In order to enjoy this book you need to be (1) a cricket enthusiast, (2) somewhere about the author's age (53) or older. I am both and I sort-of enjoyed it. But I am starting to wonder whether Fatty Batter was a one-off. Even my wife, no cricket enthusiast even after all these years, really enjoyed that one, mainly because it was at least as much about a childhood vividly remembered as it was about cricket. The author's earlier book about acting had its moments, as did his book about going through France, but neither was anywhere near Fatty Batter for quality, and this one likewise.
It just isn't all that funny, and at times it isn't even all that interesting. The subtitle is naff - what has anything here to do with English cricket's demise (especially as he concludes by saying that it is not dead)? If you come to this with no great expectations, you won't be disappointed.