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Reflecting upon my four decades of watching cricket, it’s inevitable my thoughts wander and weave over the more memorable matches I’ve attended. It’s not as if I’ve been a particularly prolific circuit basher, averaging no more than one game a year. However, few have been total disasters. Of course, Somerset defeats are always disappointing but even the fixtures wrecked by the weather left me with some enduring emotions and lasting images.

Some of the outstanding memories are associated with ‘firsts’ and inevitably I must begin with that inaugural trip to the Essex County Ground with Dad on 4^th May 1975 for the visit of my Somerset team. Even huddled on the benches just gazing across the greensward towards the pavilion at the figures in white gave me an intoxicating buzz. Eventual victory in that Sunday League encounter for Somerset, achieved with a Viv Richards six, awarded me a natural high hitherto unsurpassed. I even leapt off my plank seat, mercifully without causing those on either end to be catapulted over the boundary rope. The feeling of euphoria ensured this wasn’t a one-off, even if I never saw Somerset play at Chelmsford again. Since enjoying another taste of success against Gloucestershire in Bath six years later, watching my county has been a tough gig. In limited-overs cricket, it has been a string of five defeats, whether in Southchurch Park, Taunton or Cardiff. The anticlimactic T20 Finals Day of 2012 was perhaps the hardest to take.

Three visits to Lord’s, the ancestral home of the sport, also stand out. My first came with a complimentary ticket courtesy of my then boss and local club captain, Peter Finucane. At first reading, Old Hill vs Reading might not seem an unmissable fixture. However, this was the 1985 final of the national club knockout tournament and so there was much at stake. For a neutral like me, there was the bonus of watching the ex-Pakistan and Northamptonshire all-rounder Mushtaq Mohammad bowling his looping leg-breaks for Old Hill. Sadly, rain set in by lunchtime and I abandoned my Tavern Stand seat to mosey around the grand old ground.

The famous red-brick pavilion was out of bounds for riff-raff like me but since then I have been lucky enough to strut around the Long Room three times without attracting the attention of security. The first occurred following a Radio 3 Awayday (the station’s genial Controller, Roger Wright was an avid Lancashire supporter), and I also sat in the great space to enjoy a special Radio Authority panel event to mark a Test Match Special anniversary. However, on 13^th June 2010 I was granted the opportunity to actually watch cricket from the Pavilion. Friend, former work colleague and Middlesex Member Dipesh secured us both tickets (surprisingly inexpensive) for a T20 clash with Essex. The only concession was to wear a jacket and tie and I had free rein to roam the hallowed halls. I took full advantage, initially viewing proceedings from the balcony adjacent to the Middlesex dressing room then later from the Long Room door. The cricket itself proved quite exciting. Home skipper Adam Gilchrist, then little-known David Warner and the likes of Morgan and Malan set Essex an awkward target. A fabulous 102 from Ryan Ten Doeschate took the visitors close but after the allotted twenty overs they were five runs short.

My first Test match had been on a sunny August Bank Holiday 1991, when Sri Lanka were still only grudgingly permitted one-off contests with England. I’d taken the train from Billericay and bought a ticket at the ground, finding an excellent vantage point in the Compton Stand. Just looking at the Pavilion was enough. The cricket wasn’t particularly scintillating but when I went with friend Andrew Blunt six years later, I was fortunate to witness one of the greatest bowling performances ever seen at Lord’s.

It was the Saturday of an Ashes Test, a highlight of the middle-class sporting calendar. However, the weather wasn’t playing ball and the occasion was ravaged by a stream of short, sharp showers. Nonetheless, in the sunny interludes, we observed from the old Grand Stand the masterful Australian pace bowler Glenn McGrath ripping through the home side, concluding with awesome figures of 8-38. Despite England’s obvious problems, the atmosphere remained upbeat, enhanced by the cheery banter with a line of dry-humour of Aussie fans behind us. While a lot of play had indeed been lost, it had been an afternoon to remember. Coincidentally my only other experience of an Ashes Test, at The Oval in 2013, was also abbreviated by London rain. On the plus side, when play was eventually possible, it effectively made Steve Smith’s Test career (he reached his maiden century with a straight six) and strangled Simon Kerrigan’s at birth.

This wasn’t my last experience of a Test match. On 31^st August 2015 I nipped down to Sophia Gardens for a Twenty20 double-header of England-Australia cricket. The men’s contest was the main course (and a tasty one it was, too, thanks to a mix of Moeen Ali, Eoin Morgan and that man Smith again) but the women served up an appetising starter. I’d begun to take more of an interest in the newly-professionalised women’s international scene, and so the afternoon’s opener was to me on equal footing as the more publicised match later on. Indeed, it was the final fixture in the multi-format Women’s Ashes series and, although Meg Lanning’s side had already clinched their version of the urn, Charlotte Edwards’ team were desperate to snatch a compensatory victory. 

Predictably, it wasn’t a high-scoring affair but, after Anya Shrubsole ripped out the world-class Aussie top four, Natalie Sciver’s 4-15 and unbeaten 47 saw England home by five wickets. After receiving their series trophy, Lanning, Perry, Healy et al were joined by the English squad to cheerily sign autographs at the boundary. If my pen hadn’t given out, I’d surely have collected more scribbles on my scorecard. 

Two very different matches linger in my mind because the cricketing gods ripped up the script. In 1996, Essex Member Andrew bought tickets for their Nat West Trophy final appearance against Lancashire at Lord’s. It all started so well on that September Saturday. Tidy bowling restricted Mike Watkinson’s team to just 186 from their 60 overs. Victory would surely be a mere formality. Er, no. Glen Chapple’s 6-18 and Peter Martin’s 3-17 annihilated Paul Prichard’s men, bowling them out for 57.  Andrew was distraught and understandably refused to join me on the pitch to observe the prize-giving ceremony (below). It had been an embarrassment.

Fast forward to 13^th June 2017 in Cardiff, and England were favourites to win the Champions Trophy. I was there to witness their expected steamrollering of Pakistan in the semi-final. The green flag-waving fans were just there to enjoy themselves come what may. Nevertheless, everyone was surprised at the way Hasan Ali in particular choked Morgan, Stokes, Buttler and co before Azhar Ali and Fakhar Zaman laid the foundation for an eight-wicket demolition job. It was no flash in the pan either, because Pakistan went on to defeat India in the final, too.

Perhaps the most memorable of all matches I’ve attended so far was also a Champions Trophy encounter. Four years earlier I’d applied successfully for the opening fixture at Cardiff, to be contested by India and South Africa. What elevated that fifty-over match to the pinnacle was not just the cricket itself. 638 runs were scored, Shikhar Dhawan’s century was undoubtedly brilliant and Ravi Jadeja’s all-round performance also impressive but it was all about the incredible atmosphere fostered by the India supporters, who comprised maybe 90% of the crowd.

I’d no preconceived plan of favouritism but the heady mix of Indian fan fervour and watching all-time greats like Kohli, AB De Villiers and Dhoni in meaningful competition was contagious. It was such a happy vibe. Had it been raining serotonin in Cardiff or was it merely an injection of cricket causing such joy? We needed neither booze nor those blasted taped bugle blasts to get us going; this was what sport should be about. I’ll never forget it.