IT SURELY WASN'T JUST ME GRINNING UNDER MY MASK

JAMES WALLACE takes his place among a sparse crowd at the Oval for one of the few Spectator Pilot games designed to test Government Covid guidelines and ensure the return of cricket

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When someone loses one of the ‘big five’ senses it can result in those that remain becoming heightened. It’s to do with the brain re-wiring and overcompensating apparently, so more a cerebral than a ‘Daredevil’ thing.

For some, Covid 19 has deprived them, albeit not permanently, of taste and smell. For others it has denied them experiences. And they, we, are the lucky ones. The pandemic has deprived many of much else besides.

The masked figures that board my 09:58 train to Vauxhall have eyes that are bright and bouncing around the carriage. Corneas yearning, retinas doing overtime. It’s no cause for concern, the opposite in fact. Tell-tale sunhats, hastily applied sun-cream and rucksacks bursting at the buckles with beige ballast are all a giveaway to their cause. They scan the scene excitedly, following the waft of Ambre Solaire, potent enough to breach a surgical mask, to their fellow fan. Eyes meet. A nod of approval. Nothing more. This is England after all. This is cricket: The return.