They say that behind every successful cricketer lies a woman.

The next time you think of a professional cricketer's life - the glamour of playing in front of large crowds and travelling around the country, even the world, staying in luxury hotels (well, we do travel around the country!) - spare a thought for the girl he leaves behind.

The girl who has to wash the smelly socks and jockstraps on his return. The girl whose precious weekends are spent watching a game she only half understands.

The role of the cricket widow is not to be under-estimated. If I take you through an average week in our season and look at it through the eyes of my wife, perhaps you'll see what I mean.

Monday: Day off for my husband today. There's a heap of whites in the laundry basket, piled higher than an E.U. sugar mountain. I bet he doesn't even make a start on it today. I don't think he even knows where the washing powder is kept.

Tuesday: Guess what? He forgot about the washing. Still, he was tired after his last match and he did get no runs or wickets in the entire match.

I therefore spent the whole evening reassuring him that he wouldn't get dropped because he is an extremely talented cricketer. Why else would his county have signed him?

I don't actually know if he is any good at cricket but I can't tell him that. Whenever I go and watch him he seems to get what they call a duck. The one time he did get some runs, I kept on missing his best shots, my novel was rather engrossing.

Wednesday to Saturday: His four-day match. I return from work each day in trepidation. Will he be in a good mood (he has played well) or a strop (played badly)?

First day: He took two wickets, he is content as his average was apparently good.

Second day: Hurray, he scored a fifty. Greeted at the door with a smile and a glass of wine. I've learnt to enjoy these rare moments of midweek happiness.

Third day: It rained. He is even happier than the day before. What a job he has! It rains so they just sit around reading papers and playing cards.

Last day: Match ends in a draw.

He seems happy enough but I can't understand how two teams can play each other for four days and neither side win!

Sunday: Whilst every other sane being in the country (apart from the vicar) is lying in and having a leisurely day doing nothing, the idiot has to go and play another game.

This time he wears hideous black and red clothes and they use a white ball. Apparently it's great fun.

After I've done his washing (again), I shall have to go to the ground to try and fathom out why exactly it is supposed to be such fun. I must remember to take my book ...