin woman with dark hair and bad skin.  Not exactly behind.  She was one to the left of me.   She was one row behind Business Class so had a screen on the wall in front of her that she perched her iPhone 8.  I noticed she was watching episodes of the Kardashians. 

She was having a conversation with the guy sat next to her but he soon went to sleep.  I zoned out and it was only an hour or so later that I noticed the woman again because through the gap in the seat I could clearly see her flicking through the photos on her phone and recognised a boat journey she must have taken recently on the Thames.  Starved of anything interesting to look at or think about I was already looking on with interest when she started zooming in on pictures of herself in bikinis.

As ways to pass the time on board a flight this was one of the more memorable but after five minutes of so she went back to watching the Kardashians and I soon lost interest again.

We landed in Miami and while waiting for the doors to open she struck up a conversation again with her neighbour.  She told him how London was "a lot of fun" for a week and she got loads of great "content" but then got frustrated by the fact "it got dark at 3.30pm".  How she'd gone to Los Angeles to visit and decided to stay for good "I called my flatmate and paid them to send all my stuff".  That she was "super excited" about her upcoming trip to the Bahamas.  "I can't believe it's only three hours away and I've never been".  And that Japan was majorly on her to-do list because of this.  I liked her loads more when she said that. 

What do prisoners think about all day?

My god, has anyone in the history of humanity been more miserable before going to the Caribbean for six weeks?

I remember listening to Alastair Cook shortly after he'd arrived in Bangladesh ahead of England's two month tour of the country (and India) in 2016.  He had left the bedside of his wife just a couple of days after she had given birth.  I can't find the exact quote but he said something along the lines that "I left the house feeling like the worst person on earth and it was a difficult drive down the motorway.  But then when you meet the lads at the airport you start getting excited about the challenge ahead."

I might have 12,472 Test runs less than him but those words came back to me as I sat in a cab on the way to Auckland airport with my pregnant wife and soon-to-be two year old son disappearing out of view.

I wish I had had some team mates to help make me excited.  My fear of flying reduced markedly when I was zipping around Europe and a sense of normality certainly helps.  There's not much more normal than spending time with work mates.  Instead I faced nearly 48 hours of transit across three countries and one date line completely alone.

Two days is a long time to spend on your own.  For sure there are distractions.  Plane taking off, plane coming down, check in, departures, arrivals, passport control, passenger flight cards, clouds out the window, Seinfeld on the iPad, a glass of wine here, a tablet of valium there.  But in and around that there is a lot of time spent thinking about life.

I went through it all on the longest January 10th I will ever experience.  Up early to look after my son, to the park in the morning, the beach in the afternoon, then an early dinner and a cab to the airport.  A 11pm take off, a 12 hour flight, land at LAX and there's still eleven hours of January 10th to go.  Two of which I spent in a queue just trying to leave the airport.

January 11th wasn't much better.  Alarm at 4.30am (which was in fact 1.30am for my NZ body clock) and a four and a half hour flight before I should have even been awake.  Another three hours in Miami (where I decided I'd had enough air conditioned air) before jumping on my third flight another three hours to go until my destination.

There were so many grim aspects.  The leaving, the stress of flying, the lack of comfortable sleep, the early start, the horrible food, the crap conversations going on around me, the impact on my nervous system and that last interminable hour on board flight AA2393.

I arrived after my colleagues had gone to bed.  The next day boy did I chew their ears off.  Couldn't shut up.

Life impact - an intro

Today I went to the park with my wife and son to celebrate the birthday I will miss in a couple of weeks.  It's Franklin's 2nd birthday on 21st Jan.  Knowing the cricket schedule for the next two years I will also miss his 3rd, possibly his 4th and who knows what I will be doing for the Ashes the year after that.  You don't need to be a parent to know this sucks. 

My wedding anniversary is the 18th Jan. 

Hmmmm.

Reminds me of the last time I toured the West Indies when I missed our anniversary and my wif'e's birthday.  She got me back.

Has it really been ten years since I last covered a West Indies tour?  That catalogue of woe was well documented.  A snapped achilles, a missed plane, being forced to cough up $1400 for a flight I'd already paid for, a cancelled Test match, a golf buggy incident only to come home to the kitchen covered in soot.

