The last time I tickled the dark cubes of my Dell keyboard cricket was a simple enough game played in-between meals. Suddenly, it is a global commodity, being tossed from hand-to-hand by the sort of people that are usually found trying to eat the Billy Goat Gruff.
It is fortunate therefore that my battered, leather notebook still unfurls itself by natural causes amidst a sea of UCLES* cricketing nonsense. Today, the yellowing pages yawn open in July 2006 when the sweet smell of returning Ashes still hung in the air like the memory of a happy barbecue.
This is one of my personal favourites, if I can be so vain. Close your ears to the insanity of the wailing world and enjoy.
