‘I PLAYED WITH ARTHUR SMITH, A COMEDIAN FRIEND OF MINE, WHO HAD A TEAM CALLED DUSTY FLEMING’S INTERNATIONAL HAIR STYLISTS.’
Alan Davies was born in Loughton, Essex, on 6 March 1966. He is an actor, comedian and writer, who starred in the BBC mystery series Jonathan Creek and is a permanent panellist on QI, the BBC comedy quiz programme. He also has the leading role as a celebrity chef in Whites, which started its BBC run in September 2010, and has made numerous appearances on other radio and television programmes, including A Many Splintered Thing. He is an award-winning stand-up comedian and his autobiographical book, My Favourite People and Me, was published in 2009.
Alan Davies and I are both Islington residents and we meet in Trevi, a restaurant just off Highbury Corner. It is well regarded, modest, family-orientated and Italian, and busy even on a hot weekday afternoon. Alan arrives at three on the dot and orders linguini fruta de mare while I nurse a coffee. He is a pescatarian and tells me that this dish will be ‘a bowl of pasta with bits of squid sticking out of it’! It’s an encouragingly relaxed start to a chat with a man I have not met before and who, as well as being an Arsenal supporter, has been watching cricket since he was a schoolboy.
‘My brother and I were taken to Lord’s in the mid-1970s to see England play against Pakistan. Then there was England against the West Indies at the Oval in 1976, when Michael Holding was bowling, and he would walk out nearly to the boundary and then turn round and run in. He was fantastic and took loads of wickets – and the whole field was brown because of the hot weather. When I was 10 or 11, I was also taken to see Essex. They never seemed to have done anything at all until 1979, when they won the Championship for the very first time, led by Keith Fletcher. I can still remember their names: Pont and East, Acfield and Graham Gooch, as well as Lever. Whenever I look at Essex in the newspaper I somehow still think it is going to say Acfield, East, Pont…
‘I was taught how to score by my dad, so I bought little score books and went over to Woodford Wells Cricket Club, which is near where I grew up and not far from here. Most of the time we didn’t know the names of the players – we didn’t even know who the other team was! – so we would make up names. We would find some characteristic in the player, so if he had a short-sleeved jumper or bald head or dark hair or flat cap, then that would help us find a name. ‘Wrongfoot’ was my favourite, because my dad was very hot on any bowler who bowled off the wrong foot. I remember Mike Procter used to bowl like that and whenever he was on television, every time he bowled my dad would ask why he had bowled off the wrong foot. So I might write in my scorebook: Baldy, caught Black Cap, bowled Wrongfoot, 14.
‘We also had a game that we used to play which my granddad, I think, maybe invented, called Dob Cricket. You stuck a pin in the obituary notice of the newspaper and each letter of the alphabet or number represented something that happened in the game of cricket. I can’t remember many of them now, except that “M” was three runs. Every time you stuck the pin in was a delivery and if you didn’t get a letter then it was a dot ball. It was quite a good representation of a game of cricket: you didn’t get silly scores so no one ever made 280 not out.’
But apart from scoring and Dobbing, there were times when Alan actually played the game, initially in the garden with his older brother. ‘We had one pair of batting gloves and they were getting a bit dirty so he said I couldn’t wear them. Then I got my thumb trapped between the ball and the bat handle, giving me a blood blister that looked like a black 10p piece. I was screaming! I’ll never forget the pain. Dad came out and asked me why I wasn’t wearing the batting gloves. I wailed, “He wouldn’t let me wear them.” But that apart, when I was batting, I just wanted to slog it. I had no patience with building an innings or playing myself in, or any of the things I was taught by my dad. So no forward defensive shots or keeping my elbow up – I just wanted to slog it!
‘I played very little cricket at school and it wasn’t until later on, when I was in my twenties, that I played with Arthur Smith, the comedian and a good friend of mine, who had a team called Dusty Fleming’s International Hair Stylists. Dusty Fleming was a hairdresser who had a series of commercials on television, in which someone would be desperately in need of a hair-do on a film set or whatever, and Fleming would suddenly run across and say, “Dusty Fleming, international hair stylist” and would fix their hair. Arthur thought this was so funny, which is why he named his team as he did. We played four or five times each summer, usually against his friend Chris England’s team, which he called “An England XI”.