The sacrifices we make in the pursuit of a career, the mental anguish of being away from the family, the memories of a tour gone by, the angst ahead of a long journey.  All to be expanded upon. 

Auckland angst

Watching the last few minutes of the Manchester City v Liverpool match reminded me of a unwelcome parallel with real life.  The last few minutes of this escapism were an edgy affair as City closed out a win that kept their title hopes alive and restricted Liverpool's lead at the top of the table to four points.  

The nerves were evident as players who'd spent much of the night stroking the ball around silkily now started hacking and hoofing at every clearance or sight of the ball.  

Anyone who follows sport knows the last few minutes of a match when your side are clinging on is a stressful time when time slows down and you literally can't sit comfortably.

Today was a bit like that.  All day.  I was alone in my own mind whilst surrounded by family.  A feeling of dread in my stomach.  Unable to sit comfortably or relax.  Clock watching a day that I shouldn't have wanted to end.  

It's a shame because it should have been a really pleasant experience.  Staying in comfortable surrounds with the in laws taking turns to look after the little one.  Football then cricket on the TV, yoga in the afternoon, a swim in the early evening before tea.  

But when has anxiety ever made sense?  Often with a big trip imminent people look at me with a smile and expect me to respond in kind.  I often look at them with narrow eyes with a sigh escaping from my lips that screams "I hate flying, I feel guilty about leaving my family and you know what?  I have come to the conclusion that I don't like change".  Which isn't an ideal position to find myself in when you consider my lifestyle of travel and the uncertain nature of my industry.  Oh, and the fact my wife's family live on the other side of the planet.

Boy has it been a battle not to drink today.  

It'll be okay

Some people shout, some people scream, some take it out on others, some keep it inside, some punch walls, some punch others, some people jump, some people drink, some people hide and some people just don't know what to do.

The day I finished my dissertation and with two hours to get it submitted in time I remember staring at my printer almost paralysed with rage as it steadfastly refused to spit out the work I had churned out over the previous 26 hours of toil.  As I turned towards my bedroom window overlooking a rundown Hull street my mind rattled through the options.

Shout, scream, take it out on someone else, punch a wall, punch a human, jump out the window, head to the pub, crawl under my bed or, and there the options ran out.  I just didn't know how to get rid of the all consuming frustration that had enveloped me.  Thankfully not long after the printer spluttered back into life but the thought process I went through at that time has always stuck with me.

Most who suffer know the triggers that can lead to extended or severe periods of anxiety which in turn often make life unbearable and sometimes painful to endure.  Excessive alcohol, work pressure, lack of sleep, relationship problems or even just being hungry.  Or an impending 12 hour flight to an unfamiliar airport and seven weeks away from a pregnant wife and two year old son.  Yeah, that'll do it.

Therapists often ask patients to write down the physical symptoms experienced when suffering from anxiety.  Sweaty palms, racing heart, dry throat.  None of these will be of surprise.  Then there is the feeling that the digestive system is being squeezed. Unpleasant.  Nearly as nasty as the feeling it'll never end.

Just as the symptoms are familiar so are the remedies.  At least partial remedies.  Cutting out alcohol, cutting down on caffeine, exercise, talking to someone about the problem or just dedicating some time to go through the work, correspondence, admin that needs to be done and doing it.  All help.

As does writing.  As does experience of knowing it will get better.  That in a few days all will be well with the world again.  It's not going to last forever.  It'll be okay.

Mindfulness

Apologies for the cliche but even 'no-nonsense Yorkshire men' with over 200 wickets for England adhere to forms of psychotherapy.  Darren Gough is open about a tactic he employed throughout his Test career.  Following a day's play.  Whether it was good or bad.  He was taught by the team psychoanalyst to write down the events that occurred on the field.  He would then tear out that page and throw it in the bin. 

I imagine Goughie would then proceed to make his way down to wherever the team were congregating and spend a few hours holding court, drinking a pint or two and talking ten to the dozen.

It worked for him and it's worked in a similar fashion for me.

I've always written a diary of sorts.  Hidden away in the attic at my parents home are a collection that chart my angst, ever growing comic collection, teenage crushes, fueds, fears and secret thoughts.

I would often start a year religiously adhering to my resolution to 'write every day' only to get to the start of February and find life had got in the way.  Sound familiar? 

