I have a confession to make. A little over 40 years ago I shot someone. And not just anyone. But a famous cricketer. I pointed my gun at him, pulled the trigger and he staggered back clutching his chest. I can still, just about, picture it in my mind today. Granted, the gun was a cap gun, and the staggering back was very much some splendid acting for the benefit of the child pulling the trigger – ie me. But, real gun or not, I fired at Kent and England star Bob Woolmer. I was walking through woods in Tunbridge Wells at the time with my father alongside me – a huge cricket fan who was able to i…
