Start the Car: The World According to Bumble. David Lloyd

his humour – and a tendency to chortle whenever others were in despair at their cricketing fortunes. Mark Butcher tells a good story of when, during the summer of 1999, in his only game as captain of the England Test team, he asked for the inclusion of all-rounder Craig White, to balance the XI. After the request was knocked back, he was forced to go in with two spinners against New Zealand at Old Trafford, and frustratingly lost the toss. Ill-equipped to dictate the pace of the game from that point onwards, and with nobody to provide new-ball penetration once the opening bowlers were blown, Butcher boiled over in the dressing-room. Athers sat alongside him and guffawed. Whenever certain colleagues blew a gasket, he would be off on a chortle. He would have some great jousts with Angus Fraser in the nets and enjoy witnessing the full teapot performance on the field. He has always appreciated dark humour. His laughter managed to get him through plenty of failure and frustration as England’s longest-serving captain, and that was to his immense credit. He got it just about right for me because he was so natural.

      But he also had a totally undemonstrative manner and went about things quietly. I lost count of the times when, as England captain, he would shun the fun-loving group on a night out in order to knock on the door of a player who was down-hearted and in need of a gee-up over dinner. The team knew it but, because of his refusal to express himself in public as he did in private, few others did. Nobody embodied better than Atherton the team spirit I wanted to see running through the side, although I would have to say Fraser was his equal in this department, displaying all the qualities you need in a sporting environment. Neither was it lost on his contemporaries just how good an international batsman Atherton was during his pomp. I always wondered how much better he could have been without the constant discomfort he felt in his lower back. There is no doubt in my mind that this restricted his performances; at times he was getting through Test matches others would not have contemplated starting. His dedication to the England cause was unerring until it reached the point at which, no longer able to mask the effects of the injury, it was too bad for him to commit to participating. However, to his credit, he rarely missed a game, and but for his condition would have averaged considerably more than the 37.69 he finished up with in his Test career.

      He also always put the needs of the team first. Twice during the summer of 1997 Athers tried to resign the England captaincy and was talked out of it, first by Ian MacLaurin and then by me – because I reasoned that the side would suffer for him quitting. He had first notified David Graveney as chairman of selectors of his decision to walk away immediately after the Ashes were lost that summer, only to be moved by the persuasive tones of MacLaurin to see out the international season. Even after that stirring win at The Oval, which left the series score at 3–2, however, he was ready to jump ship. This time, Grav advised him over a drink at the then Hilton Hotel, opposite Lord’s, that he should phone me before his decision was rubber-stamped.

      Athers has always been his own man but, like me, has always taken fatherly advice. I have no doubt that what Alan Atherton told him privately was similar in tone to what he heard from me when he called. My passionate view was that the England team at that time was best served by continuity in the captaincy and not by making change for the sake of change. I got across the point that the man on the other end of the blower was our best man for the job. Some sections of the media called for his head – partly, I am certain, because a new captain would undoubtedly be more quotable than the dour one they knew.

      His resignation at that time would have been a triumph for others, and Atherton is not the kind of man who should be remembered as one who quit. That was just not in his nature. We had also progressed the team, in my opinion, in the eighteen months we had worked together. We were heading for the Caribbean that winter with a genuinely good chance of a historic away Test series win over West Indies. Atherton deserved credit for that, if it came off. With all this put to him, he climbed down once more, but it was to be for the second and final time. After a 3–1 defeat which was the biggest disappointment of my time as coach, he stood aside.

      He has always been among the elite in his field, and nothing has changed since he swapped willow for pen. His writing is excellent and the rest of us pull his leg all the time about being what I call journalist serious. He threw himself into the role of columnist with the Sunday Telegraph and coped just as comfortably when offered the position of cricket correspondent with The Times. And, of course, such prominent positions mean one should mix with the right company and, moreover, do so at the right establishments. In short, the most credible writers among the English press pack tend to head for the swankiest restaurants imaginable. You know you’ve made it when you are noshing with the Pompous Diners’ Club. The kind of chaps who are very serious about their food, wine and table conversation.

      The Independent on Sunday’s Stephen Fay, aka Captain Claret (so monikered for his rubicund complexion), Telegraph men Derek Pringle and Scyld Berry, and Times duo Simon Barnes and Alan Lee are all fully-fledged members. So as Nasser and I head off for a curry, we rib Athers about his social and culinary aspirations. His defence is always something along the lines of: ‘I’m from Newton Heath. I’m just a bloke from Newton Heath.’ However, while I am tearing into a naan bread and lamb rogan josh, he will be contemplating lamb shoulder, accompanied by turmeric potato, tomato confit, pineapple-coconut salsa with a rapidly reducing jus. The latter being the kind of thing Willy Wonka might have concocted to go alongside his everlasting gobstoppers.

      A typical Atherton menu:

      Starters

      Pig’s trotter, sweetbread and apricot salad

      Beetroot and liquorice terrine, apple purée, pickled walnut

      Chilli salt squid with nuac chum, lime, mint and coriander

      Warm asparagus, goat’s cheese crème, toasted hazelnut, brown butter vinaigrette

      Mains

      Slow-roasted antelope loin, aubergine soufflé, butternut and tomato

      Magret duck breast, confit leg tortellini, pea parfait, nectarine and juniper

      Seared beef fillet, soy braised mushrooms, pomme cigar, carrot-honey purée, bordelaise syrup

      Pancetta-wrapped monkfish, pommes fondant, roasted pear, braised apple and red cabbage

      Desserts

      Whipped gorgonzola, mustard pear, pistachio sable

      Boysenberries, bitter chocolate ganache, lemon thyme and buffalo yoghurt sherbet

      Amarula panna cotta, smoked fudge foam, espresso ice cream.

      Nasser Hussain – aka Unlucky Alf

      Nasser and I have become very close friends since his retirement, not that our relationship has ever been anything other than very cordial in the past. In fact, during our England days, I had pushed for his inclusion in the Test team when I was coach – and was rewarded when he scored a double hundred in the Ashes victory at Edgbaston in 1997 – and also lobbied for him as an opener in the 1999 World Cup. I was as happy as anyone with the success he made of the England captaincy – and he did it his own way. When he eventually got the job it was at just the right time. For many different reasons, circumstances were on his side. Whereas previously the England team used to turn up on a Tuesday, hours after their last county appearance, now they were on the verge of central contracts and a greater level of professionalism. The job had moved on massively in two years, and Nasser used that to his advantage brilliantly and was very creative as a captain.

      He can be really good fun now, but he was nothing like that as a player. The Nasser Hussain I knew built himself up through such a crescendo of concentration before each match, bubbling away for hours before reaching boiling point at the toss, that you were better off not talking to him. It was his way of preparing for the contest ahead: as an emerging player he always wanted to be on his own, and would immerse himself in the detail of getting his own game right. He wanted to prepare privately, which meant intense net sessions and extra throw-downs to fine-tune his batting. Everything was about his individual game during the period in which he was establishing himself as an international-class batsman, and the team ethic only came as he matured. For the first half of his England career he would be very snappy in preparation, and it was not until a match got under way that he calmed down. We are all different, and he was