When Woody, one of the lads from our cricket club, invited me to an evening with Aggers and Tuffers at the Anvil in Basingstoke, I must admit, I wasn’t salivating.

However, without the shackles of BBC scripts and the fear of the PC police, they provided a charming and funny evening of entertainment that was definitely worth the money.

My cynicism before the show was based on my loathing for ‘A Question of Sport’ the contrived and ferociously scripted BBC production where the audience of zombies are instructed to laugh at absolutely nothing.

I think I laughed more when I was informed I would need an intrusive operation disturbingly close to my anus, than I ever have done at at ‘A Question of Sport.’

So, when you consider one of the captains on QOS is Phillip (Tuffers) Tuffnell you will understand that I didn’t consider that the omens for an entertaining evening, were good.

I am glad that I was to be proved wrong and it was good to hear a funny and fascinating insight into how amateur cricket was right up until the nineties, a time when it was seemingly, a lot more fun too.

Those of us who marvel at the athleticism of the modern game, particularly in the field, have to accept that it is at the expense of flamboyant characters like Tuffnell who didn’t try to be a ‘character’, he just was one.

Tuffnell wouldn’t even get in a county team now, let alone the English one, but the lavish financial rewards he missed out on couldn’t have bought the fun and mayhem he was often in the centre of.

In 10 years time, as good as a player he is, imagine going to watch ‘An Evening With Alistair Cook’.

“So there  I was in Australia, when I realised that  I had only packed 24 bats when I usually take 25.”

So, it was a good evening and one that was spectacularly enhanced by a chap sat just along from us who inexplicably hurled a pint of bitter down the back of the guy in front of him.

Woody has a comedy face, so his perplexed expression enhanced a moment that was, on its own, worth the entrance fee.

Afterwards, we surmised that the only possible explanation for this act was that the guy dropped his pint, frantically tried to catch it but, forgetting it was a plastic pint glass, only proceeded to squirt it over the confused and unfortunate recipient.

As he desperately tried to mop his victims back, I rejoiced at the fact that this was the best £25:00 I had spent for some time.

Cheers for a good night Woody, Deano and Gerry.