Stay Rampant

I seem to be developing a nasty habit of stopping posting roughly around Christmas. Post-Christmas sag (which can be best defined as a bad case of “can’t be arsedness” brought on by too much sherry trifle) tends to kick in leaving the new county championship season looking like a distant mirage. Like last year I spent the three months leading up to Christmas by blogging about Strictly, and then simply not bothering with the result. In 2010 there was an excuse, because after I had learned that Deirdre had passed away the whole thing seemed a bit pointless and trivial, so I downed tools and neglected to write a suitable ‘congrats Kara’ post. This year there was no excuse save for the fact that the result was a foregone conclusion and I was too stuffed with countless Cadbury’s Roses to even care that the wee fella from McFly had triumphed.

It didn’t really come as a surprise, did it?

Anyhow, well done to him. I have to say that he deserved to win on the night so I had no problem with the result.

Since then Pat (no relation to Mark) Butcher has joined the televisual choir invisible. Rangers Football club are in so much debt they may have to get McCoist to slip out of his managerial duds, pull on his shirt and play. And Donald Trump is having a ding-dong battle with Alex Salmond to see who gets to be King of Scotland. Poor Mr Trump seems to be under the illusion that in this current economic downturn what Scotland really needs is a bloody great golf course. And Mr Salmond is under the impression that what Mr Trump’s golf course needs are some great big wind turbines spinning merrily in the background...

I’m not a shit-stirrer by nature, but I’m with Al on this one.

In terms of Surrey news there’s been the usual off-season activity: some great and some rather sad. The good: we’ve got Ally Brown back at the Oval where he belongs.

No, not in his bar.

Mr Brown has joined the Surrey coaching staff. I admit I was quite pleased to see him back. We’ve also signed the doughty opener Jacques Rudolph. Seeing as how RHB had been forced into opening due to necessity this is a very welcome development.
The not so good: Meaker and Tremlett have both picked up injuries, and Dernbach is now well entrenched in the England one day side so we may not be seeing as much of them as we would like. We also said a sad farewell to Schoey. I can only hope he gets picked up by some team as he’s no back marker yet, especially in the shorter format.

Mr R is captaining a rather eclectic group of cricketers in the traditional MCC v county champions clash in Dubai. Gareth Batty is also in the team for Surrey. Really looking forward to this! Well, what we can find out about it as I doubt there will be much if any coverage of it either on the radio or in the papers. Still, if there’s one thing the Rampants do well it’s cheering from the sidelines...even with a time differential to take into account. Jean will still be pushing her pineapples and shaking that tree with the best of them!

Talking of the Rampants, the photo accompanying this post was taken by Mel whilst on holiday in Aldeburgh. Just goes to show you that although we may be spread the length and breadth of the country and not able to attend every game, the message is still very clear!

Thanks for the memories

 
I had such plans to blog about the final of Strictly, having dutifully reported on every show up until final week, but then Christmas came and went, and with it my impetus to continue! Suffice it to say that in my opinion the right couple won on the night, and congrats to Kara and Artem on lifting the glitterball. I was sorry that Pamela and James never got second spot as I would love to have seen their AT, but it was not to be.

England have lifted the Ashes and given the Aussies a damn good thrashing in the process. The best tribute I can give to them is that I went in to the series as a complete neutral and ended up an England convert. Okay, the fact that Mr Tremlett was playing certainly helped but I have to be honest and say I was impressed with the way Andrew Strauss quietly and solidly went about marshalling his troops. I’m pretty sure this was his finest moment to date. His dignified leadership pretty much made him the unsung hero in Australia.

It was fitting that Surrey man Chris Tremlett claimed the winning wicket in what otherwise was a very sad day for the Rampants as we discovered that Deirdre, Ramps fan of many years and Surrey radio devotee, had passed away just before Christmas. Whilst Dee wasn’t in great health over the last few years she never complained or mentioned how poorly she may have been, and as such it came as a considerable shock to us all to find out that she had died.

