Graeme Smith looks piercingly at the ball, with a view to undermining its self-belief © Getty Images

Monday, 5th March
Despite the best efforts of senior administrators to lose the Woolf Report (leaving it in the toilets on the 5:45 to Euston; posting it to Outer Mongolia; taking it ten miles into the desert and burying it under a pile of Alastair Cook’s autobiographies) the perishing thing keeps turning up again, and so now the ICC’s Convincing Excuses Committee has been forced to call a meeting to talk about it.

Many of cricket’s top administrators are unhappy with the Woolf Report. For example, Mr Srinivasan, head of the BCCI, is said to be unconvinced by the pie charts on page seven; the owner of the Chennai Super Kings, a Mr Srinivasan, doesn’t really like the title, and Mr Srinivasan, ICC director, has expressed considerable reservations about the font.

Following the meeting, I understand that the ICC’s contact in the Indian Space Agency (a Mr Srinivasan, no relation) has agreed to put the Woolf Report into a sealed canister aboard their next rocket. The document will then be released into space for wider consultation amongst other life forms and a final decision on implementation of its recommendations is expected sometime in June 2212.

Tuesday, 6th March
With the light speed barrier overcome, scientists are full of optimism and are turning their attention to other phenomena. Take confidence, for example. Confidence is invisible to the naked eye, but if you could see it, what would it look like? Well, Professor Graeme Smith is in New Zealand for some experimental work and has been outlining some of the methods his team will be using to get to the bottom of it.

“Maybe we can dent that confidence… maybe their confidence is not as thick and strong as it was… hopefully we can get into that and open it up a little bit.”

Coincidentally “thick and strong” used to be the chief selection criteria for the South African cricket team. But those days are gone, and whilst they have their share of bruisers, bashers and bulldozers, there is an artistry and subtlety about the South African team these days that is pleasing and also rather moving, like watching a former heavyweight boxer knitting a lamb’s wool sweater for his grandmother.

Another reason to look forward to this series is the prospect of some revved-up bowling action on pitches more helpful to fast bowlers than the butler who brings Mr Steyn and Mr Morkel their raw beef on a silver platter every morning. Former blocker and nudger Mark Richardson has confirmed as much:

“These Test matches are going to be played in slowish, green, seaming conditions.”

Excellent. If that’s the kind of pitch New Zealand come up with, I might even overlook the fact that, like the Australians, they have the bad manners to play their cricket in the middle of the night. But wait, Richardson doesn’t think it’s a good thing.

“I don’t believe seeing batsmen poke and prod or take their chances and slog is a particularly good spectacle.”

Au contraire, Mr Richardson. I don’t mind watching the occasional flourishing cover drive or stylish leg glance, but that’s just what they should be, occasional, like rare gems, so we appreciate their beauty all the more. Most of the time, Test batsmen should be hopping, ducking and wondering where their next run is coming from. As Sydney Barnes would say, that’s proper cricket.

Moroccan gem dealer de Lange prepares to launch an extra-large ruby to test its quality © ESPNcricinfo Ltd

Monday, 26th December
The 21st century cricket watcher lives a blessed existence. If our forbears wanted to see that new South African with the daring haircut or India’s latest medium-paced fast bowler, they had to wait half a decade or so, until the tour schedule brought the team in question to home soil. A fresh-faced and sprightly protégé could become a gnarled and stooped veteran before half the cricket world had seen him in action.

But now, with simultaneous broadcasts, highlights, extended highlights, and the frankly unnatural capacity to record two things at the same time, the cricket fan can see every ball of a man’s career, from that first nervous push outside off to the tears he wipes away at his final press conference. In 3D.

So today, weighed down by too many helpings of fruit-based steamed puddings, it was my pleasure to be able to contemplate, from the depths of my sofa, two intriguing new characters in the international cricket soap opera: Ed Cowan and Marchant de Lange.

My first impression of Cowan is that he has more than a flavour of Simon Katich about him, although he doesn’t seem to shuffle about so much, and as far as I know, has yet to take his captain by the throat. de Lange should be a dealer in precious gems, with an office on a seedy side street in Marrakech, but he is in fact a strapping fast-bowler from the same Terminator-factory that brought us Morne Morkel.

But whether they go on to illustrious commentary careers or end up having to take demeaning jobs in sports administration, it is always a kind of privilege to see players take their first step onto the Test stage. Good luck to both of them.

Tuesday, 27th December
Today we heard from Mustafa Kamal, the Bangladesh Cricket Board chief, who has been mulling something over and clearly needed to get it off his chest.

“I was listening to the commentators during the recently concluded Pakistan series. Everyone mentioned there that we got bad decisions.”

I’m a lesser man than Mr Kemal, no doubt, but even a humble cricket fan can spot the problem here. Listening to commentators is not absolutely guaranteed to give you the full picture, reality-wise, and relying on commentators from your own country for the objective truth on these matters is rather like relying on a mother to give an unvarnished assessment of her son’s character.

