My arrival home has been dominated by cricket. My stepson Hugo has been watching the test match and Leo has become very interested.
“One day you’ll play cricket for England,” Rupert said to him this morning.
“Yes, now,” said Leo.
“You can’t play cricket for England now, you’re only four,” I said.
“But I will be five,” he replied.
The thought of Leo in cricket whites is too dreamy. I have always thought it is impossible for a man to look unattractive in whites; there is something so civilized, so gentle and so very English about them. Cricket whites are right up there with surgical kit when it comes to outfits men look great in.
Even Robert Mugabe, the most uncivilized of people, recognised cricket’s qualities. “Cricket civilizes people and creates good gentlemen,” he said in an article in the Sunday Times in 1984. “I want everyone to play cricket in Zimbabwe; I want ours to be a nation of gentlemen.” Shame he didn’t follow his own creed.
This evening we are going to a cricket match. Hugo and Rupert will play. I am so excited about seeing them play and also introducing Leo to the joys of hearing leather on willow for the first time.
As we enjoy this evening, a family in Kent is mourning the loss of a father-of-two after a jeering mob made up of boys as young as ten stoned him to death while he played cricket with his son. It was a completely unprovoked attack.
Can someone please tell me what is going over there?
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007