Dee had an amazing sense of humour and was a genuinely warm person who took a real interest in how everyone else was. She also had possibly the greatest, loudest laugh I have ever heard! Although she was not well enough to come to our very first Rampant Annual General Meeting back in 2007 she was nevertheless given a special place at our gathering care of a mobile phone which was passed joyfully between us all, so that we each had several minutes of time to speak with her. My only regret in retrospect was that I couldn’t think of anything particularly intelligent to say!

But that wouldn’t have bothered Dee at all, who was a fun-loving individual. Her collection of huge – and sometimes rude – earrings, bargain hunting on e-bay (which once resulted in her becoming the proud owner of several Barbie dolls) and nail polish kept us amused over the years that we knew her. Those amongst the Rampants who follow the Surrey cricket commentaries will have often heard her e-mails read out by Mark Church, and it feels very strange to think that she won’t be around to contribute any more. She was a wholehearted supporter of Surrey as a club, of Mark Ramprakash in particular, and was delighted to be able to listen in to his exploits via the ball by ball coverage on the internet. I think it may have helped to take her mind off the fact that due to ill health her world had become somewhat limited, so I extend a thank you to Churchy on all our behalf.

Whilst we sadly won’t be able to pass the mobile phone around our assorted band of cricket/dance enthusiasts and hear that wonderful, booming laugh, many of us are hoping to meet up this year...maybe watch some cricket and raise a glass or several in her honour. And above all I think it should be about having fun, because that is exactly how we will all remember her: laughing, and making us laugh with her.

We’ll miss you, Deirdre! xxx

Strictly: Week one - Friday

First of all, I like the new set. It’s perhaps sacrificed the charm and cosiness of the old set for extra floor space, extra glitter and (the cynic in me says) extra audience members but it certainly looks like a stage worthy of an extravaganza like Strictly. In particular, I love the steps leading up to Tess Daly’s backstage interview room. Not primarily because it looks glam and glitzy, but because you just know that sooner or later one of the ladies is going to get her heel caught in her dress whilst running up the stairs, whereupon she will fall smack on her chin. Most people would be horrified at the idea, but I like a good pratfall to enliven proceedings.

The judges seemed rather mellow on Friday’s show. Saving it up for later? Len and Bruno not yet jetlagged enough? Bruno seemed positively restrained despite his best rendition of a giraffe stuck on an electric fence whilst describing Goldie’s 1980s dance moves! Craig’s judging technique always reminds me of a snake under a stone, eying up some poor defenceless critter for supper, although he seems like a genuinely delightful guy. Not for the first time I actually found myself agreeing more or less with everything he said.

And so, on to the contestants. First up, sparkling, twinkling Felicity Kendal in a lovely golden dress that really suited her. She has such a neat figure! All her acting skills were brought to the fore and she definitely seemed to play up to Vincent during their cha-cha-cha, but Master Simone had obviously tailored the dance to suit a slightly older person, with the result that every flaw and wrongly-timed step was painfully heightened. I’ve seen far, far worse than this to be honest, and it was by no stretch of the imagination a bad dance. Even when her footwork seemed to lose its way, Felicity had the acting chops to make sure it didn’t show too much on her face. I like her a lot: she managed to bring a flavour of her personality to the dance floor, but I do think she is going to be much better at ballroom than Latin, like so many before her.

Scott Maslen: yeah, the shouty bloke wots in EastEnders. A bit hit or miss for me: mostly because he was afraid to smile. It’s a waltz! It’s meant to be beautiful, flowing and magical! It’s the dance equivalent of candyfloss: sweet and sugary! So why did Scott dance it like he was at somebody’s wake??? SMILE Scott! I want people to make me believe they are enjoying the experience of dancing for millions of unseen people up and down the country, not that they are concentrating on making sure they don’t projectile vomit over their partner!

Actually, I’d quite like to see that too, as well as the pratfall on the stairs. I’m weird that way.

That said, my issue was really with the choreography (to a small extent). A raunchy waltz sort of goes against the grain. I’m all for artistic re-interpretation but if you lose the flavour of the dance you may as well be doing the Locomotion...

It was, however, very well danced. No posture issues that I could tell. Give him a tango and he’ll be, as they say in Albert Square, “sorted.” A very good start.

