For breakfast yesterday morning, I decided to cook scrambled eggs for Harry and I before he went off to college.

I took four eggs from the fridge and with a happy soul courtesy of a fine Spring morning, I cracked them into the pan with the kind of flamboyant and gay abandon you would normally associate with a man who had not a care in the world.

I did this on the basis that it mattered not a jot if the yolks burst as after all, these eggs were about to be scrambled by my own fair hand. Remarkably, despite my care free attitude, one by one, all four landed in perfect shape as they hit the base of the pan.

Scrambled eggs: The route to cricketing success?

Compare this to when I attempt to make fried eggs by carefully tapping the the side of the pan before splaying the yoke into a kind of fried omelette, and you will understand that I am getting my egg cooking psychology all wrong.

I instantly took this as a sign from above that when I play cricket, I should, in future, adopt the carefree approach that I use when scrambling eggs, rather than tentatively prodding around engulfed by the impending fear of humiliation that comes with getting out.

That’s right, I believe that I have been batting like a man who is being over-cautious whilst attempting to fry the perfect egg, and by tensing up through fear of getting it wrong, my cricket stroke play is a metaphor of a burst egg yolk in a frying pan.

So, next week, when I go out to bat, I am going to think of nothing but scrambled eggs.

Some might argue that if a psychologist read this blog, they may come to the conclusion that I could well be in the middle of mental breakdown.

A conclusion that I must admit, is not entirely out of the question.