There have been times in my life when under the influence of, let’s say, alcohol, when I have known that the actions I was taking at that time were going to come back and bite me on the arse. A very social being in nature, there have also oft been times when I have been undertaking such harbingers of regret amongst friends and compatriots.

Occasions have also been known when I’ve participated in such actions under such influences alone. Time when I’ve been unable to convince those around me to join in. That time at Hats’ London flat warming for example. That was a bad one. But around me were my friends. Friends who were there first to warn me about the state I was getting myself into, then to bollock me, and then, finally, to forgive me.

Libel laws prevent me from suggesting that, at lunch time yesterday with England effectively at 100 odd runs for 1 wicket lost, each of the England and Wales cricket team decided to start doing bumps off of Brendon ‘Baz’ McCullum hotel room card key before they headed out to the crease.

So I won’t.

But I will say that the England team needed somebody, anybody, to be the designated driver. The sensible voice in the room saying ‘slow it down dick head or we won’t see the end of the week.’ No such voice appears to have existed in the camp, and if it did, said Jiminy Cricket was roundly ignored.

I’m no opponent of ‘Bazball’. I think aggressive, positive batting is a good thing for this England team, and for test cricket in general. But the way we batted yesterday was ‘brave’ in the same way starting my leaving drinks at 1pm was ‘inclusive’. An abuse of the English language.

Bullshit in other words.

Stupidity a more accurate summation.

It is not a good place to find myself, as I did this morning, reading the news to find myself in agreement with a piece written by Geoffrey Boycott- Geoffrey sodding Boycott- in the bloody Daily Telegraph.

I am still very much at the anger stage of grief and am determined that nothing will take away from the euphoria of that first day. Perhaps then I am in fact already moving into denial.

Day 1 was great. Day 1 was great. Day 1 was great….

From euphoria to utter catastrophe. I am finding it impossible, the day after the one before, to treat those two imposters- triumph and disaster- all the same.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DRV5ifkCaZ2/

Post-farce, Dad and I met my cousin Ciara for what turned out to be, despite our gloom, a really lovely time at dinner. We went to a jam packed Italian for some good food, terrific wine, and a catch-up spanning the seven odd years since she and I have seen each other. It was marvellous. I joked with her that if you’d looked at the six of us (the three cousins, me and my two brothers) as children and said that it’s be she and I out in the World totally devoid of a plan, I’d have not believed it. In fact, I’ve not given Ciara enough credit there, and myself way too much. She’s got this travelling and seeing the World thing figure out and down to a tee. I’ve not got a clue what I’m doing.

Much like England’s batters.