Goldie. Well, how can you not love a man who shares his name with one of Blue Peter’s dogs? At first I thought the hyperactivity was going to make me go off him a little. I can take it in small doses: Chris Hollins was a Hobbity-sized package of fun last year. But then one man’s Hollins is another man’s Dom Littlewood (who actually made me want to chuck stickle bricks at him whenever he came on the screen), and that’s the kind of cheeky chappy-ness I find detestable. Thankfully, there’s nothing put on about Goldie. He is what you see: a man in search of his next Ritalin fix. He’s a walking E-number: a massive blue smartie on legs. He is, like his namesake, a bounding, friendly Labrador with his tongue hanging out, waiting to be thrown a stick. I kind of like that.

In charge of the stick-throwing is handler Kristina. She’s had a rough time dance-wise on Strictly. First there was John ‘quick-march’ Sergeant. Then there was Joe ‘Sting like a butterfly, dance like a frog’ Calzaghe. I never thought I would be sorry for Kristina, but I am. She has her work cut out again this year. Thank god she got to dance with Ramps on the Strictly tour earlier this year, or else she might be wondering what she had to do to dance with a man who knows his samba from his elbow!

For the record, the dance was...okay. Ish. It was actually stark, raving bonkers but Kristina at least did get across the fun personality that Goldie has, even if it resembled a giant acid trip in a 1980s disco! What was with the arm stuff? I roared with laughter! But, whilst it wasn’t great, I ended up smiling – for the right reasons. And there’s no doubt that Goldie has that innate sense of musicality and rhythm that some seem to lack.

Ah...now we get to the disappointment of the evening. I don’t say that to be cruel, but because I think there were quite high hopes for Patsy Kensit. Her waltz started okay but suddenly she seemed to become cripplingly aware of her surroundings and just...freeze. To her credit she kept going, but it was painfully obvious that she was absolutely terrified! Her lack of confidence meant that her partner had to steer her rather than dance with her, resulting in some unsightly gapping between the two bodies. She looked so frightened, poor thing! If she can draw on her abilities as an actress and look on it as a performance rather than feeling like an exposed, startled bunny on the M1 then she may do well given time. That, of course, depends on whether she survives next week...

Matt Baker. I want to call him ‘Ma Baker’ after the song! I think Aliona has this right: he’s got the moves, but he has the sex appeal of a fluff covered-boiled sweet that’s lain undiscovered in someone’s pocket for two months. The cha-cha hips were much in evidence, the timing equally impressive, and although I can’t stand the gimmicky routines that seem to have crept, DWTS-style, across the pond this year there’s no doubting he was pretty much on the money in his first dance. Mind you, whilst I believe in bringing as much of yourself and your skills to a dance, the gymnastics at the start – or ‘showing off’ as I like to call it – was totally wasted on me, hard-hearted b*tch that I am. Sorry Matt! Close, but no cigar my son. The insane, lunatic grin was quite distracting. You need to swap places with Scott M a little. He desperately needed to smile, whilst you needed to concentrate on not looking as if you were a serial killer on the lookout for some limbs to scatter...

Pamela Stevenson, aka Mrs Connolly. What a pleasant surprise! She really appeared to be relaxed, and enjoying the experience. Whether that’s true or not only she will be able to say, but it was an accomplished and beautiful attempt at a waltz, and for me was the dance of the evening. Yes, she even topped the mad-cart wheeling, sheep-watching Matt Baker! It was an assured and beautiful performance, with really good footwork and (take note, Patsy) no gapping! If she has psycho-analysed herself prior to dancing it certainly worked. A really interesting pairing here, as she seems to be a really good foil for James. His metamorphosis from series 4 bad boy, telling Georgina she was a lazy, overweight moo and confiscating her chocolate bars, to engaging, slightly mischievous instructor continues.

And please, folks. Let James get past samba week this time. Please?!?

