Wet weather, bad asthma. I find I can barely climb into the attic to check the Test match is still rained off, never mind do anything really active. If it stops raining for long enough it’ll be croquet rather than crud for me. That’s a shame since I was looking forward to testing my skills against Pliskin with his ludicrously overweight bat.

It only started raining after John came round and moaned about climate change and the merciless sun and how we were all doomed to premature extinction. I begged to differ but he was having none of it.