Common themes would appear.  Either it was the start of a calendar year and I was trying to install some kind of discipline into my life.  Again, stop me if you've heard this.  Or something was bothering me that I needed to get down onto paper and out of my system. 

Writing has often been a coping mechanism as much as anything artistic.  In years to come if my diaries are discovered a future relation would be forgiven for thinking I led the most miserable and anxious existence.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  The problem is that when life is at its captivating best I don't have time nor inclination to sit in my room and write about it.

The solitude of writing is also part of the process.  As much as I like to imagine a lifestyle that would allow me ample time and space to write for hours I'm not sure that would work for me.  Put me in a room with a window, sunshine streaming in, a brook and a field outside and I'll be itching to get out there rather than stay put and murder words.

I am also aware of my limitations.  I can't write well enough, I don't know enough and I write so damn slowly.  I am friends with and work alongside several writers.  Amongst them is Jarrod Kimber.  He vomits words. He literally can't stop himself from writing 1000 words every time he coughs.  Most people's cigarette breaks are his chance to discharge another chapter or article.  It's insane. 

But on the flip side this blog storms (limps) into it's 13th year.  2006-2019.  There's no reason to think that even if I've again stopped writing by Feb 1st I won't be back again in 2020 and beyond.  Something inside me wants to get out.  I feel sated by writing in a way that I don't broadcasting.  Although there is a noticeable post show-buzz associated with presenting or commentating well. 

400

We've kinda been here before you and I

My New Year resolutions are thus. 

1. Blog more.  One post a day for the next 400 days.  Why 400?  Well it's a number synonymous with an innings that took place in the region I am heading to next.  In 400 days I will have passed the Caribbean, a World Cup, another pregnancy, an Ashes, a trip to NZ and find myself in South Africa contemplating a journey back to where you find me now, Auckland.  If all goes to plan that is.  400: The number of words I should aim to complete.  Every day.  

2. Be more disciplined.  Whatever that means.

3. Be in the present.  Life is much better when I'm in the present.

4. Remember how to use the Blogspot app on my phone. It developed a bug that meant it crashed every time I opened it.  So I deleted it.  True story.

5.  I wonder if I used : in point 1. properly.

Times have changed since I started out on this blog.  Back in 2006 when I left England for my first major trip abroad I was single, hadn't traveled much and the blog an excuse to develop my writing.  My intended audience my old friends back home.  A way to let them know what I was up to in a (hopefully) humourous fashion.  Slightly self-indulgent at times.  Okay, incredibly self-indulgent.  But at the heart I wasn't afraid to make mention of miscreant antics in years gone by in a slapdash carefree kinda way.  That person doesn't really exist any more.  And my friends have also grown up, had kids and got married.  One night after a Shanks game the topic of windows came up.  I nearly smacked my head against the table.  When did it come to this?

My friends were the alternative ones, the smokers, the drop outs, artistic, musical, daring-doers, funny, idiotic, political, wise, forward thinking, right on, long-haired, individuals.  And they still were back in 2006.  But there's nothing more sad than clinging on to the past. 1994 was cool and all but not so cool that everyone should stay there.  We have to keep evolving.  

So who am I writing this to?  Maybe the 2019 audience want a behind the scenes tale of life on tour.  A talkSPORT expose with stories of mad egos, tantrums, fallings out, bad behaviour, technical nightmares, logistical mishaps with a back drop of 18-30 holiday style drinking and partying.  Well that might happen but it's not going to get aired here.

So where is my voice these days?  Lost amidst a flurry of middle-management box-ticking, administrative tasks, budgets and when time, cricket prep?  It's been a few years since I ventured out onto this platform.  So who am I speaking to?  

I suppose I am speaking to the man my son becomes.  Him and my soon-to-be-born child.  A glance into the life their dad had before they knew me.  I'm talking to myself.  I'm trying to develop my writing again.  I'm trying to find my voice.  I'm just going to write until I know the answer.  When it becomes obvious again I'll feel confident enough to start flagging up this blog.  Until then it's just you and me.  We've been here before.

Top times at The (Kennington, AMP, Brit, Foster's & Kia) Oval

Pick a stand any stand and I’ll give you a memory.