Last and quite possibly least; the diminutive Paul Daniels. Now, Paul is 72 years old. I didn’t appreciate that, to be honest. And whilst age shouldn’t really play a part in the way we perceive people, I would like to say that for someone who has notched up seven decades plus that he actually did rather well! Yes, it was a dance dis-arrrrr-ster, as the Revel-Horwood is prone to saying, but Paul is actually mighty nippy on his feet! And again, he did his own thing – and in his own time – but he put effort into it. He’s not without rhythm: I’m not sure the 2 from Craig was entirely justified! He’s better than Quentin, Richard Dunwoody and John Sergeant already! Although I grant you, that’s probably not an ideal bench-mark to measure your achievements against. But whilst it was a bit woeful, once again it made me smile! No doubt he’ll be one of the first to go but I think Paul has to be given some credit; certainly more than he got last night.

And that, as they say, is the end of part one! Now we are back down to a more sensible 14 couples the BBC has decreed that this year there will be no vote on week one. The remaining 7 couples dance on Saturday and their scores all carried over to next week. I suppose that’s fairer than having the boys week/girls week malarkey we’ve had in recent years, with an ejection before we’ve even got to know the couples properly. This time next week we will have our first elimination, presided over by the glamorous Tess Daly (who thankfully no longer seems to be dressing in duvet covers and old curtains) and the delightful Claudia ‘I’m one tadpole short of a box of frogs’ Winkleman.

I’m already rubbing my hands at the prospect!

Strictly no contest

It’s back folks! Break out the sequins, the fake tans and the large, pink feather boas. Sprinkle that glitter liberally – everybody’s favourite dance show has returned!

Of course, Strictly is rather important to the Rampants: after all, it’s what brought us all together four years ago now. Over the years there have been many changes made to the format, and lots of controversies and heart-stopping moments. I thought it would be fun to start off Strictly series 8 by looking back on some of those less than gratifying moments in the show’s history before we get sucked into the glam world of high heels and gusset-flashing.

Dummygate: you know what I’m talking about. The dance that supposedly cost Erin Boag and Colin Jackson a win in series three. Er...wrong! Only a meteorite falling on top of Darren Gough would have stopped him and Lilia raising the glitterball that year. He was so far ahead of Colin and Zoe in terms of votes that Colin could have danced the fandango naked save for an ostrich feather & glittery thong and it wouldn’t have got him a win. Although one has to admit that the ‘dummy dance’ was possibly not the best of choices either. "Don't mention the Muppets" is the cry that usually goes out at this time of year!

Buntongate: she’s a Spice Girl! And she’s probably the most famous celeb ever to be on Strictly! And she’s every bloody where! And the judges are possibly over-marking her! And she’s promoting her single on Children in Need! And the viewers keep putting her in the bottom two! And now Bruno’s criticising the public for putting her in the bottom two! And...and...we’re all sick of her!

Well, that’s how it was at the time. Bottom line is that Emma probably shouldn’t have taken the amount of flack she did, but through accident or design it did smack of the judges desperately trying to foist their opinions on the unenlightened viewing public. And the unwashed masses never take kindly to being told how to think.

The simple fact of the matter is that Strictly always has these little backlashes as a result of perceived favouritism, and it’s probably worse for the ladies than the male celebs who don’t attract the same level of vitriol from a mostly female viewing audience. Sure, Arlene drooled and dribbled over Ramps (we sympathised a little on that score) but she was quick to hammer him if he messed up. There were times where Emma Bunton seemed on course for canonisation. If she’d bounced on one leg repeatedly for 90 seconds to Whigfield’s ‘Saturday Night’ she’d still have been showered in 10s...

Tarbygate: I like Tarby. He’s a top bloke. But he’s a top bloke who probably should have been watching rather than dancing, which is exactly what he ended up doing due to ill health. Suddenly short of a couple, it made the BBC take a leaf out of ‘Dancing With The Stars’ book and they introduced a concept that went down like a ton of bricks: the dreaded-dance off. Looking back on it, having suffered the dance-off over the past three series, it doesn’t have the same impact it did that day when ickle Louisa and equally ickle and lovely Vinthent were booted out on quarter final week. The fans were outraged. It felt as if their beloved couple had been murdered during some sick experiment.

