The second evening at Lord’s, and the day has begun to sag a little. The cricket begins to lose its grip on you, a day of breezy sunshine has made you sleepy, and so you decide to stretch your legs and take a stroll. You stop for a cup of tea, which costs £3.10. Tap. Bleep. The tea merely draws attention to your empty stomach and so you join the ragged queue for a portion of fish and chips at £12.50. Tap. Bleep.
You walk a little longer, past the pasty stall, past the gin concession, past the souvenir shop and Great British Fudge emporium. A little way beyond there’s a charity collector shaking a tin. An invitation to book a tour of the ground. Tap. Bleep. It’s all so easy and frictionless, a sunlit orchard of card readers all arching their boughs towards you and promising you a little pleasure.
