Handsome is as handsome does!

Are Surrey on a roll?

Whilst Middlesex were playing leapfrog with top of the table Northants having obliterated poor, abject little Leicestershire in record time, Surrey found themselves locked in a duel of their own with the former leaders, intent on making a real fist of their promotion challenge. It took a hearty knock from Steven Davies, whose recent turnaround in form has coincided with a greatly resurgent Surrey – and one of the most devastating bursts of speed bowling from Stewart Meaker – to get the upper hand on the Northants side. And make no bones about it: this is a side that had bossed the entire division from almost the start of the season, so for Surrey to not only win against them but to pretty much hang them out to dry indicates just how good the South London team can be.

I mean, take Meaker. That spell of bowling was a joy to behold! Or listen to, in my case. Every ball seemed to either go for zero runs or gain a wicket, to the extent where his tally for a couple of consecutive overs read like the opening theme of Inspector Morse with all its dots and dashes! Like many others I had been listening with a certain creeping sense of resignation that a draw was going to be the likely outcome, something that Surrey could ill afford, and then ‘boom!’ It just goes to show you that little, unexpected passages of play can make all the difference to the result.

Surrey are a powerful side when all goes well for them. There is a lot of depth in their side, and both youth and experience. It’s consistency that has let them down so far. There have been some games earlier in the season that they must now look back on with some regret, and wonder if they’d pressed a little harder would the results have gone their way? Sitting as they do in third place, with a game in hand on Northants, their destiny is very much in their own hands. It would be fair to say that the game with Essex is vital: a win at Chelmsford would take Surrey to within a sniff of second spot. If the weather is cruel, or if Essex play their best, another year in division two is probably on the cards.

Still, that dreaded word momentum is particularly relevant at the moment. Surrey have now won two games on the bounce – and find themselves in a final for the first time in 8 years thanks to a routine cuffing of a lacklustre Sussex Sharks side in the CB40 contest. For the time being, they must focus on the championship, because if they do manage to dismantle Essex the same way they did Northants then perhaps we are in for one of the most exciting championship finishes in both divisions we have seen since 2007.

One of the most disheartening things anyone ever said about me was when I was 15. I was walking home from school with a friend, and two old dears were audibly disparaging the trend amongst the 13 year olds to wear micro-skirts (what’s changed, I hear you ask?) and heels. Their approving glance fell upon me and my friend, remarking that we were ‘sensible and plain’. You have no idea how my heart sank! I mean, I don’t have the legs to wear short skirts. Don’t think I wouldn’t if I could get away with it! It wasn’t for want of effort that I was plain!

Surrey have been a bit plain for years, and it has been constantly remarked on. Flashy gear, money and attitude has not brought them success. There’s been the odd moment of brilliance; there’s been some fine individuals to don the fleur de lis insignia in the last 10 years or so, from Mark Butcher to Jon Batty, and of course Mark Ramprakash who for so long appeared to carry the team on his shoulder in a manner that would have put Atlas to shame! Now at least there is the slightest sense of a duckling turning into a swan. They’ve gone under the knife and had bits chopped away. The lines have been smoothed. The Botox has been injected: the trout pout has died down. What we’re left with is a very pleasing sight. It’s not a bad analogy, at the end of the day.

Although perhaps if I was Chris Adams I’d stay clear of the short skirts and heels.

And now for something completely different...

I’m in the mood for a bit of nostalgia. Dad going in for his hip replacement operation today has made me reflect upon the rapid passage of time. I swear I was at high school last year. It seems like it to me, and yet I am mortified to discover that it’s approaching nineteen years since I left! I want my life back!!!

If you look at opening ceremonies for things like cricket, football and I guess the ultimate show in the world, the Olympic games, you begin to realise just how slick and glitzy and gosh darned expensive everything is. And although it looks great you find yourself looking back on it and thinking, what was the point of all that? Why not just start the games/tournament/competition and save yourself a shed load of cash? I know the last cricket world cup thingy in England was a bit of a damp squib – literally – as Alesha Dixon stood in the wings waiting to perform on a waterlogged stage, but do we really need vocalists heralding the beginning of a contest that basically has, to coin a phrase, bog all to do with singing? Unless of course we have plans for Graham Swann and Mark Butcher to enter Eurovision next year...

