My Sweet Lords: On Thursday, I went to Lords Cricket Ground. It bills itself as the home of cricket and is to cricket what St. Andrews is to golf. (If that analogy means nothing to you, feel free to skip ahead.) It seemed like something that I really had to do since I understand cricket from my days in Australia and appreciate it on a certain level. Lords is in St. Johns Wood, which is an inner suburb of London and therefore incredibly easy to reach. I went to see a Test Match between England and Pakistan (which was actually sold out, so I had to buy tickets on line.) Since it was a Test Match, play began at 11:00 and went to 6:30, with breaks for lunch and tea. I only saw the first day of the match, which will go on for four (!!) more days. Pakistan was up first and it was looking good for England, who captured their fourth wicket just after lunch, leaving Pakistan at 134 for 4, with four of their five top batters out. But England didn’t pick up another wicket for four hours as two guys you’ve never heard of put together a 150 run partnership. England picket up two more wickets right before the end of play of the day to turn things back slightly in their favor. I won’t subject you to any more cricket talk.

Lords consists of an old pavilion which is for members only and big new grandstands. Paul Jee, who I went with, told me that his brother-in-law tried to join and was on the waiting list for 28 years. If you do become a member, you get to wear a hideous mustard yellow and reddish burgundy colored striped blazer and sit in the Pavilion with the other members, who must all wear a jacket and tie. The remainder of the stands (where I sat with the rest of the hoi polloi) are relatively modern and are surrounded by bars and food stands. But almost everyone appeared to have brought their own food and drink. Indeed, when I got on the Jubilee tube line to St. John’s Wood, it seemed like every other person had a cooler or back pack or both. Drinking and eating are an important part of the experience, since so little actually happens on the field. It is much more boring than watching cricket on TV, where you don’t really have to pay that much attention. But when you are there and it is live, you end up watching it and nothing much happens. Unlike baseball, which at least has an occasional pivotal moment (3 and 2, 2 outs, runners moving or stud pitcher vs. big slugger with men on), Test cricket has no moments. Here is a typical bit of action: the bowler (pitcher) runs about 100 feet and finally hurls the ball towards the batter, who just taps it into the ground and doesn’t move (he doesn’t have to). Someone picks it up and tosses it to another guy who spends 15-20 seconds rubbing the ball against his leg. He then passes it to another guy, who passes it to another guy, who finally gives it to the bowler who is walking back to begin his run up again. This whole process takes at least two minutes. Then you repeat it. Endlessly. They were supposed to play 90 overs (which each consist of six pitches), but they couldn’t complete them by 6:00, so they were given an extra thirty minutes and still couldn’t finish. There is always tomorrow and the next day and the day after that…. It is really more of a social even than a sporting event. Everyone just sits around chatting and drinking and eating.

You might think why would anyone watch this? Well, it was filled to capacity (which is 30,000–I looked it up) and nobody left, except to go to the bars or the Veuve Clicquot tent. It is really a sport for a much earlier time, with its languid pace, and provides an excuse to drink all day. So while it isn’t a compelling sport to watch, being there for a day is incredibly British and oddly entertaining. (But you’d have to be lunatic to go to all five days.) It is clearly not a sport designed for the working classes, who would never have had the opportunity to take a day off to sit around and watch twenty-two guys all dressed in white play this obscure game.

Boris is Back: The ashes of his most recent flame out were still smoldering, when the phoenix named Boris emerged to become the nation’s Foreign Secretary. It was a kind of stunning move by Theresa May. Assuming that Boris does not undergo a personality change, why would she put such an undiplomatic person in the position of Britain’s main diplomat? Some theories:

• It was a part of her overall strategy to put the Brexiteer leaders in charge of trying to work out how Britain will leave the EU. If it all goes badly, as it probably will, she will be able to point to these appointments and say that she took Brexit seriously and tried to make it work and try to blame it all on them. Boris was the face of the Brexit camp and fits this theory. Since she reportedly hates Michael Gove, who is toxic right now after his betrayal of Boris anyway, Boris was the choice.
• Boris is the most (some would say only) charismatic leader among the Conservatives and would not have let his recent fall from grace make him shut up. She probably thought that it is better to have Boris inside the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in.
• May is pretty boring, especially compared to Cameron, who, for all of his many faults, really can be quite funny and entertaining. Someone has to entertain the masses and the Murdoch readers and Boris is the perfect guy to do that. He is a wonderful clown and could be a useful distraction.
• It gets Boris out of the country for long periods of time.
• If Boris turns out to be great at the job, which is not impossible since he is a smart person, she gets the credit for appreciating his potential to grow up. If he crashes and burns, she can just fire him and the rest of can wait and see if he rises up yet again.

Hip, Hip Hooray?: Judie and I joined a health club last week. Its claim to fame is that when it first opened its doors to women, a very young Diana Spencer joined before leaving for a bigger role. My hips have been killing me and my physiotherapist recommended a series of exercises. Of course, now not just my hips, but all of the other muscles in my legs hurt as I finally exercise for the first time in over a year (other than lots of walking).