Cricket love began slowly but this is my bat summer

Times

4 days ago

I went to my first Test match this week at the Oval to watch India v England. It was my fourth trip to watch cricket. There was that field near Derby to watch the county team: I didn't understand anything but was fascinated by how English it was, observing people as they lugged in their own deckchairs and booze. At one point Ken Clarke, still an MP then, sauntered by and, I swear, play stopped.
Then there was a day at Trent Bridge where I began to absorb how overs and innings work. We sat in the 'dry stand' though most people around us found ingenious ways to sneak in drinks. Last summer my friend David and I went to Scarborough to watch Yorkshire and at 'half time' (aka lunch) we could all go on to the ground to have a little go ourselves.
But this has been the breakthrough summer. I have been riveted by this Test. I understand the basics now and some of the strategies too. Time takes on another dimension and I don't mind. But as I sat in the stand at the Oval, gently steaming from multiple rain incidents, watching Gus Atkinson bowl with such pace and style, a surprising question flashed through my mind: am I finally English now?
It feels as if almost every sip of coffee and every step we take are studied for how they affect us but some important questions remain mysterious. When and how does an immigrant become part of his or her adopted country? This has been on my mind since I moved to England from the States in 1984. The citizenship test may ask us about the Blitz or the Glorious Revolution but I have my own trajectory.
There was that moment where I understood that when an English person says they are 'fine', they are not always fine. The word 'nice' is not necessarily nice here. It's a country that can be both deeply tolerant and sometimes intolerant, occasionally in the same sentence. You come here without a sense of humour at your peril. Of course, dear readers, it was you who helped me comprehend the meaning of 'counterpane'. My children have taught me that talking loudly is cause for disinheriting (me).
This week I passed the Tebbit test with flying colours. I would have rooted for the Lionesses no matter who they were playing and the same goes for the cricket. I am English now, though I will never sound it.
The news from Heathrow that we can reroute the M25 through a tunnel 'overnight' and 'not disrupt motorists' is cause for rejoicing. I am not being negative — far from it. It will be life-changing. Can I note that, for the next month, I cannot even drive to the other end of Faversham as the A2 is being dug up to put in pipes for a new batch of homes. Soon, if we follow Heathrow's example, such endless traffic diversions will be a thing of the past. There will be no need to close roads (a national pastime). No need to thank us for our patience or tell us we can't see any work being done because it's being done overnight. In future, à la Heathrow, it can be done 'offline' and not trouble us at all. It's just magical, isn't it?
More news on my Salt Path name (a game that began when we found out that 'Moth' was short for Timothy). I had thought my SP name would have to be 'N' but readers were eager to let me know that it could be 'Enema'. At least it's unusual.