ALASTAIR Cook may be a fine cricketer - after all, he does play for England, although it's debatable whether that counts for very much these days - but his journalism leaves a little to be desired.

I've never been a fan of professional sportspeople taking up valuable newsprint.

Don't get me wrong, many retired pros go on to make fine journalists - Richie Benaud, for one, and Geoffrey Boycott certainly doesn't pull any punches; while former footballers Alan Smith and David McVay are particularly good.

But current players with newspaper columns are usually about as hard-hitting as an anaemic baby... wearing fluffy oven gloves... with its hands tied behind its back.

Their thoughts tend to have all the bite of a blancmange, as, quite naturally, they don't want to upset their old muckers in the dressing room.

Their idea of insight is something along the lines of, "Becks can still do a job at international level, because his agent, who also represents me, told me so" or "Harmy, who treated me to a stonking curry in the team hotel last night, is without doubt among the world's top 30 or 40 fast bowlers." And I know they lead somewhat sheltered lives, but when their columns resort to tired old clichés then it really is time to say enough already.

Which brings me back to opening batsman Cook, and his tour diary in a national broadsheet.

Writing in the Daily Telegraph, he said: "Napier is like Bournemouth, a bit of a retirement home - walk through the town centre and nothing is happening. It's in keeping with New Zealand, which resembles England 15 years ago."

Well done, Cooky, for rehashing the hoary old myth about a plane landing in Kiwi country and passengers immediately turning their watches back by 50 years (although you even got that bit wrong by saying it's only 15 years behind the times - allowing for inflation, I guess.) And congratulations too, on confusing the real Bournemouth with the tired old image where, whenever the town was mentioned, it had to be accompanied by the words "blue rinse brigade" and "bathchairs".

Central contracts, which mean Test stars hardly ever turn out for their counties any more, may have been good for the national side, but they've hardly done the players any favours when it comes to getting to know more about the country they represent.

If Hampshire still played a festival week in Bournemouth, and Essex were to visit, then Cook would realise that this particular seaside resort is now very much the place for stag and hen parties, with grown men wearing nappies or Batman costumes, and young women in, well, not much at all, imbibing enough booze to refloat the Titanic.

Instead we have to suffer his "retirement home" jibe.

Still, soon it will be the turn of some other town or city, imagined from the comfort of a five-star hotel room...

  • "Bombay, or Mumbai as everyone insists on calling it, reminds me of London - you can't see beyond the end of your nose for smog, the men all sport handlebar moustaches and the ladies sip tea and eat cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off... "
  • "The convicts that make up the entire population of Melbourne are a cheery bunch, their hats festooned with corks on string and their insatiable thirst for weak lager putting me very much in mind of Newcastle..."
  • "Cape Town really is a splendid place, rather like Mummy and Daddy's second (or is it third?) home in Tuscany, but with rather worse food, although the white wines can be spiffing, provided they're served at the right temperature, of course, which can be a rather hit and miss affair on tiresome tours such as this."