More acual reporting: Colchester blues

I went to Colchester this weekend. A surprisingly nice place. It has a “Dutch Quarter”. Although, this isn’t as interesting as it sounds. But full of charming cottages nevertheless. So if you fancy a weekend of Dutch cottaging, then Colchester is your place.

The first thing you do when you go to watch a game in Colchester is realise that it’s not Chelmsford. Actually, it’s quite important that, when you set out on your car, you don’t just assume that they’re playing in Essex’s quite good county ground, but in a middle-of-nowhere backwater that you’ve never been to.

Obviously, the ground wasn’t sign posted. But, fortunately, Banana World was, so we had plenty of cultural alternatives.

So, we drove around Colchester a bit. Decided it wasn’t terrible. Eventually, I too a picture of a plastic map provided by the Council mounted on to the side of the road to help guide our meandering navigation.

The red dot signifies our position. The green at the top shows where we should have been. Interesting that.

So, for the perfectly reasonable price of £15 we entered the ground that offered the same views as we would have had had we stayed from the safety of our car.

At least in the car, I wouldn’t have got slightly sun-burnt when the eight minutes of mild sunshine bore into my pasty skin.

The great thing about small grounds is the opportunity it affords for mid-interval pitch gawping.

I wandered out with the rest of the bearded pot-bellies that populate county grounds and CAMRA festivals alike and pontificated knowledgeable on the pitch.

“Bit dry” someone said. “No bounce” another divined.

We then took up position at the umpire’s post, to stare thoughtlessly into the abyss.

When the action resumed, Essex’s strong position was ebbed away. Which was surprising, given that their attack was led by Grant Flower.

Then Graeme Hick came on. Everyone loves Graeme Hick. He’s old and tries to hit the ball far. He nearly lost his wicket on the long-leg boundary on his first ball.

Look at Graeme Hick. Look at Graeme Hick in all his majesty.

Jones: I’m not Welsh

Simon Jones has now decided that he’s from Worcestershire. And who could blame him?

Statistically, you are less likely to be mugged or fat than when in Wales. Better weather, better cricket, less Welsh people and you are certain to get your hands on a lovely pear.

Since Jones received that impossibly bad knee injury (I mean, honestly, it’s like there’s a piece of shrapnel in there) the England bowling unit has wilted. We really need Jones to be fit.

Steve Rhodes, director of cricket at Worcestershire described Jones as a "quality bowler". He’s not wrong.

However, at 28 and with a dreadful fitness record, it doesn’t seem probable that he could get a game for Worcester.

His decision is a bit odd, considering that Glamorgan has been awarded an Ashes test in 2009. Surely he’d want to make a come-back on his home ground? Maybe he felt intimidated by the new broom quicks that are emerging ominously from Welsh. Anything that emerges from Wales is ominous though – just look at the M4.

Maybe he just fancied the quiet life? Rhodes goes on to say:

"Worcestershire deep down is a very close friendly club and it's not unlike the dressing room is at Glamorgan. It's not one of the major Test playing grounds but it is certainly an ambitious club that wants to go places."

Steve Rhodes. There’s some happy England memories. Ambitious but never went anywhere. Remember him. Remember him batting? Why did we ever bother? He was like a hopeless Chris Read before his time.