Fancy dress...

A very lazy day, still in Ulverston. Being unapologetically idle is actually a bit of a novelty since I went nomadic. I watched two sessions of cricket, as Joe Root reached 254, his highest score in test cricket. He seems to have more time than other players to play his shots, and looks effortlessly elegant. If he stays fit and motivated he will break a lot of batting records over the next ten years (and this evening he took his 50th catch in tests, as Pakistan made a stuttering start to their first innings, ending on 57 for 4).

The TV cameras panned around Old Trafford, to reveal how many people were in fancy dress - as nuns, crusaders, cartoon characters, superheroes, etc. A group of guys thought it was a good idea to come as Donald Trump. The commentators were trying to recall when this custom started; about twenty five years ago, they reckoned. I can’t see the point of dressing up to go and see the cricket; nevertheless it’s just possible that I unwittingly started the trend.

About twenty five years ago I went to see a day’s test cricket at Headingley. I don’t recall anyone coming in fancy dress back then. I’d taken my thick woolen poncho to sit on (the seats on the Western Terrace were hard wooden benches), but the day was so cold that I put it on instead. Whenever I went to get some beers from the bar, the crowd broke into a rendition of the theme tune to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. The TV cameras caught my cameo as ‘the man with no name’ - sans cheroot - and I saw myself on the cricket highlights that same evening…

Houghton Tower, Lancashire...