Memorable things happen at three o’clock in the morning. Perhaps you watched the then Conservative defence secretary Michael Portillo climb slowly on to a wooden stage, to be sent into the political wilderness by a returning officer in a ceremonial chain at 3.10am on 2 May 1997. But forget that – were you up for Neil Wagner?
Were you pulling on your second pair of bedsocks on a chilly February night as he thundered in, all big-hearted fury and handyman vibes, at the Basin Reserve? Were you wrapping your hands round a cup of tea with your ear against the radio? Were you out of bed, in the living room, perched on the edge of the sofa, alone but very much part of the band of brothers and sisters who pepper their days – and their nights – by following Test cricket?
