Ah, peace at last. Finally I can just sit quietly on some grass and enjoy the sombre pace of test cricket. No smash hits of the 80s, 90s and (worst of all) today polluting the game. No rushing to get beer in fear of missing half the action.
Underneath me the moist, dull itch of rye grass. In front, the soothing test palette of white on green. Around me the warm, knowing embrace of fellow test-cricket lovers. This is a place where vinegar-scented hours are encouraged to dawdle by. Where the stuffy can nestle in for the day, safe in the knowledge that nobody will judge them for being boring. Yes, test cricket at the Basin Reserve.
It wasn't my first visit to our premier test ground. I'd been a few years ago when Alviro Peterson elegantly assembled a hundred-and-something runs on a lively-ish wicket. I'd also visited once on a blustery day wearing headphones when we played India - a failed experiment which denied me the duvet-like sounds which only test cricket can produce. Both visits were pleasant enough, but my latest excursion was by far the most anticipated, mainly because this time I had access to the entire ground thanks to the kindness and hospitality of Wellington Cricket chief executive Peter Clinton.
In the past I'd positioned myself in the northwestern quarter of the Basin with just enough height to see the ball's bounce. However, today was different. Today I was privy to the inner workings of the RA Vance Stand, a late-70s/early-80s architectural masterpiece which houses the most fervent cricket supporters in the country.
They do cricket properly in Wellington. The patronage is old. They serve complimentary tea and coffee to the members huddled together on chairs behind an eight-foot wall of glass. The men wear ties and the women know their hooks from their pulls. Today it smells like a seductive mixture of Tabac for men and Panache by Lentheric.