Vauxhall End, Block 3 & 5 - England v West Indies, 2000

Two pissed Kiwis spilling beer over my dad’s mate Dave.  Dave was (and still is) a proud Welshman with a rugby background and is the kind of person who doesn’t put up with drinking overpriced lager let alone having it dropped on him. 

“Steward!  Come over here and sort this out or there’s going to be a situation”.  The Kiwis knew that situation involved them getting punched by a primary school teacher. They opted for muttered apologies and soon resembled scolded 7-year olds.  Albeit drunk ones. 

For their protection we were moved to better seats as Mike Atherton chiseled out a century (strike rate 33) and Curtly Ambrose bowled his final ball in International cricket.

Members, Upper Tier - Surrey v Warwickshire, 2005

Surrey thought they’d won their place at T20 Finals Day and were drinking beer in the dressing room when an umpire in body armour ventured in to tell Mark Ramprakash he’d made a mistake and the team had better come back out onto the field.  Ramp’s reaction would probably have been reminiscent of a scene from Carrie.

A bowl off was announced and with nothing else to show Sky Sports News broadcast a live stream of the subsequent hilarity as bowler after bowler lined up to miss the stumps.  Ian Salisbury did get it to pitch in line with middle stump only for the ball to turn a foot more than any delivery he’d ever bowled in his life. 

With their final ball Surrey had to hit the stumps or they were out.  On a slow track Azhar Mahmood decided to bowl a bouncer which somehow clipped the top of off stump. 

It went to sudden death or should that be 'Sudden Death'?  Heath Streak missed.  Tim Murtagh hit.  Then wheeled off and peeled off in the darkness. 

Meanwhile on the Upper Tier I was laughing so hard I had to keep hold of the railing because I was scared if I didn’t I would fall off.   As celebrating with wild abandon goes it was only beaten by my mate Josh five years later when Aldershot scored against Cheltenham Town in the 91^st minute.  

He’s the guy in the white shirt standing next to the goalpost.

Peter May Stand - England v Australia, 1993

Back in the days when you could just turn up and buy an Ashes ticket on the gate my brother and I did just that.  

Like typical teenagers we had been kicking around the house all weekend doing absolutely nothing when finally my dad's patience snapped. He ended up thrusting some notes into my hand and booted us out the house telling us both to “Go and watch a day’s cricket”. 

So off we went to cheer on England to one of those famous consolation victories over Australia.  While all the time worrying that the cameras would beam live pictures of us smoking straight to my parents lounge.

The Aussies were already two down thanks to a couple of dodgy decisions and soon slumped to 143/8. Despite a worrying late partnership between Paul Reiffel and Shane Warne, Angus Fraser came back to nip them out to spark what turned out to be my last ever pitch invasion.

I’m not sure my love of cricket would have survived the 90’s without days like this. 

Jim Laker Stand - Surrey v Northants, 1991

I set myself the target of following the ball from the moment it left the bowler’s hand to when it reached the batsmen.  I never came close. 

For three glorious seasons I was able to marvel at the quickest bowler I thought had ever been, Waqar Younis.  Of all the encounters I witnessed one match stands out over all the others. Allan Lamb’s Northants were the visitors and a place in the final of the NatWest Cup was at stake. 

Surrey were bowled out cheaply for 208 and with Northants 150 for five, Younis was called back into the attack.  At times it seemed the batsmen were more focused on protecting their toes than their wicket as he took 5/40 and Surrey won by 7 runs. 

OCS, in the posh seats - Lancashire v Middlesex, 2004

Neutral venues were used in the quarter-finals of the T20 Cup for some reason and I got handed a few free tickets through work.  We thought we were set for a damp squib when Middlesex were reduced to 21/4 before David Malan hit a sensational century.  “He’ll play for England” I said.  And nine years later I was proved right.

Vauxhall End - Surrey v Sri Lanka, 1984

After taking me to my first football match aged just four and having to hear me loudly ask such questions as “why do the players lie down all the time?” and “who’s the black man?” (the referee) my dad figured he’d wait a bit longer before taking me to the cricket.  

By the time he actually did I was ravenous for the game and devoured all the action at a game absolutely nobody else in the world can remember.  

By the end of the summer I had returned to pour over the scorecard so many times it resembled paper mache and still I marveled at the name Sidath Wettimuny.