Micgate: Oh yes. Many a Rampant heart momentarily seized up when Mark’s microphone got wrapped around Karen Hardy as they danced their now famous Salsa. Apparently it led to discontented grumblings in some circles about how they should have been kicked off for not finishing the dance first time. How you’re actually supposed to dance a Salsa when lashed together with 5 foot of cable I don’t know, but those not of a Rampant persuasion (mostly Bunton supporters) got rather tetchy about the fact they got another go.

Well, all I can say is “nanananah-nah!” < ------------- iz feeling childish.

Meltdowngate: Matt Di Angelo sat on the stairs and had a bit of a wibble to himself as his brain decided to erase all memory of the steps he had learned. I have a bit of sympathy for him and all the competitors on this score. Let’s face it, we all have our favourites and those we like a little less, but these folks are putting themselves under a lot of pressure for our entertainment. Oh, and for publicity as well.

And probably a fair amount of money. But still, it’s not nice seeing a young man break down and cry for his mummy on live television. I did feel sorry for him. I felt sorrier for Gethin, who lost out because of the sympathy vote that went Matt Di Angelo’s way. And then when I saw the tank-top they made poor Mr Di A wear in the final showdance, I felt sorry for him all over again. It was like looking at a dance-off between a purple satin-clad Wonder Woman and Frank Spencer. Did you ever doubt who was going to win?

Sergeantgate: Oh dear. Strictly has one of these ever year. And each time the public suffer with selective amnesia. Dear John wasn’t the first. The pioneer was poor Chris Parker, whose Batman Paso doble has become a Strictly classic for all the wrong reasons! The judges are honest – perhaps too honest – and tell the contestant that they danced like a monkey on ball bearings. Then the public get humpty and call in to save the poor little leg wobbler. And, hey presto! Someone who can actually walk in a straight line gets chucked out instead! Followed by howling and great gnashing of teeth from the other half of the public who couldn’t be arsed to pick up the phone and save their favourites in the first place!

In recent years we’ve had Craig ‘I wanna get to Blackpool’ Kelly. We’ve had Georgina ‘James has taken my chocolate away’ Bouzova. Jan ‘I hope you’re happy’ Ravens. And most protractedly Kate ‘my foot’s come off’ Garraway. They’re all nothing new. Fans of “dancing” may not like it, but they have their place in the show.

John was probably the most familiar, just through that iconic moment when he dragged Kristina across the floor like a sack of King Edward spuds, and because he took the decision to quit before it got silly. Was it a noble gesture? Should he have gone on, for Kristina’s sake (not to mention all those that voted for him)? No doubt this year people will phone in to save a much-cherished no-hoper with two left feet (one of which doesn’t work) and, despite the removal of the dance-off this year, one unfortunate individual sat mid-table will get kicked out, a process which is now known as ‘doing a Spoony’.

Arlenegate: You can say what you want, but Arlene told it as it was. At times she said it in a way that probably had people repeatedly banging their heads off the nearest flat surface. Blunt, direct, sometimes almost cattish, but always painfully truthful: Arlene was ironically the judge that used to give the dancers tips on how to improve. And yet after the aforementioned Sergeantgate the BBC decided to drop her from the show. Suddenly, those clamouring for Arlene’s head the previous series started yelling ‘ageism’ at the top of their voice, and Arlene went from panto villainess to Queen of Hearts in one fell swoop! Fickle audience...

I personally liked Arlene. I miss the botched attempts at alliteration. I miss the eyeing up of the handsome male celebs. Interesting to note that whilst the BBC denied any of the ageism claims laid at its door having replaced Arlene with someone 30 years her junior, half of this year’s line-up looks like they should be residing in Bayview from ‘Waiting for God’. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, except that past experience shows that the winner is invariably under the age of 40. You see, subconscious ageism exists amongst the voters as well.

He/she has danced before-gate: every year without fail, someone points out that at least one of the dancer’s has an unfair advantage. Jill didn’t deserve to win, apparently, because she had dance training (as has every actor and actress who trained at drama school). Singers have an unfair advantage because they are used to working with choreographers. If you’re a former gymnast like Gabby Logan: forget it (watch out Matt Baker)! Basically, this means that the ideal winner of Strictly should come from a background that has as little resemblance to dancing as possible. If there are any celebrity road-sweepers, they’re on to a sure thing!

