Michael Simkins is in desperate need of some quiet coaching. In middle-age he still believes, despite what everyone tells him, that the England middle order might usefully benefit from his hard-earned skills. He's also a man who thinks it is OK to get your wife to spend the whole of your wedding anniversary operating a scoreboard in what she describes as 'a meaningless encounter between pathetic no-hopers'. Even when scattering his own mother's ashes his thoughts stray to another urn.