Funny how things work out .

n 1882-83 William J Murdoch captained the Australian team to victory over England for the first time . A satirical obituary in the Sporting Times stated "English cricket has died the body will be cremated and taken to Australia " , The stumps were burnt and placed in a urn . Every two years from then on the teams would meet home and away and battle it out for a sacrosanct urn , In a series that would become affectionately known as the Ashes .
As a child I was a keen cricketer a talented fast bowler with a good eye, by the age of nine I could deliver a decent delivery from 22 yards, and was practicing regularly with the Birkdale under 13,s and holding my own . I was fascinated by cricket a gentleman's game . I studied the history of the game , everyone from the father of the game the great W G Grace , To the Don (Don Bradman) to my modern day heroes Ian Botham , Vivian Richards and Curtley Ambrose . I was convinced all be childishly that My name would one day be read about in the annals of cricketing immortality .I dreamed of waving the willow to a standard ovation at Lords after making a match winning double century , or repeating Ian Bothams mammoth single handed come back against the Ozzies that culmnated in arguably the greatest Test match of all time Headingly 1981 .One day I felt it would be me taking the field donning the famous saggy blue cap , of which so few have had the privilege .
Unfortunately life was not to be so kind , A shy introverted personality started to over shadow the promise of my fledgling youth , rarely getting involved in activity at school , I stopped playing cricket regularly aged about 13 , the eternal mantra of a budding life long procrastinator became most pertinent "I,ll go to cricket practice tomorrow ".
Fast forward 1993-2010 , A sad hapless individual peruses the back streets of Bangkok , looking for company , drunk as a lord , another sordid tale tin the Orient has reached its grim inevitable conclusion , he has a plane to catch the next day. Determined to make the most of my last nights self seeking hedonism I pick up 2 likely street walkers , from the masses of worn out hookers singing the songs of their Grand mothers who walked the same streets .
Back to my cheap hotel I go at it like a rat in a drainpipe , Its over pretty quickly full of booze , Excalibur fails to stand to attention for long . I give them both there customary 1000 baht , and they go on there way leaving behind nothing but a musty smell , and another scar in my heart .
I head for the airport where I fall down face first and sleep for several hours , I have a connecting flight to catch Bangkok , Singapore , Manchester . After a easy first leg I touch down in Singapore . Among the opulent air port decor , I walk past a small bar , though the sight of a large glorious beer glass makes me wretch slightly , I still want to drink it , but after counting my change , I conclude I have enough for only two drinks and decide against buying a drink .
Plan B manic over tired and a little unfulfilled from the previous nights encounter with the two whores, I head to the rest room to "clean the pipes" so to speak .Carting behind me a suitcase ,that just about fits into the cubicle .
Bleary eyed and desperate I drop my pants and try to get into a fluent rhythm , bish , bash , bosh . I can see my shaking leg is causing the cubicle door to reverberate , a situation impossible though to avoid with my suitcase and I crammed into such a tiny space . I hear a re occurring wretch that puts me off my rhythm I pause momentarily , then start again , BIsh Bash Bosh , the retching and pausing scenario repeats itself several times , before I eventually reach a unsatisfactory climax . I wipe myself off , do up my pants and turn around . Much to my dismay the door has been left a jar , I,m gripped with fear and embarrassment , Making a move for the entrance I catch a glimpse of a familiar face at the wash basin , A tall purposeful looking chap with a fine mustache and a air of conviction . It was none other than Dennis Lillee , the great Australian fast bowler of the 1970,s and 80,s a childhood hero , he did not look back , gentleman that I am sure he is he probably felt is necessary to preserve my dignity . To be fair I cant be sure , It was Dennis Lilee who retched repeatedly as I bared my arse to all and sundry, while furiously beating my member .One thing I can be sure of how ever, is that was the closest I came to wielding the willow at Lords , Donning the famed saggy blue cap , or holding aloft that treasured urn .