Aleshagate: having decided not to offer Arlene a contract, the Beeb offered the spare judge’s roll to former Strictly favourite Alesha Dixon. The outrage that had been felt at Arlene’s un-ceremonial departure was somehow turned on to her usurper, although it’s reasonable to assume that if Alesha hadn’t taken the job then someone else would have caught the barrage of rotten eggs. Indignation turned to outrage when Alesha’s judging skills were found to be, well...a bit rubbish. And poor, put-upon, sadly deluded Craig Kelly caught the brunt of Alesha’s tongue when she let him know exactly how little she wanted to sit there and watch his inexorably bad attempts at putting one foot in front of another.

As a former competitor you’d have thought there would have been a little more sympathy! But Alesha had the last, braying laugh when she signed up as a judge for series 8. No doubt now that she’s settled in to the roll the press will find some other negative thing to criticise about the show this year!

Bruce is too old-gate: Oh, c’mon. He’s not everyone’s cup of char-char-char. But picking on Bruce is a little unfair. It’s a bit like telling God he’s too old. Oh, hang on...that’s how atheism came about.

Antonmakesanidiotofhimselfgate: look, affable Anton’s been doing that for years. A man who wears a jive outfit that is so red and luminous you could see it from space is not really going to bother his backside who thinks what about him. Although he spent so much time last year with his foot in his mouth it’s amazing he managed to dance at all...

The Beeb fixed it so Tom Chambers would win-gate: personally, I reckon Tom was always going to win. He was like Goughie, or Ramps. Each year the public latch on to someone and it was Tom’s year. The phone line scandal meant Tom stayed to go into the final, which was the right thing to do of course, but it also meant that as the one who should have exited on scores and performance that night he got a clear passage to the final. And as soon as it was announced, the writing was on the wall for the ladies. Look at Brendan’s face to see how pleased he was...

I’m waiting for Widdecomegate. It’s going to happen. The BBC has ordained it. I’ve nothing against her participation: good on the woman! I do think she’ll resemble a Dalek dressed in a lampshade for most dances, but you have to admit it’s going to be unmissable television.

And that brings us to the question: what is Strictly? Is it a light entertainment show, Generation Game/Come Dancing hybrid? Is it a serious contest? Has all the fun been lost? Is it any wonder that the series held up as the greatest in the show’s history are four and five, respectively, when the balance between competition and fun was best exhibited?

Or is it that I, like many others up and down the country, just have a hard time believing there will ever be anyone as good as Karen and Mark again!

End of season blues

So, there we have it. Another county championship ends; heralding the true start of autumn. Now all I have to look forward to are increasingly dark days, overuse of my SAD lamp and the inexorable slithering towards the festive period. There’s always the horse racing, I suppose, and the prospect of watching Ann Widdecombe being manhandled around the Strictly Come Dancing studio floor by an exasperated Anton Du Bec! Whose body will give out first, I wonder?

And please, if they get to Samba week, no pink tail-feathers on AW’s costume. I don’t think my mind could take it...

It was lovely to see Surrey sign off with a win, and in such dramatic fashion! They do seem adept at these random last-gasp rescues! That amazingly tense finish to the 2007 championship against Lancashire will live with me forever. I was so pleased to witness it, even although there was a part of me that felt very sad for Lancs. Then that amazing game last year against Middlesex on a very cold day in May 2009, where they turned almost certain defeat into an incredible draw at the last moment. Run-outs, stumpings, you name it: Surrey pulled it out the bag! If I had a favourite piece of commentary by Mark Church it would most likely be this one.

There have been some tight games since but the defeat of Gloucestershire by 10 runs, thanks at the end to an inspired Jade Dernbach who took two wickets in two balls, ranks alongside them. Well played Surrey! I have to say I thought the declaration a tad generous, but it proves what most people no doubt think: when it comes to cricket I know absolutely nothing!

