Book Review: Coming back to me

Writing Wednesday

I was quite wary about starting to read Marcus Trescothick's autobiography Coming back to me.  It chronicles not only his lifelong love of cricket and his professional achievements, but also his struggles with depression and the impact it has had on his career and family life. It has had wonderful reviews, awarded the William Hill Sports Book of the Year 2008, so it had to have a quality worth reading.

As a cricket lover, the first part was not a great worry, although I have little interest in Somerset as a team, nor (to be fair) in Marcus's achievements, amazing though they were. And, if you don't have an interest in cricket then I would recommend skipping most of the book. Trescothick was (still is, I guess!) one of England's greatest ever opening batsmen. He scored prolifically and sometimes easily against the most feared bowlers in the world. He was part of the 2005 Ashes team that beat the Australians under Vaughan's captaincy. My only criticism of the book is that I struggled to follow exactly which year I was in, as a plethora of matches (county and country) were rattled through.

But what worried me about reading it was his admission of and reactions to depression. Yet that was also the prime reason for picking up the book. In my teenage years I watched both my parents suffer from depression, my mother to a level that hospitalised her for several weeks, and at university age another close family member was close to taking their life. Knowing what it is like as an observer, living with the highs and lows, made me wonder if I could really read what this brave man had been through.

Marcus set out in detail the steps leading to his breakdown - the pressures of being on tour for months on end and his evident love of his wife and daughters. He also writes about how afraid he was of going public, a chapter entitled 'The Lie' when he was interviewed and only told part of the story. But when he had a few more months to come to terms with the illness he recognised that the only way to explain his absence from international trips was by admitting to his problems. He did make one more failed attempt to play overseas, but didn't get further than Dixon's at Heathrow. The crippling anxiety attacks and fearful separation from his family were too much. England's best batsman is never to play international cricket again.

Depression is a dreadful illness, coming in many forms. Marcus' strength of character to write about his experiences will undoubtedly help many others to be open and honest about their own situations. Despite my concerns, I was eagerly turning the pages, willing his illness to vanish as much as he had. It is not a book for a non-cricket-lover, but anyone with concerns about mental health should read this for Marcus's openness, honesty and candour. As a Yorkshire lass I have problems with his prowess for Somerset, but huge admiration for him as a man.

The benefits of insomnia

Last night I woke at 3am, for no apparent reason.
It follows one solid night's sleep, and a previous four nights with similar rude and irrationally early awakenings.

It isn't very dark in our bedroom: the streetlamp casts a glow which reflects off the snow giving a general feeling of light. That doesn't help with getting back to sleep.

But now I've discovered the benefit to being awake. The Ashes Test Match. Clearly this won't work the-night-after-next, when the Adelaide match is finished, but it is an excellent way to use up time (and yes, some would say, to fall asleep again...)

My scheme now is to creep out of bed (don't want to disturb husband who actually has to save children's lives at work in the morning!) and to check the score on the BBC website. Then I turn down the sound on the computer and switch on the TMS commentary. I then gradually increase the volume again until it is just audible ... and then a bit more to be able to be heard from the bed (about 4m away, with door open). Then I can snuggle back into bed and hear England (a) pile on the runs or (b) take crucial wickets.

I'm not sure this really helps come 6.30am when the alarm goes off, but for those awful moments in the middle of the night when sleep eludes me I get great joy from the TMS commentators ... particularly when the Australians are struggling to think of anything positive to say about their own team!

And in the morning I can bounce into my son's bedroom, full of beans, calling on him to wake up, get up, time for breakfast, got to go to school (all said in one breath with Mary Poppins -like enthusiasm) and then cheer him up with the end of play score. Oddly enough he never seems quite so happy about hearing it at that point.

Still, at least at the moment the news tends to be good for us England supporters. What on earth will we do when Australia get their mojo back? I might have to resort to sleeping again!

Victory!

Congratulations, England, for winning yesterday!

There is nothing better than beating your long-standing rivals in sport, nothing better than securing victory over the age-old foe.

I offer you my heartiest congratulations!

What? You didn't see that?
Have a look here...

The Sideways Game

I have much to write about our family holiday, but the fortnight culminated in a day at the Test: the second day's play at Headingley, England vs Australia. Cricket: the Sideways Game.

Taking up a batting stance, one's body is looking square of the wicket, head turned to look at the umpire and incoming bowler.