OCS Stand, Block 17 - England v Pakistan, 2006

Thank heavens for Inzamam Ul Haq taking umbrage at Darryl Hair’s ball tampering accusation.  A moribund day at the cricket cut short for reasons nobody in the ground could fathom. 

What we did know was that the Umpires and England returned from their tea but Pakistan did not.  Then nothing happened for a bit before Pakistan did appear again despite the game already being awarded to England.

The farce continued as Geoffrey Boycott and Mark Nicholas recorded a piece to camera in front of our block of good natured but blind drunk fans.  We were rewarded for sticking around by being treated to some classic Morecambe and Wise slapstick as Geoffrey’s hat was blown off his head and the two chased it around the outfield for what seemed a good minute or two. 

Members, Balcony – England v Australia, 2005

The best spell of bowling I’ve seen as a fan.  With Australia odds on for a healthy first innings lead which would put real pressure on England Freddie Flintoff bowled unchanged for the entire session.  Or at least I think he did but I can't check because Cricinfo's website is down.

Anyway, somehow it was England with the first innings lead and we all know what happened after that. 

Even in a series that had it all it’s a passage of play that doesn’t get as much attention as it should and I had the best view in the house. 

Jim Laker Stand – Surrey in unknown county game that has disappeared from the memory banks circa 2004.

At precisely ten minutes past four I came to the realisation that of the 17 people sitting in my block I was the only one a) under 60 and b) awake. 

OCS Stand, Block 16 – England v Australia, 2009

Possibly my favourite day’s play ever. 

Cricket updates from my bunk bed

Amazing one-handed catch on the boundary, you say? Candidate for the most athletic piece of fielding ever? I'll have to take your word for it.

A cabbies' tale 2

I moved to Spain seven years ago. I packed up, sold the family home in Bromley for two million quid and took off with the wife and kids. Told everyone I’d pulled off the ‘deal of the century!’

I used to joke I’d swapped Costa Coffee for the Costa del Sol.  I had money in the bank, my own pool and a beer in hand for every day of the rest of my life.

So how is it I now find myself sitting in the darkness of my car outside a South London housing block waiting for a pick up? 

I said we should spend £750k on a few two-beds to rent out but the wife didn’t want the hassle.  I didn’t put up too much of a fight.  After 23 years slogging away in the City didn’t I deserve a bit of the easy life? 

Today is day 89 of 100 that I’ve worked straight.  Kipping on my mum’s sofa at night staring at the ceiling wondering where it all went wrong

For a couple of years life was a dream.  Nothing more taxing than the doing the school run twice a day.  It was clean, it was hot and after a few months it became a little dull.  It was everything I’d hoped for.

And then I met Danny.  He was a friend-of-a-friend. 

I can’t work out who I’m angry at more.  Him or me?  What a fool I’ve been.

Danny is in prison now. 

My mistake was to be greedy and lazy.  The first thing had seen me do well in the City.  The second thing, well what can I say?  I thought Danny would make me more money than I was capable of and without me having to do anything.

I nearly invested all of it.  Way too much.  Seven figures.  And then the call came.

Fraud

He was a fraud.  By the time the police got involved the money was just about gone.  Lawyers took the rest.

How did I fall for it?  Well to be fair he went that extra distance to cover it up. Even now I can’t believe the lies and the front.  He met my wife, my kids he stayed at my house.  When my parents were ill he called.  And all the time he knew he was destroying my life.

Six years.  He’ll be out next year. If I saw him now and I had a gun I’d kill him.

The kids say I’ve changed.  I can’t get over it.

Another one to scratch off the bucket list

While flares reigned down on the pitch in Saint-Etienne flames shot up into the sky in London.  Two sporting arenas in two different countries but both at capacity with spectators watching star-studded Friday night entertainment and there the comparisons end.

Week one of the Euros came to an end with the Croatian fans joining the Russian and English on the wall of shame.  Week four of the NatWest Blast emerged from underneath the covers to provide more wholesome fare.

Maybe one day I will present from a football match maybe one day I won't.  If I do so it probably won't be at Craven Cottage that's for sure. For today marked the day I presented a show from a cricket match for the first time.  At my other sporting home, The Oval.  Live on talkSPORT 2, Surrey v Middlesex with my dad watching on from the Pavilion.  The game that is.  He wasn't watching me.