There have been highs and lows throughout the season, most of which I have documented. The highs were so huge they had snow covering them: the glorious 40 over world record against Glamorgan, Ramps’ imperious 1st innings double century & 2nd innings century (although I still think they should have stuck the team in again), Andre Nel’s bravery doing his best on one leg...it takes a skilled man to hop round the wicket and bowl! There have been many others too, such as Jason Roy becoming the first Surrey man in history to score 100 in a T20 game.

And there have been massive lows, too; many of which were just too depressing to name! It was sad to see Michael Brown unable to bat at all this year due to injury/rehabilitation/surgery. His top order stability was much missed this season, and it must have been desperately frustrating for the poor man to sit on the sidelines and watch as his team struggled at times. It was also sad to see Usman Afzaal being released by the club, although the writing appeared to be on the wall for a good few months.

The undoubted successes of the year were Steven Davies and in particular Chris Tremlett. Considering Tremlett had a reputation for disintegrating if you so much as sneezed a mile downwind in his direction, the boy done good! In fact I’d be surprised if he didn’t get Surrey player of the year to be honest, sad as it is for Ramps not to win it for the umpteenth time.

Talking of the great man, he managed to finish top batsmen for Surrey by some distance. He also managed to be top run scorer in both divisions (a fact that seems to have gone remarkably unreported), although Hildreth topped the averages this year. Whilst not a vintage Ramprakash season by his own standards, nigh on 1600 runs and five centuries including two doubles isn’t to be sneezed at for a spritely 41 year old.

The highlight of my London trip was watching him bat. Sure, it would have been nice to witness him get a half century but just to be able to see the way he went about composing an innings, taking his time to start with and getting himself in before slowly going through the gears, was a real treat for me. I’d heard it oft described, and finally I managed to see it for myself. Fingers crossed he’s back next year for one last hurrah! I guess he doesn’t really owe Surrey any favours but I do hope he sees his contract out next year. I have the feeling the club still desperately needs his experience.

And if he chooses not to, well, how to you go about replacing the irreplaceable? I think Chris Adams already knows the answer to that one. Quite simply: you can’t.

So, Surrey end the season with a touch of deja vu. They end third from bottom, like last year, although with three more games won than last time. Progress of sorts, most certainly. If they had taken the chances that had come their way, or converted those narrow defeats into victories, they may have challenged for promotion at the end. But the team as a whole is still green, still learning their trade, with much still to do before they can climb the Division 2 ladder. However, from a Surrey point of view at least the club can take one positive from the season...

They finished above Middlesex again.

Surrey's mane man

My love affair with the ‘sport of kings’ started when I was very small. Weekend trips to visit my grandparents could often end up with my big sister and I bickering and fighting. Not that I was an argumentative soul, you understand. Hardly any point when my sister would start a fight in an empty room...

My late grandfather, knowing that I was fond of horses, hit on the idea of switching on ‘Grandstand’ to make visits a little less fraught, and letting me follow the horses as they jumped their way around Haydock Park, Chepstow and the like. And lo, one of the world’s youngest gamblers was born!

Well, would have been, if I’d been allowed to have a bet.

In truth I don’t really gamble. I restrict myself to a couple of bets come Cheltenham and Aintree time. My first ever winner was ‘Blue Wind’ in the 1980 Oaks. I think I’d have been six years old or thereabouts. And countless Grand National winners followed afterwards. I have a better track record than my mum on this score: she usually kills them.

Of course, there have been a few cricket-related horses over the years. ‘Leg Glance’, ‘Katchit’ and of course the eponymous ‘Flintoff’, owned by...well, Mr Flintoff himself! And now it appears we have another one to add to the list, in the shape of a 5 year old called ‘Ramprakash’.

I kid you not. And no, the Rampants aren’t responsible. I think we could just about club together to buy a hoof or a nostril hair (although technically that’s the first part over the line). At first I wondered what sporting enthusiast had decided to name a horse after one of county cricket’s finest ever exponents, and then (being a racing anorak who’s into that kind of thing) I had a look at the pedigree:

Sire: Best of the Bests

Dam: Missy Dancer

I can only assume that the wee fella was named circa 2006. Somebody’s a Strictly Come Dancing fan!

