During this summer's Test series, two words filled me with dread when I heard them mentioned on sports broadcasts or read them in newspapers.

They were the words ‘Trescothick’ and ‘Marcus’, and any mention normally heralded a report of some sparkling piece of batting from the hitherto leaden-footed, overweight West Countryman.

Okay, so he fluffed his lines at Lord’s and I could’ve closed out my £5 sell of his series runs at 351 for a modest profit. But then 111 at Edgbaston, 104 at Old Trafford and 92 at Trent Bridge shunted me into the intolerable position of already being £20 down before umpire Billy Bowden had filled his hip flask for the final Test at The Oval.