This is why I find myself remembering with great fondness my participation in the opening ceremony of the 1986 Commonwealth games. It looked naff then, and time has not really helped it in this respect. No pyrotechnics. No fancy gizmos. Just 5000 kids in multi coloured tracksuits, David Coleman, 3 guys in a Nessie outfit and a whole lot of doves making a giant mess of the track. My sister was in the dancing troupe and had the ignominy of wearing a yellow and turquoise baby grow.

But for all that, naff isn’t necessarily bad. For today’s young generation of twentysomethings it probably looks diabolical, but at the end of the day you can’t put a price on the happy memories of childhood. The fact that I can actually tell you which little blue blob I was on the screen indicates what a great time it was. I still have my Commonwealth Games tracksuit and trainers stored away in a bag in the attic, and although the experience didn’t provide me with any useful life skills I can honestly say that I march, wave my arms and star jump with the best of them.

You see, I belong to the generation that grew up in the seventies and eighties. ‘Jamie and the Magic Torch', ‘Chorlton and the Wheelies’, ‘The Clangers’ and 'Bod' were the mainstays of our televisual viewing. When I got older I borrowed my sister’s cerise ‘Fame' style leggings, I had Duran Duran posters on my bedroom wall and we got our thrills from ‘Jossy’s Giants’ and watching Philip Schofield and Gordon the Gopher larking around in the broom cupboard. I cheered Stefan Edberg on each year at Wimbledon whilst wondering why footballer’s hair had got bigger but their shorts had become, er... shorter!

This is partly why I enjoy seeing the elder statesmen of cricket hanging around the game: your fortysomethings like Udal, Ramps and Croft, your thirtysomethings like Jon Batty. It reassures me that for as long as they are around, I’m not alone after all!

That's just not cricket...

Cricket is, by and large, considered to be a ‘sporting’ sort of a game. If the umpires give you out, you walk (most of the time). If an opposing team member gets a well-deserved double ton, you applaud them, even if it means the chances of winning have gone down the gurgler. It’s surely one of the few games that stop for a rather genteel sounding tea-break. You certainly wouldn’t see it in the football Premiership, would you? Drogba running in to take a penalty kick and the ref blowing his whistle, shouting “That’s it gentlemen, off for scones and jam.”

I say this, mostly because of a conversation I once had with my dear mum. I was harking back to a game in 2007 where, after goodness knows how many straight defeats in a row, Surrey grimly bucked the trend thanks largely to the magnificent batting of Matt Nicholson and the bravery of one Mark Butcher, who spent most of the game batting on one leg, as his knee had fallen off.

The then Surrey skipper had a runner, in accordance with the laws of cricket, to do all the footwork between the stumps whilst he batted the game towards a well-deserved draw. On telling my mother of this heroic last stand, she looked at me in total shock.

“That’s cheating!” She declared.

I sort of blinked at her in astonishment. Cheating? How could it be cheating? It was within the rules! And then I got what she was driving at. Although technically having a runner was perfectly acceptable, was it morally – in a sporting sense – correct to have a fresh pair of legs do your running for you whilst you stood there and swung the bat about?

Obviously as a big fan of Butch, and having much admired the match-saving partnership between he and Nicho (affectionately known as the Kennington Pigeon Murderer by the Rampants), I wasn’t actually prepared to agree with what she had said. As far as she was concerned, if the skipper wasn’t in a condition to play his normal game he wasn’t fit to be on the field and should have retired hurt.

“What was the alternative?” I asked. “How do you make the game fair in these circumstances? Have the fielders hop on one leg? Tie the bowler’s legs together on his run-up?”

Oddly enough, she found that suggestion perfectly acceptable.

And they say cricket doesn’t appeal to eccentrics?