‘All kinds of people would play in those games, some quite well-known comedians or actors. I remember Hugh Grant, who was at university with one of the other guys, playing one game. Arthur would always have a dinner and dance at the end of the season, which was over a pub in Wandsworth. He would make his own awards and my favourite was always “Best Catch Taken Whilst Smoking”. I was playing every summer, but then Arthur got really ill and as a consequence he had to stop drinking completely – and that really was the whole point of the cricket. It really was. It started in the pub and finished in the pub. But it’s died out now – plus Chris England used to take it very seriously and Arthur thought that was really boring. Arthur wanted to play 20 overs a side and back to the pub. Chris England would always want to get in and bat and play for as long as daylight lasted.’
In the course of our conversation, Alan reveals an intriguing and diverse group of cricketing heroes, but one in particular stands out as almost a god. ‘Botham can’t put a foot wrong for me. I just think he’s fantastic, and the way he played cricket – I’ve never seen anything like it, before or since. Sometimes you watch someone play and you think it’s just luck, but as a teenage boy, watching him in 1981, it was amazing. He doesn’t even look like he’s got his eyes open half the time, yet he’s swinging that bat like a great bit of oak that he’s pulled off a tree. He doesn’t even take any notice of the delivery. If he wants to go down and hit it, he’ll go down and hit it. And if they bounce him, he is quick enough, despite his size, to react and swat it. Pure instinct. Just talent, incredible reactions and hand-eye coordination. And you’d think, “Well, that’s a one-off.” But the fact is, he would go out and smash 50s and 80s all the time. Just like that day at Headingley against the Aussies when he hit 149.
‘It’s also really extraordinary that he’s done something like 12 charity walks, covering around 20 miles a day, day after day, and has raised £10 or £12 million or something. It is unthinkable. My mum died of leukaemia, so the Leukaemia Research charity is important to me, and I think what he has done is extraordinary. He received a well-deserved knighthood. I thought it was wrong to dish out MBEs when England won the Ashes – you shouldn’t get an MBE for winning; you should get it for contributions over a long time. But honours like Botham’s knighthood are well and truly deserved. Astonishing bloke. Sometimes he got into trouble and got such a bad press. In fact, the worse the press he got, the more I liked him! Just leave him alone. He is what he is. I felt sorry for his wife sometimes but yes, amazing. One of the greatest English cricketers – perhaps of the century.’
Next it’s a long haul, to India in 2009, for two players who made a very big impression on Alan. ‘I was lucky. I was in Chennai for the wedding of my wife’s friend when, because of the terrorist attack, they moved the Mumbai Test match there. So I got to go to the Test with Danny Morrison, the New Zealand pace bowler, who is not only good fun but also got tickets for me. England batted laboriously but built a good lead, setting India about 380 to win when they declared towards the end of the fourth day. They thought they could get the openers out before the close, but Sehwag came in and hit 80-odd in about 10 overs. It was really exhilarating: the crowd were electrified, and I’ve never seen hitting like it. If you said to me, “Sehwag is playing at Highbury Fields,” I would run round there right now! I mean, there are not many people I could say that about!
‘Tendulkar went on the following day to make a hundred, and to watch him is amazing. He can play any game you like. He can drop anchor for three days or he can score 200 in an hour. He can do anything he wants. I watched him in the field on the third and fourth day. The fielders walk in as the bowler is running up, and everyone watches. After the delivery, when Tendulkar turns round to walk back out again, all the crowd cheer and wave until he turns again, and then they stop. So I imagine that when he goes around the world, or goes around India, people just wave and cheer. That’s what they do every time they see him – he is an absolute deity.’
After Botham, Sehwag and Tendulkar, Alan Knott of Kent is someone he rated highly. ‘Alan Knott was my childhood hero, partly because he has the same name as me! He was always in the England team; he won 95 caps and played for England for about 15 years, virtually unbroken. I used to follow Kent, even though we lived in Essex, because I had a thing about Knott. He was always in the picture, doing exercises, and he caught the eye. I always liked the slightly odd, eccentric players, like Derek Randall. I was always a sucker for a brilliant cover fielder, and I liked that he couldn’t stand still. Randall was outstanding, and David Gower was as well. Gower was like lightning in the covers, even though he wandered about with his hands in his pockets most of the time. He could pick the ball up and get it in better than anyone.’