Alongside me were the former Surrey opening batsman Alan Butcher and commentator Andrew 'Macca' McKenna. The last time Macca are I were in the same stadium was in Brazilia at the 2014 World Cup.  There we watched Argentina knock Belgium out the competition in a low key encounter.  While the Euros are on every cricket match has the feel of a low key encounter.

Brazil seemed very far away when I arrived with the rain pelting down and the pitch under covers.  Rain delays meant that instead of presenting for the first half an hour before handing over to my commentator I had to 'fill' an hour of radio.  How to fill an hour?  Just sit back and talk about cricket.  So that's what we did.

It's going to be a draw....

I'm not sure if it's ironic or not but considering the amount of time I worry about getting ill it's a rare occasion that I'm actually sick.  But I'm sick today.  Struck down with a heavy cold, a sore throat and a headache.  I was tired anyway following three days of reporting on the cricket so the fact I woke up on the hour every hour last night hasn't improved things.

Luckily I've got a whole day of staring at this ahead of me.

Who needs lemons, honey and hot water to make you feel better when you've got constant drizzle and a rickety old air con unit recycling bad air instead?

Dream jobs

I've never really understood the phrase 'he wants his own cake and eat it' because what else do you do with cake?  It's the same with Aussies calling the English POMS when POM stands for Prisoner of her Majesty's pleasure; which is what the Aussies were not English.  I'm sure a quick Google search could explain but neither question is exactly keeping me awake at night.

Nothing is keeping me awake at night at the moment to be fair.  Being at the cricket and on air for the best part of eight hours a day is enough to send anyone off to sleep.  Including the listeners.

It hasn't been the most gripping of series against Sri Lanka.  If you take Nick Compton's desperate attempts to cling to his Test career out of the equation then the only jeopardy attached to it would be, well, actually, I can't think of any other jeopardy.  It has been a series without any semblance of tension.

In another country and at another sporting event the word tension will never be too far away from the centre of things.  The Euros are on in France and whether you are a fan desperate to see your team succeed, a supporter with a penchant for late night strolls around Marseille harbour, or a radio producer battling with technical, logistic or personnel issues it can be a stressful time.  It is also the first major football tournament since 2008 that I'm not on location working.

It's a bittersweet feeling.  For while the following is a view I'd never swap I'd be lying to say I haven't experience a pang of envy when I see excited FB updates or read tweets from my colleagues ensconced in France.

After years of quietly and determinedly inching towards this seat in the Media Centre why the mixed emotions?  It is the human condition I suppose.  You always want more.

So would I swap my year long role reporting on cricketing fortunes for the manic high of producing a football tournament one month every twenty three?  No.  Would I like to somehow do both?  Rush from one event to the other?  Yes.  Is that possible?  No.  So shut up then.

Down by the river

I was recently in a car with a work colleague on the way to a function a few hours out of London. We spent the time discussing the many changes taking place, talking sport and generally putting the world to rights.

As these things do it ended up with us moaning about one thing or the other. Then as one of my mini-rant monologues came to an end he paused, muttered something in agreement and said "how often do you get bored?"

And he was right. If there is one thing you can say about the industry we find ourselves in boredom is rarely experienced. Frustration, annoyance, anger are part of life like in any occupation. But boredom? Not likely.

Three weeks ago I found myself celebrating a hat trick in a Dubai cricket ground surrounded by Pakistani fans. My only concern how to smuggle in a bagful of recording equipment. 

Today I am producing a fishing show by a lake near Reading. My concern this time? Whether I'm ever going to get the mud out of my trousers and debating the chances of TalkSPORT paying my dry cleaning bill.

Used to be the apple of my eye

What was the moment you realised Apple had disappeared up its own arse?

For me it happened yesterday; though its been building for a while.  The lack of storage space on my iPhone is the most frustrating thing.  It's horrible having to wipe smiling photos of my nephews every time I want to use the camera, update an app or listen to some music.  It's like they are talking to me as I press delete saying "don't make us disappear.  Why are you removing us from your life, Jonny?"

Then there's the constant battle with its depleting battery life, the way charging appliances has become a bigger part of daily routine than seeing the in-laws, the random manner iCloud saves some things and not others, poor reception, freezing screen, you name it it's annoying.

