Give us a clue

"Oh, I say, he's out, he's out! ... A beautiful catch at bat-pad by, er ... Viv, my dear old thing, who is that under the helmet? Bravo? Smith?" Blowers's theoretical confusion at which Dwayne might be fielding at short leg is entirely understandable. Not that they're exactly doppelgangers, but at a distance and hidden under protective headgear, it can be hard to be sure who's who.

Aggers has admitted to greeting Ashley Giles with a "Good morning, Marcus" at a team hotel on an overseas tour, so what hope has the average spectator 80 yards away peering round a pillar at the back of the stand?

Lancashire were the first county side to emblazon their names on their Championship whites, and since then no-one's looked back. Or rather that's exactly where everyone has looked. On the players' backs. Yes, there was the odd grumble from the "In-my-day" buffer brigade, but common sense prevailed and every county has followed suit.

So bring them in for Tests, too. It might be best not to go as far as Kent did for their Twenty20 campaign. In a rather faux chummy way, they gave us their nicknames - and pretty unedifying lot they were. For Ian Butler "Kiwi" (yawn), Rob Key "Keysy" (zzzzz) and Alex Loudon "Noisy" (aha). Just simple, legible names. Why on earth not?

Spectators searching for information from the newish Edgbaston scoreboard have not always found enlightenment, either. Rather too many bulbs are broken, so that eights can resemble noughts and nines sevens. And for a while there was a worrying sight for England bowlers: according to the scoreboard, Lara was batting with - and confusingly outscoring - himself. And after Lara's dismissal, Sarwan was joined by someone who clearly managed to hit the fastest Test century in history, reaching three figures in less than five minutes. Odder still, it was Sarwan ...

At one stage yesterday afternoon - and again this morning - it all became too much and every bulb went out, leaving the picturesque old-fangled Edgbaston scoreboard to carry on manfully. But unlike its digital counterpart, it at least gives you the fielder's identity.

It being fancy-dress Saturday, there was naturally a range of other identities rubbing shoulders. A quick pan through the binoculars revealed, among others, phalanxes of: Father Christmases, surgeons, convicts, Supermen, Romans, smurfs, Red Indians, Hare Krishnas, a solitary Bob the Builder and - most terrifying of all - a bevy of butch blokes dressed in the meagre short red skirt of the npower girls. A normal day out in Birmingham, then.