An Australian (woman) journalist once wrote: ``His hair is so wavy you can surf on it,'' which caused him some difficulty in the England dressing room. Now the best she might hope for is a paddle.
Nevertheless, the trademark insouciance is undimmed by time and is currently being utilised in ordering a bottle of champagne from a deferential waiter at the Savoy, where he has been celebrating the 80th birthday of an aunt. His demeanour, of which Graham Gooch was once hair-tearingly aware, is best described as négligé, although not at all in the sense that Ian Botham might apply it.
He notes but does not repine over the fact that he was born in a non-vintage port year (apparently '55 and '63 were the ones) and refuses to have any truck with a mid-life crisis. ``No, no, no, no,'' he said, framed by the apt and aristocratic gilt of a Savoy armchair. ``Is it compulsory?''
You might think it would be for the England batsman whose artistic flourishes at the crease and supine posture everywhere else gave a hint of emotional repression, but he will not tolerate such thinking. ``Oh no, I haven't repressed my emotions,'' he said, but not excitedly. ``I've let 'em all run free. You've seen man in Tiger Moth, you've seen man walks out of Lord's Test match '89, saying 'I've had enough of this. I'm off to the theatre'.''
It turns out the players used to call him Piano Wires in homage to a temper that would tighten, and tighten, then snap to spectacular effect. ``Thing is though,'' said his old England batting mate, Graeme Fowler, ``he would go from normal to explode and back to normal in the space of about two minutes. To watch him go off was unbelievable. And then he'd just stop and say: 'Sorry about that'.''
That is exactly what happened at Lord's that day soon after Gower had been blessed with the return of the England captaincy. ``It was the Ashes. Proper stuff. And it was all starting to go wrong in a hurry. Someone asked: 'Are we going to save this?' I said: 'Can I refer you back to my answers two weeks ago at Headingley?' Lead balloon. Then there were some questions about my bowling tactics so I thought: 'Well, forget all this'. I had tickets for Anything Goes, and I went. Then I spent Sunday rebuilding bridges, Monday making a hundred and Tuesday losing the match.
``Desperate, wasn't it?'' he said, with not the slightest trace of shame. This from the man, as he points out himself, who has spent the last two years in his various roles as a BBC and Sky cricket commentator saying . . . ``if only Athers could learn to handle the press conference, what a difference that would make.''
HENCE, of course, the charm school to which Michael Atherton and his somewhat truculent cohorts have been sent this spring to learn how to spread a little joy (if not in the field) this summer against the Australians. In his old-world Wodehousian splendour, you might expect Gower to rail against this modern tendency - he would have sat at the back of the class interrupting his idle reverie only to make the smart alec remarks - but he is surprisingly benign on the subject.
``It's more orienteering and God knows what than: 'smile please' and 'pick up your fork the right way'. I'm not against it. I know many will say: 'Good 'eavens, what's the world coming to?' But if it's good enough for Tesco [run by Lord MacLaurin, chairman of the England Cricket Board], it's good enough for us. And if we can't beat the Australians on the field, at least we can beat them at dinner.
``But two days in Oxfordshire isn't going to alter the course of the Ashes series. I think we're in danger of coming second. The question is how optimistic you want to be about the margin. Australia are a strong side playing confidently. We're a re-emerging side building confidence. The trick is, England have got to remember to start at the start of the series.''
He can talk. Or rather not, in this case. His regular appearances on the BBC's maverick sports quiz show, They Think It's All Over, are characterised by virtual muteness in the face of malign wit, vile mockery, Gary Lineker and groping. ``I do speak but they usually cut it out,'' he explained. He still loves it. ``It's unbelievable. It is. It's been remarkable. Well, sad in one way but very enlightening. For 18 years I've played sport, for 15 of those I was at or near the top. I was captain of the England cricket team. I made a reputation. And the reaction of the public to the show has proved not that the first 18 years were a complete waste of time, but that a couple of hours of light entertainment at 10 o'clock at night counts for more.''
And yet it was barely four years ago that a national and passionate campaign was mounted to restore Gower to the England team when captain Gooch wanted nothing further to do with low-flying Tiger Moths and niggardly net practice. For the duration of that doomed but glorious flight he probably aroused more committed voters than the Referendum Party. Than the Tory party, come to that.
That a chap of such seeming aloofness could inflame such rampant feeling in the breast of MCC members might seem inexplicable to us now. But you would have to remember the effect on the dour British psyche of being in temporary possession of a stylish cricketer. Gower reminded you it was summer. ``I liked to keep it light and frothy,'' he said. But there were times when even his ennui was pierced by sharp necessity.
India 1984-85 was one of those times. ``He was captain and he was absolutely brilliant,'' said Fowler. ``We arrived in Delhi at 3am. Mrs Ghandi was assassinated at 8am. We were evacuated to Sri Lanka. We had a completely revised schedule. Forty-eight hours before the first Test started we had cocktails with Sir Percy Norris at the Bombay High Commission. The next day he was machine-gunned to death. The day after that we're on the pitch.
``I'm saying to myself: 'If they're going to shoot someone, it will be David at the toss, Neil Foster if he opens the bowling or, if we're batting first, me'. Well, they didn't shoot David and we were batting first. So I'm there at the crease and no one tells me people let off fireworks when you hit a boundary. 'What are you doing down there,' Kirmani, the Indian wicketkeeper, said to me after I'd flung myself on the ground. 'They're shooting us,' I shouted at him. 'Get up, you idiot,' he said. 'They're fireworks.'
``And through it all, David was absolutely fantastic. He was heavily involved in all the diplomacy and yet I never saw a trace of panic. We won the series 2-1, which was practically unheard of in India, and he was brilliant. I don't think he ever got the credit he deserved for that.''
Neither did Eric Bristow, come to that, who is still alive and well and throwing darts in Belgium this weekend.