Anyone who thinks that cricket is the sport of gentlemen obviously hasn’t spent an afternoon in the Kirkstall Lane End at Headingley. For occupants of said stand what goes on on the field is of little consequence. In fact, most of them probably aren’t even aware that there is a field in front of them. Far more important are the contents of their cool bags.

Another cricket fan is gripped

Gone are the days of tins of Watney’s Party Seven, now you have to stock up with cans and bottles whose contents can be consumed in one gulp - a bit of an inconvenience. By lunchtime the surroundings become a daze and the only thing to get the attention is the smell of a female. If you are a woman Blighty would advise you to stay clear of the Kirkstall Lane End, unless you’re accompanied by a male who can look after himself, and you. But then, Blighty would worry about why he wants to take you to the Kirkstall Lane End at Headingley in the first place. Blighty top tip - get a new boyfriend.

Across the field, to the right, are the posh seats and executive boxes. There can be found a different class of drunk, swilling back copious amounts of G and T or champagne and stuffing their faces with complimentary food. There’s less abusive behaviour towards women here, if occupants are feeling frisky they’ll just call a prostitute, although it’s unlikely they’ll still be awake by the time she arrives, never mind in a state of ‘readiness’.

For those people interested in the actual game on the field, usually known as commentators, it can be a laborious affair. Which is why commentators generally discuss anything but what is going on on the field, unless there is a wicket or a fractured skull or something interesting like that. Most of the conversation stays clear of cricket however, and focuses instead on what they’re having for lunch, any nearby wildlife or schoolboy jokes about willies and getting their leg over.

Of course, there are one or two peculiar people around the ground who are interested in the game, and they don’t always wear anoraks. They mark down every ball bowled and run scored. Wait on! you say. Ball bowled, run scored. Fill us in old boy. What is a ball bowled? A run scored? All you’ve talked about so far is drunken Englishmen!

Ok, there are usually 13 men on the field of play (although it’s at least 26 by lunchtime). Two of them have bats. They stand at either end of a wicket next to a, erm, wicket… Oh, blow it. You’re not interested anyway, and if you are you should have brought stronger beer!