My own personal tale of grip frustration was not too dissimilar to that of Nick’s, but the net result of my battle with the rubber was a feeling of enormous satisfaction rather than the deflation of failure.

Nick’s nocturnal trials and tribulations could have been his downfall, as I set about the task the following morning as I was in the fortunate position of having the day off work. Like Nick, I raided the larder, the under stairs cupboard, and even the loft in a bid to find the perfect fitting aid. But all to no avail. Then I headed out to the garden, and headed straight to the shed. Surely the spiritual home of all Englishmen, the garden shed, would hold the key to such a simple yet critical problem.

I rummaged through the chaotic contents and discarded guttering, pipes, wood, and garden tools before realising that the shed did not hold the solution.

Just as I was about to head back indoors and admit defeat, I saw the solution sitting in the gap between the shed and the next door neighbour’s fence. There it was……… The watering can.

In fact, it was the nozzle that connected the water holding area to the spout that had caught my eye. It was conical in shape and looked long enough to roll a full donut. Now the moment of truth, was it wide enough at the thick end to allow the grip to transfer smoothly. Eureka…………….. It was, and the rest is history.

My bat now sits proudly in my living room with its new pink grip securely in place. As I reflected on my magnificent “invention”, my mind wandered into a fantasy world of compairing myself to the great Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

However, this was to be short lived as Shell called me that afternoon to say that he has purchased a grip applicator for the club bag. Oh well, at least the watering can will be intact for the benefit of my garden when the hot weather arrives.