For a bowler, the perfect action is side-on, a cartwheel of arms to release the ball 22 yards towards the sideways batsman.

For the majority of fielders their positioning is to the side. Anything further round than 3rd slip and you are viewing the game from side-on.

So all the technique has to be learnt sideways. And, for us the spectators, our view is with the fielders. Some seats line up with Third Man or Long On, but the majority are watching the game from the side, trying to grasp some of the nuances by inference. Did he hit the ball cleanly? Was that one that he left so dramatically sailing past the stumps within inches or feet? Should he have been given out lbw?

My wonderful husband is very tolerant of my love of cricket. He entertained the children. (It appears that, even in the Family Stand, uninterested 6-year-old girls are not common nor greatly appreciated.) However, his most recurrent comment (complaint?) all day was that he couldn't see the ball. From the moment it left the bowler's hand until it was either hit by the batsman or caught by the keeper it was impossible to see. Presumably a ball travelling at 90mph left-to-right moves faster than the eyeballs can, or faster than the brain can interpret the signals. Yet when he peeked through from more straight on, he could watch the ball turn, seam and swing.

For England, it was a disastrous Test. For the batting to collapse once was tragic, twice was inexcusable. Broad's best test bowling figures of 6-91 followed by 61 with the bat should be praised, but for a team to be relying on its number 7 and 8 batsmen to retrieve any dignity does not bode well for the final test at the Oval.

But who knows? It may be a sideways game, but anything can turn it upside down.

Rain, rain, go away

It is raining.  Again.  It rained yesterday, it will rain tomorrow.

The cricket is off.  Chester-le-Street is under so much water that the Twenty20 international with South Africa was called off yesterday evening.  This means that we won't meet up with my dad, who was going to return the various objects we'd left at his house a couple of weeks ago, but instead have an extra 24 hours of husband at home and dozens of boxes to unpack.  And nowhere to put everything: we desperately need storage space, bookshelves and a kitchen twice the size of the one we've got.

So no travel today.  Just boxes.

Cricket capers

Yesterday I finally had my birthday present: a day at the cricket.  We travelled to Chester le Street to see England thrash New Zealand.

It was a fantastic day out.  The train from Newcastle was full to bursting, such that it had to shut its doors about 5 minutes before departure.  Judging by how the engine sounded as it tried to accelerate out of the city I suspect any more passengers and it would only have moved if we'd got out and pushed.  

My seven-year old loved the match. I know this because he took his scorecard and '4' board in to Show and Tell at school this morning.  I am constantly amazed by how much he knows.  He recognised Ryan Sidebottom fielding in front of us and quickly worked out that Batsman 24 (Pietersen) was worth his weight in gold.  Now he's excited about going again: what better advert for the game!

Really, there is nothing like a summer's day watching cricket in good company.  What a wonderfully decadent way to spend one's time!

Going up to London

Why do we go 'up' to London, even though it is down from my northern home?

My day-trip to London was, travel-wise, largely uneventful.  I shared a table on the way down with a couple of ladies who clearly examine students for PE.  (I recognise that I am an inveterate eavesdropper on conversations in this manner.)  The train was merely 10 minutes late, but that resulted in mad dashes for us all to get to our meetings.  The journey back was even less eventful.

In the middle I attended a conference for chartered accountants who have had a career break and are considering returning to work.  This was interesting for a number of reasons.  Primarily, it was the first time I had been to the HQ of the ICAEW.  Quite a building!  Clearly full of Victorian architecture and no doubt thousands of pounds of my annual subscription is spent just keeping the building looking like it does.  Probably worth it, although I do sometimes question how much we, the great British public, uphold our inherited buildings at the cost of modern functionality.

The meetings themselves were excellent: all the speakers spoke well.  No-one offered me a job on the spot (not probable, but always hopeful...) Rather disheartening to hear that the best way to get a part-time job is to go full time for 6 months and then request a reduction in hours.  I guess I could do to find a CA here that would also like to work a few hours and job-share.

I then spent a delightful afternoon in the library in the building.  The free wireless internet allowed me to update the cricket score frequently on my laptop!  I did pretend to do some work: the tales from Zambia are coming along slowly... very, very slowly.

My greatest surprise of the day was how pleasant the underground was at 5.30, going back to King's Cross.  Surely this is rush hour, a mad rush as everyone clamours to get on the train back to the 'burbs?  But no: I even got a seat!  Perhaps it wouldn't be so appalling to live in London again ...