It rained. Like biblically. And then it was clear and bright – IS clear and bright as I write – for a big lump of time. Others, notably my hugely esteemed friend Mr G Dobell, Esquire, expressed immediate concerns about possible errors/omissions/slacknesses from the groundstaff because the match was abandoned surprisingly early, given the medium-fab conditions which followed. In short, (dare we ask?) did the venue staff cock it up, allowing the devilish downpour to seep through into critical areas of the pitch? (Because it didn’t look right).

And then – factoid – it *really was* balmy, or at the very least pleasantly helpful, for a prolonged period, immediately after the deluge. And, yaknow, this was an international match, in which England were in real danger of eviscerating the record books. So questions.

It may, however, be foolish to let hard rain be the story when the story should be Salt, or Duckett, or the cruel tribulations of the Irish seamers. Some extraordinary cricket happened.

Here’s how the action we saw felt, live:

Don’t ask me; just don’t ask me. I have no idea what triggered the enduring JD earworm. Was it Brizzle in the drizzle, being overcoatastically moody? Maybe. Maybe the (very temporary) greyness pointed my soul back to the Boy Curtis at his poetic/philosophical peak?

Existence well what does it matter? We live in the best way we can.

The past is all part of our future. The present is well out of hand.

Welcome to Gloucestershire County Cricket. Where Salt is facing Adair and Jacks is quietly pacing and Crawley – probably not a JD man – is England skipper. (I nearly wrote ‘incredibly’, here). Oh – and Salt has now taken 18 off the first four balls. (And then then the fifth was a wide). So my earworm thing was a portend. The world is ending. Welcome.

Jacks shows a greater degree of mercy than his partner; partly because the second over, from the spirited Little, is goodish. The poor fella Adair, meanwhile can’t find a wormhole quick enough or fast enough. England are going waaaay beyond that routine making of statements thing into a brutal humiliation zone. Jesus. Jacks joins in. England are SIXTY for 0 off the first FOUR OVERS. It’s an all-new, ridicu-level battering. This is happening despite the *bowler-friendly conditions*. Go figure: both Little and Adair are getting some swing and some movement off the pitch.

I’m trying hard not get distracted by a particular journo who is talking on the phone. It’s work-talk, and he’s not (now) doing that loud self-important thing (quite), but it is a pain in the arse. He ain’t gonna read this, so I will add that a senior colleague of his views him with deliciously real contempt… cos that feels like some kind of silent retribution for the last twenty minutes of infringement.

Salt has got 50 and then 60 before we get through 7 overs. Everything is ‘going’. Then he is, caught skying to mid-on. Cruelly thrilling stuff. Crawley marches out with England on 87 for 1, and McCarthy replacing Little, at the Ashley Down Road End. Jacks welcomes him with a six then four.

100 up on the 7 over mark. Perversely, Crawley gets England there with a gently steered straight drive, after having played a straight-batted defensive shot(!) to the previous ball. Jacks – fishing or fending(?) – is fortunate to escape as he edges towards short third, but Young bowls him with a peach the following delivery. 104 for 2, off 8. Duckett re-forms the Little and Large partnership with the towering captain. The skies have lowered a wee bit… and then cleared and brightened.

There are ironies in play – maybe there always are? Here they concern the noticeable softening of urgency, as the two notably urgent England Test openers see out a regression into Proper Cricket. The expectation for endless violence has retreated, somewhat. This gentility may be temporary.

Crawley drives straight and hard, at McCarthy. Classical. Four. But the recent #bantz in the press box includes the idea that England were ‘on for 700’. So even assuming a good wedge of stoutness and application from our Irish brothers, a massacre, possibly of historic proportions, seems inevitable. As if to reinforce that, Crawley hoists dismissively, for another six. 136 for 2, off 14.

Curtis Campher may be forgiven for drawing plenty of ujayii breaths, (for yogic comfort), before joining us – despite that slight tapering of violence. He gets off fairly lightly and can inhale further, over drinks. Ireland need drinks: short, nasty fekkers, probably.

Adair returns from beneath us. Goes too full. Cuffed through midwicket. Then Duckett absolutely clatters Campher, pulling just in front of square. Gleeful and violent again. When the batter tries to repeat – albeit with more of a cross-court top-spin drive, Nadal-style – mid-on bravely gets a hand there. Good, if symbolic stop.

Sit back briefly, to reflect. A re-cap should probably include the idea that Ireland haven’t necessarily bowled that badly. Feels more to me that England simply have better players. Salt (in particular) then, and Jacks were enabled or freed towards that killer explosion from the off. Duckett’s swing at Camphor suggests that he’s ready to launch, now, too: fabulous, skilled driller goes flying between the bowler and the ump. Four, and now 176 for 2, off 20.

We have our first sight of spin, from what (I’m going to call) the Media Centre End. Van Woerkom (born Christchurch) is a left-armer. The batters don’t let him settle. Little’s authentic Irishness serves him no better, on his return to Ashley Down. Crawley blasts to 50 in the over, which includes a crunching six over long-on.

200 come up in the following (23rd) over, with the light now brilliant and Duckett’s sweep joyfully extravagant. He also has 50, now.

Crawley goes. VW gets some turn away from him and the ball flies to short third. Sam Hain (born Hong Kong) will replace him. Duckett is pulling hard, at Little, who seems happy enough to proffer that gamble. Slight miscue, safe and good running brings three. Ireland cannot afford any misfields. There have been a couple. England’s leftie slog-sweeps, and times, to go to 68.

I think George Dockrell has just become Ireland’s seventh bowler on the day. No issue with that: why wouldn’t you cast around to seek some change or respite – or luck? Hain looks settled, early but it’s Duckett again who catches the eye. Another fabulous, liquid sweep rattles the boundary fence/rope/toblerone-thing. Hearing various numbers quoted here: all suggest this is a world-beating, record-breaking score (for England’s second team).

Oof. Adair has fallen heavily into the advertising-boards. He may wish it happened after his first three balls… but he will carry on.

Hain is plainly a man who can launch, but currently I’m enjoying his late-playing, soft-hands vibe. He’s guiding the ball around, seemingly untroubled, seemingly waiting. Ah. Until that. A rather ugly swipe towards cow – top-edged. He’s fortunate. There may be a team policy to pull the seamers hard, perhaps to expose and even demoralise the (mere) medium-quickness of the visitors. Cloud is in-filling, as Duckett slaps Dockrell for six, to go beyond the ton. (Off 72 deliveries; lots and lots of ver-ry well struck and well-placed shots).

14.45. Rain feels possible – maybe imminent.

I thought Hain was looking good, early doors, but his frustration may have grown. As it gets *really dark*, he slaps hard at another shortish one and clubs it to mid-wicket. Just as the rains starts.

Wow. It rains hard. On a ground where there’s not a huge amount of cover. (Not a complaint, just an observation… and possibly borne of the fact that my son is out there, and I’ve got his coat. Insert appropriate emoji). It’s rained HARD. To the extent that we wonder if this is over… at 15.02.

15.12. Clearer and brighter to our left. But is The Damage already done? Not heard any announcingments yet…

MATCH ABANDONED. May add more thoughts later… or may go the pub with my son, who leaves for Thailand/Aus (for SIX MONTHS) tomorrow!!