If the ICC organised a summer Olympics...

The Confectionery Stall is back. I’ve been tied up writing and recording a radio series for the past few weeks, a period which has probably been the longest I have ever endured without really thinking about cricket since I was in the womb.

And what dark, dark days they were (literally and metaphorically), throughout the summer of 1974, subconsciously willing my cricket-averse mother to allow her radio to stray onto the commentary of England’s series with India and Pakistan, before realising this was a futile quest, and resolving to ignore cricket until my birth, at the very earliest. Thereafter, I reasoned from my amniotic cocoon, I would at least be able to cry and scream incessantly until I was provided with regular updates on all major cricket matches.

Little did I know that these cries and screams would be so spectacularly misinterpreted as demands for sustenance or affection. Or fresh laundry. And I have taken extreme care not to repeat this misinterpretation with my own children, who are kept fully appraised of all the latest occurrences in ICC-ratified events as soon as their lips even start to quiver.

Hopefully my recent break will have done me good – after years on the treadmill of thinking too much about cricket, a few weeks of enforced break should have refreshed the thinking about cricket part of my brain (the left half, and the top 80% of the right), and I will be able to think about cricket more and better than I have ever thought about it before.

After a lengthy lay-off, however, there is always the nagging doubt that I might not be quite as good at thinking about cricket as I once was. If that transpires to be the case, I can only hope that my massive experience of thinking about cricket stands me in good stead, and counterbalances the loss of my youthful thinking-about-cricket vigour.

During my absence from the esteemed pages of Cricinfo, I appear to have missed a number of matters of considerable cricketing importance:

In the ICC’s defence, this is probably a marginal improvement on the last World Cup. Albeit, a sufficiently small improvement to confirm that the ICC possess the learning capability of an old plastic dustpan and brush. And we must also credit the ICC with ensuring that bowlers avoid burn-out – the group-stage format will require them to hurl down an average of 12 balls a day over those four-and-a-bit fun-packed weeks, a workload which should prove manageable even to the laziest of trundlers.

This followed an encouraging rain-out in the first ODI, refusing to allow South Africa the early momentum in the series, and a creditable drawn Twenty20 microseries, in which England won the first game by thrashing their hosts by about 0.04 of a run, as South Africa were vanquished again by their oldest, deadliest enemy − Duckworth-Lewis. Graeme Smith’s men then pinched a small measure of consolation by luckily smashing one out of every seven balls they faced for six in the second game. This should be an excellent contest over the next two months.

It will make a pleasant change if England can buck their recent trend by following up a spectacular victory with something other than a spectacular defeat.

To put the budget in further context, for that money, the MCC could buy Kevin Pietersen on a 260-year IPL-style contract, and then demand that he spends the six IPL weeks of the year making cucumber sandwiches for the staff in the Lord’s shop. Would Pietersen accept the deal? £400 million is a healthy sum, and 260-year contracts are rare in top-level sport these days. Who knows?

It’s good to be at the Confectionery Stall. Between now and the end of the year, I will selecting highlights and lowlights from the international cricket decade, including various teams of the decade – any requests will be considered and put to the vote in my dining room (my two children and wife will each have one vote, and I will have four votes).

I shall also shortly be starting a regular World Cricket Podcast for Cricinfo, which will tell you absolutely everything you need to know, or not to know, about the great game as it stumbles into a decade.