Surly Girl – who is less than happy at the moment. Get over there now and give her a big hug.
Anna – going through a bit of a life changing period. Get over there and tell her that everything will be fine.
My new friend Arabella – who has just had some bits chopped off. Go and sit by her bed and tell her how you are going to decorate the spare bedroom this year.
In a blatant attempt to pick up the readership that has dropped off of late (Mrs Trellis has been unwell), I was going to comment on my friends at Livescience who have declared in a very scientific way that size does not matter. Yes, they are examining penises this week. “A penis longer than 8 inches can ram into the cervix and cause discomfort.” They begin their next paragraph with the heading “All in your head”. That is, I believe, taking things too far. Those of us blessed with physical deformities (in my case congenital ugliness) might be more reassured if the people reporting it were not Professor Twat and his absurd assistants.
Anyway, you can all stop here. I am going to write about cricket. Not just recent cricket, you understand, but ancient cricket. Things that happened years ago. Yes, I should be over it by now, but it behoves me to remind the world of grave injustices in the forlorn hope that these mistakes will not be made again. I was prompted to consider this by my good friends at Wisden who mentioned this episode in two recent issues of their monthly journal. It concerns two well known English cricketers, David Gower and Graham Gooch.
Graham Gooch was a batsman of mediocre talent by international standards, who through hard work and application became successful. He played for
David Gower was a genius. He had grace, elegance and amazing timing of his strokes. He didn’t care much for the ordinary. But everything that he did on the cricket field drew your attention. His strokeplay was sublime. Too good in fact, because there lived the constant fear in watching his innings that something so subtle could not last. (He was a contemporary of Ian Botham, and many prefer the style of Botham. I will not argue with them, that is their choice, but for me Gower was one of those who transformed cricket from a game into a religious experience. In the good sense of religious experience, that is.)
Unfortunately, the latter stages of Gower’s career coincided with a time when the twats who run English cricket decided that we needed to be more serious about the game, and Mickey Stewart was appointed as ubersturmfuhrer. I do not want to be cruel about Mickey Stewart*, but let us just say that he probably enjoyed Graham Gooch’s company. It was decided that these chaps needed to be a bit fitter in order to compete. This did not sit well with Gower, who did not need anything other than his natural talent in order to excel. He fell foul of Stewart, and more importantly Gooch who was the natural choice as
Unforgiveable. Gooch is an arse, as indeed are his friends and successors. I have named them all before. Only in the last three or four years have there been