I'm only writing this so I don't have to go to bed

Greetings campers. 

You join me in my uber-budget hotel in deepest Salford where I'm staying whilst doing a bit of work. 

Just so you know how glamorous my life actually is, for my £28 I also get a 1970s microwave in my room.

Using all my push button skills, I've just whipped-up a Tesco cottage pie. Later, I shall have a plastic tumbler of tea.

Breakfast tomorrow morning will consist of  two pre-buttered scones which I brought with me on the train from Guiseley in a Tupperware box. I'll wash them down with a small carton of Morrisons orange juice that will also double up as one of my one-a-day.

This surely is how life should be lived. 

I had a day off yesterday.  It began with that traditional set-piece moment for parents with kids of a certain age. The "first day back at school, aren't they cute?" photo.

This was our effort.

Make your own mind up.

And then it was time for a proper treat that I'd really been looking forward to. A day at the cricket.

Bugger.

Not a single ball was bowled. Not even one.

I blame this man.

My pal John Kettley. He's a weather man. They even wrote a song about him. 

Other familiar Yorkshire company was there in the form of ex-international umpire Harold "Dickie" Bird.

That's Dickie on the left telling stories, which were genuinely entertaining. He's flanked by Mark Arthur, the chief executive of Yorkshire County Cricket Club.

So not all bad.

Unless you're staying in my hotel.