Eating cricket

Thank the gods that’s over with.

The worst thing about Christmas is the lingering feeling of guilt. Yes Mum, I know we have barely spoken and I have been a terrible son to you for a year, but let me make it up by chopping some carrots. What’s that? I’m making an awful job of it? Maybe I can help you most by sitting in front of the telly? Oh, Finding Nemo is on.

Then, once your annual offspringly duties are fulfilled, you can happily retreat to your seat and continue with your quiet experiment: Can Bailey’s Get You Drunk?

Anyway, it is reassuring to discover that it is possible to engage in physical activity immediately after Christmas. The Australians, proving their super-human powers, are cracking on with a test match on Boxing Day, no less.

Now, I have seen Matthew Hayden. He has splodged himself on my television screen many a time. He is not a man to say no to that extra mince pie. Not only can he brush away those chocolate wrappers from about his person and manage to lift himself out of his armchair, but he can even go out-side and stand at some wickets. I have heard rumours that he’s even running from one wicket to another, some 22 yards away. These are obvious lies.

This doesn’t surprise me. There is a lot of lying around the festive period. Like, “Aunty Jane, how lovely to see you” or “Father Christmas is going to get you something nice.” You just have to get used to it.

Wonderfully, Shivnarine Chanderpaul has scored a century to put the West Indies in a strong position against South Africa. This is great news. I like Chanders. If he does something half decent in the next innings, we might have a change of God.

Not only does he more or less single-handedly prop out the Windies line-up, but he grinds the opposition down with his remorselessly weird shots. And lo! I rejoice with much happiness.

It is a joy akin to discovering that, after much dedication and patience, not only is it possible to inebriate using Bailey’s, but its effects are pleasingly similar to acid. Although, it does rather make your family nervous about next Christmas, when one of their kin locks himself into the bathroom for a few hours to stare at the “really cool” patterns on the soap dish.