“I cannot talk against umpires, being an ICC director… but I have seen that against weaker countries, there are more wrong decisions.”

Are there? Well, now I’m intrigued. Did he have any graphs, tables, or spreadsheets to seal the deal? After all, these days it ought to be perfectly possible to tot up the details of umpiring bloopers worldwide and thus demonstrate that x is greater than y. Sadly, Mr Kemal had not a single pie chart or indeed number to call upon, and his plucky attempt to scale Mount Conspiracy failed to reach base camp.

And here Ricky Ponting shows us why the creased look is coming back into fashion © Getty Images

Wednesday, 9th November
We all tend to put off household repairs, and cricket boards are no different. In the 1990s, the TCCB had long chats about what needed to be done around the place, but invariably concluded that rising damp, woodworm and peeling wallpaper were probably cyclical and wasn’t it time for another cup of tea? In India, the BCCI have dealt with the nasty stain on their reputation that appeared last summer by covering it with that portrait of MS Dhoni lifting the World Cup that was hanging in the foyer.

But Australia have set about their renovation with gusto. Having thrown out much of the old furniture, including a rickety old Nielsen that was starting to look a little last decade, they are just waiting on delivery of a new coach. Steve Rixon is the favourite, mainly it seems because he has a strong relationship with Michael Clarke and bonding with the captain is now an essential skill for aspiring national coaches, right up there with looking good in a baseball cap and glaring menacingly at press conferences.

It seems Michael likes Steve’s sense of humour and Steve loves the way Michael says “Obviously, I’m disappointed…” and no doubt they’ll make a fine couple. But I’d give it to Justin Langer. I think he’d bring a wild unblinking, “Are you looking at me?” intensity to the role, as well as extreme martial arts (I’m picturing Mitchell Johnson head-butting planks of wood painted with Andrew Strauss’s likeness) and rose cultivation. Tending to these delicate blooms will help players to develop patience and attention to detail, whilst the thorns will fine-tune their swear reflexes.

Thursday, November 10th
Now that’s proper cricket. Twenty-three dismissals, two umpires with strained forefingers and a blown fuse in the electronic scoreboard. All kinds of records were broken, or at the very least, made to wobble precariously on their stands above a marble floor as these old rivals went all 18th century on us. It was a throwback to the days when a chap with a curved bat drank an ale or two, then went out to have a swipe and was lucky if he managed double-figure nicks.

For the connoisseur of the extravagant collapse, it was a treasure trove of witless batting. South Africa’s innings was more cavalier and reckless than the pink silk hat with ermine trim and peacock feathers that Prince Rupert wore on the morning of the Battle of Naseby, whilst Australia seemed to be trying to re-enact England’s 1994 amnesia-induced Trinidad collapse in which one player after another completely forgot what it was they had gone out to the wicket for or why they were holding a bit of wood in their hands.

There was so much traipsing to the wicket and back that it began to resemble a fashion show, showcasing this summer’s must-have combination of white shirts, extensive tattoos and grumpy expressions (“Ricky is modelling the latest in thigh enhancing body wear with 9lb willow accessory and a scowl”). But it was all jolly entertaining and somehow highly appropriate. What better way to start a frivolously short two-Test series than with an extremely silly two-and-a-half day Test match.

"And being a South African captain means I have to take mandatory arithmetic lessons everyday" © Getty Images

Wednesday, 26th October
Chris Gayle wants some clarification from the big cheeses at the WICB:

“They need to come clear and say what Chris Gayle should apologise for, and what should Chris Gayle retract.”

Well, for a start, I think he owes us all an apology for continually referring to himself in the third person. If people keep doing that, then Andrew Hughes is afraid that he won’t be able to work out who is saying what to whom. And if the WICB join in, the introduction of the third person plural could take us into new realms of bafflement.

Still, we’ve all been in Chris’ position: your partner makes it clear an apology is due, but you haven’t the foggiest idea what you are supposed to be apologising for. In such circumstances, asking for clarification rarely goes down well. If you want to stay in this relationship, Chris, Andrew Hughes’ advice is to send the WICB a big bunch of flowers with a little note saying: “V Sorry (for whatever). Love Chris. (Gayle).

Kisses are optional.

Thursday, 27th October
Hashim Amla has said that he’d have to think about it if he was asked to be captain again. I don’t blame him. Who on earth would want such an awful job?

It is true that being South African skipper isn’t as demeaning as captaining a club side: Hashim almost certainly doesn’t have to ring around to find 11 fit players, stick his finger into the urn at lunch time to test the temperature of the tea or try to sober up a hungover Dale Steyn. But an international captain has his own burdens to bear: talking to journalists without punching them, constantly monitoring his players’ Twitter feed and trying to avoid Geoffrey Boycott at social functions.

