barefoot earlier

I've been gripped by this remarkable test series; an unfamiliar experience. My childhood summers were full of long North-South car journeys in the days before joined-up motorways and air conditioning: squabbling, bare legs stuck to the plastic seats and bored fractious by endless cricket commentary on the radio. It didn't foster interest; just endurance (with back-seat whining).

Today, as I leapt in the car for the ten minute drive from a half day meeting to the office, delighted at the chance to catch up with progress, I found myself begging Radio 4 to tell me the score and not witter on as if I'd been listening all morning. Quite a change.

I've enjoyed much about it but best of all the phone calls with my Dad. As a cricket fanatic in a family of cricket indifferents he's always been starved of camaraderie and as this summer's story has unfolded and we've spoken on the phone to be downcast or jubilant, I've loved sharing it with him. Cricket has been so much part of our family history that I'm glad to be reminded it's important. It's brought back the excitement of rummaging in the scarf drawer and asking over and over again to hear the tales behind Dad's England caps. It's made me feel fond of the familiarity and tradition of little-understood words like googly and silly mid off. It's even made me feel like getting out a bat and a tennis ball (I never graduated to a hard ball) and having a go again. We used to play and play until the light had gone and our bare feet were chilly on the lawn.

I believe this isn't the first time that a sporting event has got to me lately and been mentioned in this blog: surprising but welcome.