My timing is really off.
This week, England begin their Ashes campaign carrying with them the tools to command the series and win in Australia for the first time since the Eighties.
Next Saturday, we have our club dinner and awards night and, as captain, I will be giving a speech.
This Tuesday, I am flying to Timisoara, Romania and I'm not back until late friday night.
It's a huge week for cricket and I will be in Eastern Europe, a place not known for its enthusiasm for the game. Is there a chance that my hotel will have internet access so brilliant that I will be able to watch the test match on Sky Player - will Sky Player work from an international IP address? Will I be able to listen to Test Match Special as I go to sleep?
Will I, in the dead of night, creep down to the hotel bar to discover other English patriots hunched around the one television in the hotel that is showing the coverage?
Will I find that Romania has a cricketing underbelly and its roots are in the revolutionary city of Timisoara?
And the speech. I'll have to write it on the 'plane on the way home, should I photocopy the pages from the scorebook? I have a recollection that last year, I wrote my speech on a train home from London and delivered it that night. Work has this funny way of intervening in my cricketing life. How lovely it would be to sit around all week, pontificating on the season and crafting some amusing stories to share with the club next Saturday.
Instead I shall be hurtling over central Europe, struggling to recall the exact state of the game, early in the season when we took this catch, or that wicket. When we tasted glorious victory or bitter defeat. When we felt the sun on our backs.