If your team wins, the players get the credit. If they lose, it is because you didn’t have an extra cover for 20 minutes on the second morning, you bowled Herbert from the wrong end when everyone could plainly see that the prevailing breeze had changed from a westerly to a north-easterly, you lost the toss for the 13th time in a row, and both your handclapping and your cries of “Come on lads, let’s get stuck in!” were lacking in vigour and plausibility.

You can’t even measure a captain’s performance. There are no stats for “getting the best out of an ordinary bunch of professionals” or “always being one step ahead of the game”. You might be a tactical genius, an intuitive psychiatrist, a gifted diplomat and an inspirational speaker, but if your team is full of duffers, you’ll never win anything. Don Bradman, for example, was not the world’s greatest skipper, but he benefited hugely from the fact that he was able to call on the services of Don Bradman.

No, to become a captain you need to be part egomaniac, part masochist, but most importantly, you need to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. So Hashim, next time AB stubs his toe on the boundary rope while trying to catch a butterfly or sneezes over the grapefruit selection at the hotel’s breakfast buffet, start limping.

Tim Nielsen was horrified to learn his sun-screen was a mere SPF 45 © Getty Images

Saturday, 20th August
Australian inflation is out of control. Don’t believe me? Today Tim Nielsen said he was 100,000% behind Australia being the best team in the world. We live in hard times, friends, and 100% or even 110% just doesn’t cut it anymore.

Or perhaps he was hoping to scare off his potential replacements with the sheer numerical magnitude of his platitude. Maybe Mickey Arthur is sitting at home shaking his head thinking, “Damn, I was good for 1000% but even I can’t get away with claiming 100,000%. Reckon I won’t bother applying after all.”

It won’t work, of course. Nielsen is toast. He is toast that has been in the toaster so long that it has set off the smoke alarm, and when it is finally popped out will be going straight into the bin with the potato peelings, the cold coffee grinds and yesterday’s Daily Telegraph. Still, he shouldn’t worry. With such a cavalier approach to numeracy, a career in the investment banking industry surely awaits.

Sunday, 21st August
A few weeks ago Shahid Afridi announced he was retiring from public life, adding that this was a conditional retirement, which we could have guessed, since all of his other retirements have been conditional (on his remembering why it was that he retired). In fact, his entire career has been conditional, a litany of ifs, maybes and what-might-have-beens-if-only-he-hadn’t-done-that.

And now, in the least surprising piece of sports news since we learned that MS Dhoni was “a bit disappointed” with the way his summer had gone, we learn that the man with the lovely hair is un-retiring. In response, the ICC has moved the level of Afridiness in world cricket from Shahid 5 up to Shahid 3, in anticipation of the return of the prodigal. And Professor Spectacles, Head of Afridi Studies at the Lahore Institute of Chaos, is very excited by this latest Afridi-related development.

“I have been mapping Shahid bhai’s public statements on this graph, where the x axis represents time and the y axis represents degree of craziness, and as you can see, if you join all the dots on the graph, it actually forms a reclining profile of Imran Khan’s face. This is a hugely significant development for Pakistan cricket, probably.”

Tuesday, 23rd August
While the England players nurse tender heads and try to remember where they left their keys, swear to themselves that they will never again mix vintage Bollinger with James Anderson’s aunty’s homemade gooseberry brandy, and attempt to piece together what happened last night from the photographs in the tabloids, a collection of the toughest, roughest men ever to wear silly sunglasses has assembled at a top-secret location. Their mission: Destroy England. And do some other stuff first.

I like the fact that South Africa are calling their pre-season get-together a camp. It puts you in mind of a spartan facility somewhere on the savannah with tin-roofed shacks, rudimentary showers and barbed-wire fences, seven miles from the nearest water hole and surrounded by man-eating lions, psychotic rhinoceroses and mean-spirited giraffes. In reality it is the Arabella Golf Estate near Cape Town, although I hear that some of the bunkers are pretty brutal.

And though there is some tiresome business involving Australia and Sri Lanka to get through first, Allan Donald, South Africa’s new verbal-abuse co-ordinator, has already made a start on next summer’s sledging (because it’s never too early to tell someone you’re going to knock their f*****g head off), by leaving rude and frankly sarcastic messages on the voicemail of each member of the England batting order, and Ravi Bopara (just in case). And to ram the message home, every South African player has been asked to tick “Don’t Like” on the “England Are Number One” Facebook page.*

*Under the EU Satirical Remarks Concerning Countries Of Origin Quota Agreement, I am not allowed at this point to make humorous reference to the birthplaces of certain members of a certain northern European cricket team being not entirely and in every respect without the borders of a populous republic situated towards the southern end of the African continent. So please feel free to attach your own. And don’t forget Jade Dernbach.