In the July issue of Wisden Cricket Monthly, Emma John spoke to Jack Russell He could be a fading rock star. The stubble, the uncropped hair, the bristling 1970s moustache – Jack Russell, hidden behind his Oakleys, is only an earring shy of the Ozzy Osbourne brigade. Except that Russell is not fading. He says that his reactions are sharper and his body more tuned than ever. Most of his peers agree. For a man turning 40 next year it is no mean feat that he is still considered one of the best and most athletic keepers in the world. "I understand what makes my body fire," he says. Suddenly that diet of bananas, baked beans and Weetabix does not seem so crazy.

There is also an osteopath, whom he visits every third week, and a routine of gym and sprint work to keep him keen. His batting remains as idiosyncratic as ever and, when we speak, he has just jabbed 16 runs off 84 balls to help Gloucestershire stay in front in their Championship match with Nottinghamshire. Off the field, however, Russell defies the caricature that has defined him throughout his playing career. There are no quirks here, just strongly held views, softly spoken.

"I think England has the best wicketkeepers in the world, because it's one of the hardest places to keep wicket," he says. "The ball keeps low and often moves around after it pitches, so keepers have very little time to use their feet to get to the ball." Aside from James Foster and Alec Stewart, Russell can easily name another four keepers whom he considers Test-standard: Chris Read, Adrian Aymes, Andrew Pratt and Keith Piper. Piper has his personal approval: "He's the most natural keeper in England, especially stood up to the wicket. His action is so effortless it's almost lazy, but still in control."

As he talks, his hands mimic his speech, following imaginary deliveries into invisible gloves. Russell has altered his own technique since he played his last Test against West Indies at Antigua in 1997-98, and believes he is now a less-defensive keeper than he was for England. Standing up to the Gloucestershire seamers Ian Harvey and Jon Lewis has "pushed his game forward". And Russell is in no doubt that Gloucestershire's aggressive approach to fielding, with both the keeper and slips standing closer to the stumps, has been responsible for their recent one-day success.

"We've found it very effective in restricting batsmen's movements," says Russell, adding that bowlers find the edge more easily when batsmen are forced to play from the crease and batsmen are more likely to be lbw if they cannot cover the sideways movement of the ball. Harvey's hat-trick against Warwickshire in the B&H Cup in May, all caught close to the wicket, was a result of what Russell calls "attacking keeping".

But on a national scale keeping has lost its lustre. "When I first got into the England side, the catching behind the wicket was a priority. Gradually, over the years, people have neglected that," he says, amazed that England do not employ a wicketkeeping coach. "Would the England football team not have a goalkeeping coach? If England want to win the World Cup, they've got to be the best fielding side in the world. And that means having the best keeper in the world." What if that was him? He shakes his head. "I can't blow my own trumpet. I've always wanted the last five years playing just for Gloucestershire so I can give it everything each day."

Russell watches Nottinghamshire's Read spring behind the stumps. He talks of Read's unfulfilled potential and mutters angrily about how England "bombed him out". Foster, he worries, is in for a similar deal. "It's just so unprofessional, in a multi-million-pound business, that they'll spend £40million on administration but they won't spend a few thousand on a keeping coach." His voice rises to a mezzo forte as he recalls how the England management refused to pay for Alan Knott's phone-calls to himself and Alec Stewart while the two were on tour. "It winds me up big-time," he sighs. "Sorry."

As a man obsessed with his personal legacy – as a boy, graveyards were a favourite hangout – Russell is not unhappy with an international career spanning 54 Tests, although he still wishes he had played more. Nor does he suffer nightmares about missed chances, though dropping Gus Logie off Devon Malcolm in Trinidad in 1989-90 when West Indies were 40 for 5 remains a worst moment. (Logie went on to make 98 in a total of 199.) For years he wrote a daily log of his Test performances, including every miss, but gave it up because it was putting him under too much pressure. Now he has mellowed. Misses still "hurt for a few days", but he is better at forgetting them.

There is more that Russell wants to leave for posterity. "I used a lot of Bob Taylor's technique, and I'd like to think there are things other keepers could take from me," he admits. At Gloucestershire he is already mentor to a new young keeper, Stephen Pope. And he believes that whichever England ingénu is sent to the West Indies on the winter tour in 2003-04 will need some expert help. "The surface between you and the stumps is usually pretty terrible," he says. England need only give him a call.

Russell emphasises the mental side of keeping and talks about "percentages" as if catching a ball is a mathematical problem. "It's like batting and working out which shots to play," he says. Keeping to a left-arm spinner is easier than keeping to an offspinner because the ball will keep straight or move away to the right. "With an offspinner you're going to get three straight balls, then the hard ball, the one that spins and goes through the gate," he says. "For that, you've got to be really aware; nothing should surprise you."

Balance is his buzzword. "You've got to get the balance right. You've got to be aggressive" – he bares his teeth and pulls a face not unlike his yappy canine namesake – "but you've got to be relaxed in your arms. Hands are everything." Russell plans to have his own stripped to the bone and put on display in his Chipping Sodbury gallery after his death. The details are still a little sketchy – he does not know if his family will be bold enough to fulfil his wish, and he has yet to decide whether to leave one hand or two. "I might need one in the after-life," he says.

Russell could become a great teacher. He knows what it is like to learn from a master of his art. Even now, Russell will phone his mentor and all-time hero Knott for guidance. Knott gave him the freedom to develop his own technique because, as Russell points out, "you couldn't copy Knotty". He did, however, teach him his most important lesson. It was the first time he had spoken to Knott and, as they sat together in the Gloucestershire pavilion, Russell asked him what he thought about as he stood up to Derek Underwood. "He said: `I put my hands on the line of the ball and my hands on the height of the ball.' That was it. And he'd check after every ball; he'd look down and see if his hands were in the right place."

Russell believes Knott, as a counterattacking No. 7, raised global expectations of the way a wicketkeeper should bat. "Alan pushed the limits of the wicketkeeper-batsman. He was the first real allrounder. But Russell warns that batsmen-wicketkeepers like Gilchrist are "exceptional" and England may look in vain for a batsman who can keep to Test standard. "They're going to fall into the mistake of thinking you can manufacture a keeper doing drills, and that's dangerous. We're sending a message out to kids that keeping's not that important. Ten or 15 years down the line we might pay the price for that."

For the present all Russell wants is to keep playing cricket. He cheerfully accepts the sledging of opposition fielders as he walks out to bat ("we know where you live" is a favourite, a reference to Russell's preference for blindfolding visitors to his house). He may go down as an eccentric but, so long as he is remembered for his handiwork, he does not mind. He wants to be known as "a Cotswold lad who never gave up". Giving up is not on the agenda. "I've still got things to prove," he says. To whom, Jack? "To me."

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