We had it all planned out. We were going to cycle up Mow Cop and then, when we got home, we’d ‘refuel’ with our feet up while watching what promised to be the business end of the New Zealand innings. We’d be exhausted and would therefore be able to sit watching TV contentedly without feeling like we should be doing something else. Flawless, guilt-free self-indulgence was in the offing.
We timed it almost perfectly wrong.
Within 30 seconds of our return, the TV was on. It was the adverts. And then it was still the adverts. This was an unusually long ad break. Maybe it was the fall of a wicket. Oh, wait, maybe it was drinks. It was about the right time – an hour into the afternoon session.
It wasn’t the drinks break.