Until fairly recently, cricket was always a rather serious business. The game as we know it today emerged during the 19th century, a time of industrial revolution and British imperialism. They were serious times, and as The Gentleman's Game, cricket has held onto a certain austerity that defined those times.

But in many ways it's a preposterous game really, isn't it? People from outside the former British Empire can only wonder at it, because the whole activity is rather strange. It's difficult to put your finger on exactly what makes it so odd, but one element is the bizarre limitations on how you can deliver the ball. Then of course there's the fact that they take an official break in play for tea.

Lately there's been a trend for the media to not take everything quite so seriously. This very website was founded on a more light-hearted approach to the game, while the continuing growth of the internet has led to numerous blogs which take the Mickey. Even more recently Cricinfo have produced 'Page 2', a section exclusively for humour, while Test Match Sofa has sprung up to provide a rather alternative type of audio commentary.

The publication of W.G. Grace Ate My Pedalo under The Wisden Cricketer name is perhaps the culmination of this trend. Never was cricket written about quite as pompously as in the Victorian periodicals of Grace's era, and Alan Tyers has used this to concoct his own spoof annuals with the help of comic illustrator Beach.

The result is a collision between 1896 language and layout and 2010 cricket players and humour, and Tyers and Beach pull it off well. No-one is safe from ridicule, particularly if they are Australian.

'Tiny Australian hooking monkey seeks other for companionship, breeding and possibly more. Enquiries to Ponting's Animal Curiosities,' reads one personal notice.

W.G. Grace grants an interview to tell how he was "disgracefully well-refreshed" when he piloted his primitive pedalo into the Gulf of Aden.

There are advertisements for 'Boycott's Finest Sticks of Rhubarb', 'Dr Pontius Ponting's Patent Mental Disintegrator (for the removal of unwanted batsmen from the crease)' and 'Young Master Broad's Patented Umpire Cheeking Manual'.

It's a humour you have to read yourself to fully appreciate, and I did find myself laughing out loud a few times. It might not be to everyone's tastes, but even those who aren't tickled won't deny that the production required a great deal of imagination and originality, as well as an attention to detail in the wording.

The book claims that it will "appeal to cricket fans of all ages, be they members of the MCC or the Barmy Army". While the stuffier among the former group may view it all as a bit silly for their liking, those who enjoy having a laugh at the stranger elements of cricket, and moreso at the austere nature of late 19th century periodicals, will derive a refreshingly different kind of joy to that usually encountered between the covers of a yellow book with the word 'Wisden' on it.

Tristan Holme