If it's summer, it must be England

Since that match, at The Oval in 1954, when Fazal Mahmood made the ball not just talk but sing Urdu ghazals, Pakistanis have loved it in the green and pleasant land. It must be the weather - as mercurial as the Pakistani cricket brain.

They're all here this summer: Gul, Wahab, Afridi, Ajmal, and the greatest Pakistani cricketer of all time, Rana Naved ul Hasan, a man so great he grew his hair back to shoulder length in an attempt to land the role of Conan the Barbarian in the new Hollywood remake.

Azhar Mahmood is still playing county cricket. He likes the place so much that he married a Brit and put down roots, following in the mighty footsteps of the divine Saqlain Mushtaq and the puny tracks of the more worldly Mohammad Akram. Inzy is also in the country, playing for the famous Lashings of Kent, perhaps inticed by the dictionary definition of the club's name: noun: a copious amount of something, esp. food.

Pakistanis love it in England. We flourish. Even at this low point in the country's history, cricketing and otherwise, the sight of a Pakistani in England fills one's heart with hope and joy, assuming one is not a member of the English Defence League.

The other day I flicked on the TV to watch the latest import, Junaid Khan, in a live Twenty20 game. A young left-arm Pakistani quick playing for Lancashire - we would normally fire off a comparison to Wasim Akram (who is also in England, doing good works) as quick as a Shahid Afridi interview. This time we must refrain. The last time we all did that, bad things happened.

Junaid's first spell was fast and furious; despite Mike Atherton's brave attempts from the box, no commentator other than Vin Diesel could have done it justice. But the defining passage came in the last over. Northants needed seven to win with six wickets in hand, and 21-year-old Junaid was thrown the ball. He bowled six yorkers in a row, the final delivery clocked at 91mph, and Northants managed just three runs. After the last ball Junaid leaped in the air and beamed a smile, before being smothered by half a dozen big Lancastrian lads, who screamed wonderful encouragements in his ear, which no doubt he didn't understand.

News of the World readers notwithstanding (there's a pun on current events there, surely), the English cricketing community has always welcomed Pakistanis. The platonic admiration went to all-out mad passion in 1967, when Majid Khan scored 147 in 89 mins against Glamorgan. Don't believe your parents; this was the summer of love. Majid went on to play county cricket and later came Imran and Zaheer and Waqar and Mushy and many more for many years.

Even Javed Miandad, the man the rest of the world loved to hate, felt a warm glow in England. In his book, Javed tells of being caught speeding by a traffic policeman. The copper, on discovering the identity of the driver, said some wonderful things about Javed's batting, and then let him off with just a warning. If only Salman Butt had been more likeable, he might still have a career. However, Javed, whose county sides included Glamorgan, also says his fans nicknamed him "Prince of Wales". Given the general antipathy towards Charles Windsor, perhaps they didn't like him that much after all.

Thus we can conclude with some certainty that if all 170 million Pakistanis were relocated to England, they would form a super race. President Obama and his allies should consider this during their next Af-Pak policy review. Till then, I'll watch our boys on the cricket field, lying back and thinking of England.