Now then. We’ve covered cricket and music in some depth and, like a Gower-esque waft, we’ve touched upon cricket and cakes.

But for a man of my appetite we haven’t explored the link between cricket and food nearly enough. Let’s tuck in.

It’s undoubtable that any sport which incorporates not one but two mealtimes is an endeavour to be cherished.

Who could deny lunch and tea – leaving aside the debate as to whether tea is actually a proper mealtime – are magnificent ways to break up a day’s toil with bat and ball?

With 11am starts allowing a kipper breakfast to slide down properly, thus negating any on-pitch belches which give a more gastro slant on sledging, there’s a strong argument that cricket isn’t about the sport at all, unless the sport is chasing that last picnic egg around the plate.

Instead, cricket is really about grub. Naturally there’s buffet bowling – with a ball that looks like a nice shiny apple, bats that look like giant pieces of toffee and stumps for baguettes. A bit, if you’re on really strong drugs.

In fact, the move to greater professionalism in the 60s and 70s rather saw a missed trick – rather than using the dull “interval” for the gap between innings on a day-nighter administrators should have called it “dinner”.

Look at some of the game’s finest and it’s not hard to see that food is a subject close to their slightly-clogged hearts: Boon, Inzy, Hughes – even highlights-era Botham.

And, of course, Mike Gatting.

No appreciation of tubby cricketers is complete without Fat Gat, the only man who wasn’t left disappointed by Warne’s Ball Of The Century as it meant he could scarper back to the pavilion to polish off the leftovers.

Robert Key aside, if you can find the strength to heave him aside, England’s elite these days rather let the side down. Only the other day, Mike Atherton was commenting that players had never been fitter – but that it doesn’t necessarily make them better.

Top players are now prime slabs thanks to modern training methods and diet. Prime slabs who break down after bowling three overs on the trot, that is.

Thank the Lord, then, that rubbish Sunday players can tuck in to teas which capture the days of yore and allow us to heave away unchanged and in my case, unrewarded.

The Test Match Special team have it right in their appreciation of cakes, and the sound of Blowers praising a Victoria sponge is as summery and English as swifts circling overhead at the Last Night of The Proms while drinking vast amounts of cheap foreign lager.

So what to serve as a tea during a 40-over fun-fest? Tea, obviously, and gallons of it.

As the Sultans we should probably provide chicken doners on tap.

But I always think that for any picnic (which let’s face it is what a cricket tea is) Ratty’s offerings at the beginning of the Wind In The Willows is a good starting point.

After picking up Mole and titting around in a boat for a while, their thoughts turn to lunch – at which point Ratty reels off a menu that starts with cold chicken before going into the delectable list of “coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledonionssaladfrenchbreadcressandwidgespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonade”.

A pretty fine spread, I’m sure you’ll agree. And one to provide a basis for a feast fit for a king – or Sultans and their guests.