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Good Morning,

At the time of writing this, the cricket is about to start and I’m not sure what my Thought For The Day is going to be about. I’d like it to be about the cricket. That way I could watch it whilst writing about it. There’s plenty to discuss: can a West Indian team win their first series here for 32 years? What form will the Black Lives Matter protest take? How well can you play when no-one is watching? There’s lots of theology in cricket.

But rain has stopped play and there are probably other things I should talk about: There’s the boycott of Facebook; the cash injection for the arts; plus Kanye West is running for President. Which begs the question could The West Wing become The Wests’ West Wing? But I can’t quite work out what to say about these things and the cricket – even rain delayed - is proving a big distraction.

I slink upstairs from my office to try and watch the first few overs. It’s okay. I’ve been working from home for 20 years and have a focused, Alistair Cook-like attitude towards my working day. I know which balls to hit and which to leave. People tell me I must be disciplined to work at home alone. And I suppose I am. Although who’s watching, apart from God?

For 20 years I’ve had the privilege of the place to myself but now others are working at home, using my bandwidth, drinking my coffee, exposing my technique. In one room, my wife is trying to teach her class Paradise Lost via Zoom; while my son has requisitioned the TV room as an office. They’re both working hard and don’t I know it!

Apart from those on the front line, the lockdown has forced many to work from home. Some are loving the not commuting; gaining an hour in bed; avoiding that awful boss. Some may never go back to the office. Others are struggling. For the lack of that someone who sharpens you, the buzz of a real person; like cricketers with a crowd, they need the electric hum of people; the knowledge that someone is in the room watching you, ups your game.

By the afternoon, it’s still raining. I pray Ezekiel’s prayer. ‘Come on Lord, we need showers of blessing, not this.’ I take an early lunch and listen to Test Match Special. Although there’s still no cricket for them to describe I realise that some commentary is better than no commentary; that it’s the voices I need to hear as much as the cricket I need to see.

And then, after a long delay, when it feels as though a rain has stopped all our play for the last four months, the sun appears, the people take the knee, and a man in dazzling white walks to the middle of the gathering and announces the good news that play will continue.

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