It's a big honour to have a racehorse called after you. Alas, in my case "Too tired to get out of bed at five thirty in the morning" has yet to make it's course debut...

In the beginning...

When I was a little girl (for I was, once) my dad, each year, would go into the attic and dig out all his old childhood toys for my sister and I to play with. Out would come the wooden fort made by his own dad, sundry lead cowboys (minus their heads) with horses that wouldn’t stand up, and his clockwork train set with tracks set all over the floor, arranged in a way best suited to tripping up mum as she came out the kitchen. Many a great time was had derailing the trains with my Mr Men pencil tops or shoving Mr Bump off the bridge as the 16.15 to Waverley chuntered past...

Amongst the many games that dad brought down from the attic there was a board game of some description, based on ‘cricket’. I recall, at roughly the age of five, asking dad to explain what cricket was. He launched into a lengthy and detailed description that was quite beyond my tiny brain and left me rather traumatised and completely, utterly, perplexed. Cricket, it seemed, was lots of running about and lots of numbers. Maths not being my strong suit, cricket for me boiled down to a game played by multiple bored looking people stuck in a field wearing white. It was “that game with maths.”

In short, I hated it.

My dislike of cricket was so intense that if it was on the telly (yes folks, it really was on the telly back in the day) it would get turned over to one of the two other channels in existence at the time, no matter what was on. I spent many a year booing the sainted Sir Ian of Botham when he came on a Question of Sport, mostly because having a cricketer as one of the captains meant I had to sit through all those awful clips and questions, the answers to which I had no real idea!

And so it continued for many years until one day there was a ‘Road to Damascus’ type epiphany. I switched on the Surrey radio commentary to hear the enlightening words of Mark Church for BBC London. After two games, I had actually managed to pick up the basic rules – sorry, laws – of cricket. It was like that moment when you’re in the swimming pool and you pick up the courage to fling the float to one side and realise that you can actually swim. Or splash about a bit in the shallows, in my case. Cricket was no longer scary.

The reason for my conversion to the world of cricket was totally due to my taking up with a bunch of like-minded persons in the shape of ‘The Rampants’. For the unenlightened, The Rampants are the highly unofficial, unsanctioned and slightly loopy Mark Ramprakash fan club. (I wasn’t calling Ramps slightly loopy there, btw). I say slightly, because we’re actually disappointingly normal. Most of the time. Just don’t mention the word ‘bananas’ to Jean in case it sets her off.

We come from all over the country: an eclectic group of persons of various ages, all with a love of cricket. I’m sure there are thousands more of us out there. The Rampants are a lovely bunch, and it’s been an absolute privilege to know and indeed on some occasions to meet them. I like to think that, when the man himself finally hangs up the willow, we will still remain friends, still follow cricket and still meet up every now and again. Who’d have thought a show about dancing would have such an effect?

In fairness, there was roughly a fifty/fifty split in terms of those who already actively followed cricket before watching Ramps salsa his way to Strictly Come Dancing glory back in 2006, and those who didn’t. Some were lapsed supporters who had their enthusiasm rekindled. For some, like myself, spin was reserved for Peter Mandelson and ‘wicket’ was an Ewok from ‘Return of the Jedi’. He is, by the way. Just in case you don’t know your Star Wars.

Following Surrey has been a joy these last few years. I say that despite the rather, er, inconsistent performances of late. It’s been a bit like looking after a dog with mange: you love it unconditionally, no matter how unsightly or socially embarrassing it has become. You can’t buy that kind of devotion, really. A new vet in the shape of Chris Adams was brought in last year to give the club a kind of M.O.T. And a lot of bits were trimmed away in the process.

This, then, is my attempt at recording my opinions of Surrey’s progress throughout the year 2010 (with hopefully some input from a few friends along the way). I have actually no idea at the time of writing this if Surrey will actually make any progress this year, but the nucleus of a good team is there. If the effort is put in, the weather is kind, and if the gods of cricket smile benevolently down upon them there is no reason why Chris Adams and his merry band shouldn’t have their share of glory.

Above all else, entirely in-keeping with the spirit of the game, remember the Rampant motto. “If other teams are head and shoulders above you, remember to bite their ankles.”