For his home county, John ‘JK’ Lever, a fine left-arm bowler, was always one of Alan’s favourites. JK now coaches at Alan’s old school, Bancroft’s, but Alan mischievously claims, ‘He is actually the creator of Harry Potter under the nom de plume Rowling! I am pretty sure about this. After all, have you ever seen Lever and Rowling in the same room?’ When, a few days later, I tell JK about Alan’s claim, he replies, ‘I have to say he obviously hasn’t tried to read my autobiography!’
Alan then tells me about the best match he has ever seen. I have to confess that I had never heard of Bermuda’s Cup Match, even though it has been played every year since 1901. ‘This is worth going to if you are a real cricket fan. Somerset and St George’s, teams from either end of the lovely island, play over two days in a game simply called Cup Match. I went to watch the first day, at this ramshackle ground in the middle of Bermuda, with this really nice, brightly coloured pavilion and corrugated iron sheds all around the boundary. The thing I remember most about it is that as one of the batsmen was approaching 50, some guys came out and walked around the boundary with a hat, making a collection for him. People were throwing in coins, all sorts of money – and a few empty beer cans! When he got his 50, they ran on the field and presented him with the hatful of money. There was music playing, there were barbecues going on – it was packed out. It was on the radio: the concierge at the hotel had a transistor radio on the desk listening. It’s a huge event, and well worth a visit.’
Alan was in Australia during the World Cup in 1992, staying in Adelaide with his aunt and uncle, and he went to see Australia play Sri Lanka. ‘The visitors, who at the time were a bit hopeless, posted less than 200 in their 50 overs. In reply, Moody and Marsh put on a hundred plus for the first wicket, but got them very slowly. Whatever you say about Twenty20, it’s better than the 50-over game, it really is. Eventually Dean Jones came in – the Jones Boy as they call him – and he blocked a couple and scored one or two and then suddenly hit a straight six over the bowler’s head right up on to the bank. It got the whole place on its feet. It was an immaculate straight six, but by that time they only needed about 12 to win. I wanted Sri Lanka to keep bowling another five or six overs, just so I could see a bit more of Jones.’
I had been to Lord’s the evening before this chat for a Twenty20 floodlit match that had pulled in a crowd of 17, 000, and Alan had visited the Chelmsford ground the previous summer when it was absolutely packed. ‘It’s never usually that crowded. The cricket is quite well supported by the Essex public and it is a good, well-run club, but this is unheard of. The bars are packed, the merchandise is flying out the tent and they just want it every day of the week. The odd thing is that nobody really cares about the cricket, because it’s just a silly slog, I think. Maybe if the game is played more it will settle down, and players are going to take it more seriously if there is more money in it. I think when it started they just put on their pyjamas, the music was playing, and they just went out and had a whack. They didn’t care.
‘But it is changing the way the game is played. The reverse sweep was something that was absolutely frowned upon when I was a boy. No one would even try it, because if you got out to it you were crucified. Now it is a “legit” shot – Eoin Morgan does it all the time. There are a couple of Indian guys, who run a shop at the end of my road, cricket fanatics. They love Twenty20, even though I tell them that it’s not cricket – it’s silly, it’s obscene. It’s like Arsenal playing Chelsea at five-a-side. It doesn’t matter. And they always argue that it does matter, because England has won the World Cup, and I thought, “Well, apart from the fact that South Africans and an Irishman won it for them!” I can’t really get interested, but OK, maybe I will get into it in the long run. We won’t be talking about Twenty20 for years to come in the way you do about Test match cricket. But I think kids will grow up and learn about the game, and get enthusiasm for it, through Twenty20.
‘I must say that I don’t see the point of the long One Day International series that they play, quite often after the Test matches. I just get tired of it and would rather have seven Tests than that. I don’t understand the one-day game any more. I don’t know what a “power play” is and I can’t follow the fielding regulations. Like rugby union, which I played at school, I don’t understand the rules any more. If they have to keep changing the rules, there’s something wrong with the game.’
