Forms, rapid tests and counting walls

At least there is one aspect of professional sport I will be able to commentate authoritatively on in eight days time. International travel and self-isolation.

I am delighted to have been invited to commentate on the four-match India/England Test series for talkSPORT radio and have committed 100% to the tour. Covid protocols make traveling to India impossible so the series, which also includes three ODIs and five T20 Internationals, will be covered off TV in the station’s London studios.

My first air-ticket was booked on Emirates – the flight was cancelled. I still haven’t received my money back. The second ticket was booked on KLM, which also cancelled before reinstating the flight at a different time. It was the penultimate departure from Cape Town before all flights out of South Africa were cancelled.

A second ‘rapid’ Covid test was required at the airport, four hours before departure, before passengers could board the plane. The 20-minute wait for the result felt like it lasted hours. All those forms, the time, the expense…and the forthcoming production. It was all on the line.

Finally, Schipol Airport. For five hours. I met a group of Chinese students travelling in full PPE and introduced myself. She may have looked intimidating from the outside, but inside she was cheerful and chatty: “It not so bad, you get used to it. At least it is cold here so it keep me warm – and safe.” She made me feel distinctly under-dressed. Before the flight I wondered how I would cope with wearing a mask for 24-hours but, as the Chinese student said, you get used to it.

When London came into view I thought the journey was almost over but the queue at passport control lasted over two-and-a-half hours. The automated passport machines were obviously out of use with manual inspection of Covid certificates and ‘Passenger Locator’ forms having to be manually inspected by UK Border officers.

Hundreds of passengers had either not filled in the form stating the address at which they would be self-isolating or did not have proof of their negative test. Many appeared not even to understand what ‘isolation’ meant and had no written proof of where they would be staying. The officers were overwhelmed. I witnessed at least a dozen arrivals being issued with fines of between £500 and £1000. None seemed concerned. They had a week to pay and were simply relieved that they were able to proceed into the country. Britain is trying hard to contain the virus but, judging by my arrival, the odds looked insurmountable.

The M4 highway was weirdly quiet for a Friday afternoon, as was the Victoria Embankment in central London. Britains have been told to stay at home as much as possible and are not permitted to leave other than for one hour’s exercise and ‘essential’ trips – like food shopping.

I am fortunate. Talksport have booked me a small but extremely comfortable apartment with a kitchenette so I’m able to cook whatever I can get delivered and chop my own fruit. The television has a wide variety of free-to-air channels and the WiFi means I can carry on working much as I have been for the last nine months. Yesterday we chatted to Faf du Plessis who spoke of being ‘just me and my four walls’ in his hotel room. I have 14 walls. I have ten more walls than the Proteas. That’s what you do with time on your hands. You count your walls. And write about them. I am blessed.

I even have a small balcony, about 50cm wide, just enough to stand on but difficult to turn around. But it is freezing outside so the balcony has had little use. By 5:00pm yesterday it was dark and felt more like 9:00pm. So I made myself a plate of oven chips, poured a beer (remember them?) and watched a strange TV programme in which celebrities, none of whom I recognised, guessed which catch-phrase was being illustrated by cartoons. ‘Nearest and dearest’, ‘guided by the stars’, that sort of thing. I have eight days to go.

The street below would normally be packed with traffic. Now it is almost exclusively red buses and Deliveroo cyclists with hot-boxes on their backs. Many, many people, it seems, are ‘eating out’ – at home. It is on my ‘to do’ list. A Thai take-away, delivered to my apartment and dropped safely outside the front door.

When the Test series begins I will have completed my isolation period and, because of the time difference between India and England, will be setting the alarm, on match days, for 3:00am. Play will begin at 4:30am. Today it snowed heavily but in two weeks time I will attempt to transport myself back to Chennai and remember the relentless, dry heat in which Joe Root’s tourists will be playing.

At some point in a cricket writer’s life a player will take exception to some criticism and ask the scribe what they know about facing fast bowling. For most of us, the answer is ‘not much’. Or, when you become a little older, you think (but don’t say) ‘about as much as you know about filing a 700-word match report 10 minutes after the game.’

If it ever happens again I may reply: ‘Not much…but I know a bit about what you’ve been through just to get on the field.’

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