You know when the back of a dark, barren winter has been broken when you see the first daffodils of the year come to life in the garden. Thoughts turn to the year ahead and you remind yourself that you really must paint the fence this summer rather than spend the time drowning your weapon of choice in linseed oil. The natural world has a habit of reminding us humans about the passing of time and the urgency to get on and do something before the moment has passed. To act before we are out of time.

And so this year I find myself focussing on living a childhood dream, a dream where I spend long summer days participating in a sport so noble that the game in this country wasn’t fully professionalised until 50 years ago. A sport where the only physical contact between opposing players are the handshakes and slaps on the back to seal a days play, normally one which involved long periods of time in the clubhouse looking out to the sodden English summer. However, this isn’t a world of Clichés and warm lemonade. It’s a world whereby I open my cupboard door and a dozen pieces of rubber fall onto the floor.

Not the average occurrence in an Englishman’s bedroom I grant you. Unless you surname is Mully. I must explain that the pieces of rubber are in fact bat grips, of various colours and material. In a desperate attempt over the winter to reverse my bad form with the bat I decided that it had nothing to do with lack of technique, nerves, bad umpiring decisions, bad calling for a second run or the fact that the day had a Y at the end of it. The simple and singular fault was the colour of my bat grip. The passport to a run filled summer was simple, buy a new grip.

I bought one, then another, and another. Until I now have 12 of them, including a yellow and red tie-dye grip. That’s what an addictive personality does for you. At least I could argue to a disciplinary MCC panel, if the need ever arose, that a yellow and red tie-dye grip was after all, in their colours. Although I’m sure the MCC would choke on their collective Chablis and tuna pate entrée at the sight of myself walking to the wicket on the first morning of a Lords test match with a tie-dye yellow and red grip. They’d probably choke at the sight of me without the grip, or indeed minus the Lords wicket scenario. No matter. I’ve waited 32 years for the start of this season and the fact remains that if you are low on confidence, it’s probably something that needs working on in the nets rather than go blaming a 10 inch piece of rubber. Anybody fancy a spare Burberry check bat grip?