Not having taken to Twenty20 and tired of too many one-day matches, there is no doubt that Test match cricket reigns supreme for Alan. ‘That’s what matters. That is all that matters. What is your Test average? That will tell you at the end whether you are a good player or not. I love Test cricket. It is the best. It is perfect. You can be gripped by every session, no matter what. And it doesn’t get any better than it did in 2005 and those amazing games against Australia. Every session was on a knife-edge. Every wicket counted. I mean, still to this day Glenn McGrath treading on the cricket ball was the best thing. It was the most significant incident in the whole series. What was he doing playing touch rugby?’
The last traces of linguini disappear from Alan’s plate and he declines the offer of dessert and coffee. Having completed the task of sorting out the inner man, he moves on to talk about the coverage of cricket on TV. Alan is most in tune with the commentators who don’t take themselves or the game too seriously. ‘Well, David “Bumble” Lloyd always tries to make sure that there is never a dull moment – never a dull remark. Very astute, very knowledgeable. Never says anything you think, “Nah, that’s not right.” Michael Holding has got such a wonderful voice and is just a joy to listen to. And he smiles and says the right thing. You just want a little bit of insight into what it feels like to be there, what’s going through their minds. That’s what they can offer. But I don’t really like the way that if you are an ex-England captain, you get to go straight on the box. I just feel they line up the ex-England captains and in they go.
‘And I don’t really like Atherton’s writing. I think it’s extremely negative and critical and humourless. I don’t know why he’s so hard on people. I’m baffled by it. He won an award for his writing but seems to hate everybody who plays. Although he’s not too bad on Sky Sports. To be honest, I think all the cricket writers are really hard on the players, really hard. I feel as though, with each delivery in a game, you can look at what the bowler did, or what the batsman or the fielders did, and either they did it well or badly. If you’re a batsman in a Test series, your head’s on the block every ball. You might make an error. You might hold your bat too far out or flash at something, be deceived and you’re out. But a lot of the journalists just have a go at them.
‘I’ve been in that press box at Lord’s, that sort of sealed room they built at the end of the ground. Not only can you not hear what is going on outside, you can’t even hear the ball hit the bat, never mind the crowd cheering. But no one speaks in there. It’s like being in a library. It’s no wonder that you end up writing a lot of angry stuff! You want to say to them, “Lighten up! It’s only a game of cricket.” It’s one of the things you come to for fun.
‘Brian Johnston was, I think, the greatest radio broadcaster there has ever been. It was the humour as much as anything. You can’t sit there with a stony face and take cricket super-seriously for six hours a day, for five days of a Test match. I mean it is inhuman. So I really liked Johnners. When I was growing up there was also John Arlott, Jim Laker, Peter West and Tony Lewis. There was a slightly different atmosphere about it with all of them. And Arlott had such a wonderful voice.
‘The only sad thing about cricket for me is that everyone doesn’t love it. With football you can go anywhere in the world and it is so popular, but with cricket you have to punch away because I think you have to have been immersed in it as a boy. I was drawn completely into it by my granddad and my dad. My older brother loves cricket; he’s played club cricket all his life. And so whenever I hear the commentary on the radio, it still takes me back to being in the back of the car in the 1970s and hearing that the Australians had six slips and two gullies. Terrifying! My dad used to complain about the way they appealed, because they did it so ferociously that he thought the umpire was just going to give it out anyway. He might have had a point. But it does stir up that nostalgia in you from your childhood. Cricket is hard to get into unless you have been led by the hand. It’s complicated and difficult to understand, a wonderful game, and there is something beautifully addictive about it – there really is.’
As we prepare to go our separate ways, I feel as though I have been chatting to a mate I have known for years. But it is not the last time that I will see Alan that day. A few weeks earlier, when we were fixing up this meeting, he had invited my wife, Helen, and me to a recording of the comedy quiz programme QI on the South Bank. Presided over as usual by Stephen Fry, this particular edition turned out to be the Christmas show – ironically recorded on one of the hottest days of the year! Being brilliantly entertained by a panel that also included Lee Mack, Graham Norton and Daniel Radcliffe was the perfect way to end a day that was, at the very least, ‘quite interesting’.