But the tipping point came yesterday after I needed to buy a new charger cable.  With a few hours free I popped along to the impressively sized Mall of the Emirates in Dubai.  It's not a small place.

I located the Apple store on the ground map.  Level 2 it said.  Although it didn't make any mention of any of the other shops near it.  But hey, I had time to kill, I was in no rush.  And so I set off.  And I walked.  And I walked.  And I found another map which told me the same thing.  And I walked some more.  And eventually I completed a full circuit without locating the place.

"Maybe it's shut down" I figured.  That would be annoying.  

In the end I gave up and just asked somebody.  He pointed in the general direction of a museum I'd walked past three times.  I figured I'd missed a turn off.  And then I looked inside and realised that the modern art museum I'd mistaken it for was in fact the Apple Store.

How could I be so stupid?  

Well, maybe if the pretentious bastards had bothered to put a bloody sign on the front of the building I wouldn't have been.  

I mean, really?  You take yourself so bloody seriously you think you can put your store in the middle of one of the biggest malls in the world and not bother putting any branding on the front?  Do you really think you're customers are going to put up with having to buy an ordinance survey map just to have the privilege of spending money at your shop?

What a bunch of iTwats.

Initial musings on Dubai

The expected

Having to take a motorway to get anywhere.

Alcohol so expensive its not worth drinking.

Lots of sand and construction.

Feels like you're living in a computer game.

No snow.

The unexpected

Eating Chinese food on the beach in the Middle East.  

Watching men hold hands, caress and be tactile with each other.  

Reading signs prohibiting public signs of affection between man and wife.

(Seemingly) Thriving multiculturalism.

Annoyed expats angry with the coverage it gets in the West

What appeared to be an wannabe American gangster strolling up and down the promenade aggressively selling his wares, coconuts.

A cabbies' tale

It’s early.  Darkened streets.  A 65 year old cabby drives his car up a hill past a row of shops. He has a passenger in the back.

Cabby: (Long dark hair, with an old fashioned South East London accent) “What’s that Golden Spice like?” 

Passenger: “Not sure.  I’ve only ever had one curry there”

Cabby: Used to be the best curry house in Crystal Palace (pause) What’s the Blue Orchid like?

Passenger: I don’t know it.

Cabby: That was the best Chinese. Used to be up the hill on Westow Street (pause) I moved here in ’72 with the missus.  Moved over from Bermondsey. It’s changed a lot.

Passenger: Yeah, it all has.  I grew up down the road.  Streatham.

Cabby: You grew up in Streatham did you?  Ha.  I used to be in the notorious Elephant gang. 

Passenger: (has heard this story before but doesn’t mind hearing it again) Oh yeah?

Cabby: Fraser?  Frankie Fraser?  He was part of them.  Kenneth Noye.  Those lads that did that bank job recently. We used to go down Streatham most Friday nights. 

Passenger: Caesars?

Cabby: Yeah.  The old Locarno.  Have a tear up with the Brixton boys.  (chuckling) There was murders some nights.  We were the biggest gang in London.  All through the 20’s and 30’s right up to the 60’s and 70’s.

They drive on in silence for a while.  The driver keen to continue reminiscing

Cabby: We used to carry razors in our hats.  (smiling) Oh, there were murders some nights.  New Cross.  Peckham.  Us.  We all had gangs.  Used to get together.  Still can’t go into some pubs.  Had to disappear to France for a couple of years.  Been doing this (nods to steering wheel) for fifteen years.
Keeps me outta trouble.

Passenger: Pubs round here?  You can’t go into pubs round here?

Cabby: Some of ‘em.  I drive past ‘em still.  Would be okay for a bit but sooner or later a call would go out.  “Here, you’re never gonna guess whose just walked in?  Better come down.” 

Passenger: Still see any of the old gang?

Cabby: Nah.  Still see some of the old faces when Millwall play West Ham.  (chuckles)  You look across at some old duffers and it’s “oh hello! You’re still alive are ya?” 

Passenger: Still go to the Den?

Cabby: Oh no.  Not anymore.  Maybe for the big games.  Last one was Wigan.  That kicked off.

Car pulls up outside a tenement block near the river.  The passenger gets out.

Passenger: Take it easy. 

Cabby: See ya.