WHAT a fantastic victory by England. A thoroughly professional performance by a highly-motivated, disciplined, and yet relaxed squad who have justified the optimism first encouraged by the defeat of New Zealand last winter.
The first two days were the stuff of dreams. For me, however, the most telling period was the fourth day. When Australia fought back through Matthew Elliott, Mark Taylor and Greg Blewett, they were only 35 runs in arrears with eight second innings wickets in hand. One way or another this could have proved to be the turning point of the summer.
Had Australia escaped, as they have done so often in the past, and drawn the Test, or even forced a victory, then I fear that the momentum and ultimately the Ashes could have been theirs. Call me a pessimist, but I am sure that I was not alone in fearing the worst. Instead, two of England's greatest characters came out punching. Darren Gough and Robert Croft epitomise everything that is good about English cricket, and it was they who forced the breakthrough. Once they had got their feet in the door, the whole team responded and England were swept to victory on an irresistible wave. It is indeed very good to be English at the moment.
By the time you read this, I will probably - builders, wife, children and dogs willing - be in bed nursing a huge hangover after yesterday's Benson and Hedges semi-final victory over Northamptonshire.
Of course, we all treated it just like any other game - same pre-match routine, warm-up, stretch, nets, cup of coffee and Racing Post. None of us would have done anything different at all - really! Despite our eagerness not to over-hype the semi-finals, it is only natural to get a touch over-excited.
All 48 players involved would have checked to see the date of the final (it coincides with my mother-in-law's 60th birthday. She is a saint, doesn't look a day over 46, and reads The Telegraph). All 48 would have left for the ground before they would normally have woken up. For once everyone will have socks, shirts, boxes, suncream, stud-screws, spare this and spare that. Even the most chaotic of cricketers - and there are many - are perfectly organised on semi-final day.
The tension in the changing rooms becomes almost visible. There is little of the normal practical joking, and all the apparent calm is a monumental bluff.
No matter how hard we try to focus on the moment, we all know that we are but one game away from our Holy Grail - a Lord's final. Most of the Kent squad have been there before, and were desperate to return to claim that elusive winner's medal, and to experience that spine-tingling surge as you leave the Long Room to enter the fray. The others were just as keen, if not more so - Lord's is Lord's. I have won semi-finals, and I have lost semi-finals and the person who said: ``It's not the winning or the losing, it's the taking part'' was playing a different game from the rest of us.
Here is my timetable from the match at Canterbury:
0800: Leave home. Odd smell in car. 0820: Arrive at ground. Still odd smell, now slightly stronger. 0830: Changing. Discover source of odd smell. Middle daughter has been sick on my tie. 0930: Six-a-side football. Steve Marsh scores debatable winner - John Wright our coach does a very poor impersonation of a referee. 1030: Lose toss. Inserted by Northants. 1100: Walk out with Matthew Walker. 1101: Off the mark first ball, feel a million dollars. 1107: Contemplating a really big one. 1108: The Gold Award's already mine. 1110: Out. 1310: I finish sulking but things aren't looking good for Kent. After two red lights from the third umpire we are 170 for eight. 1415: 206, defendable. 1500-1815: One of the finest Kent bowling and fielding performances I have ever been associated with. The bad balls can be counted on one hand. Northants were 140 all out. Headley irresistible. McCague huge, and fantastic. Strang is a wizard. Ealham steady under fire. The feeling of relief is amazing.