``What d'you think?'' he said, suspiciously prodding an egg to ascertain how well poached it might be. After much thought, he decided it was fried. ``I'm just going to pick at my crispy bacon,'' he said, the model professional. Admittedly, he was also drinking a pint at the time but this was no Bothamesque pick-me-up, merely his morning's milk ration with ice-cubes in it.
Say what you like about 'Mr Squeaky', as he is proud to be known, the attention to diet and fitness is working. While Adam Hollioake, as Surrey captain, was obliged to jog on to the field for about five yards to continue the match against Sussex, his team in desultory conversation walking behind him, Stewart positively bounded towards the wicket radiant with health and good humour. At 34, he has designs on surviving out there as long as Graham Gooch, who was still playing Test cricket and sprouting (albeit alien) hair at 40.
``Age is only a number,'' said Stewart, echoing a Linford Christie line. Unfortunately, 18, 44no, 1, 3, 30, 1, 7, 16, 87, 16, 36 and 8 are numbers as well, contributing to an average of 24 for the recent Ashes series. ``Me and Athers didn't perform as well as we should have done,'' he admitted, which prompted the question why England should continue with his services, let alone have considered promoting him to captain.
``Because I'm still a good player,'' he said, without a bat-squeak of hesitation. Either these motivational visits from Will Carling are working or he meant it. ``I'm a good competitor. I'm someone who always backs the team I play for. I've got a huge will to win. Anything I do I like to do to the best of my ability.''
This is sporting robo-speak. Everybody in a tracksuit says such things but in Stewart's case there is the evidence of 173 v New Zealand and 170 v Pakistan to lend credence to his words. The same could also be said of Atherton before the wearisome duties of office seemed to strip the willow of runs. ``Athers has done his four years and he's had his ups and downs but he's done a good job,'' said Stewart, the England vice-captain before Nasser Hussain nipped in.
They'd talked, he and Atherton, about whether the captain should quit. ``All I said when I spoke to Athers was: if it was affecting his batting form then, yes, he should give the captaincy away. Because he's capable of being England's, possibly the world's, best batsman. If he had given it away for that reason, then I'd accept that.
``I don't know how I would have coped as England captain - you don't know until you do it. If it had been offered to me, I'd have accepted it. Something you don't turn down. If he'd said no, and it was offered to me, I'd have done it. If he'd said no and it was offered to someone else, I'd have carried on. But it's still one of the hardest jobs in the world.''
In that case, Stewart's philosophy on captaincy would have helped him. ``Win every game you play,'' he said stoutly. In the end, though, common sense prevailed. ``And, if you can't win, make sure you don't lose.''
These are fine battle cries to ring in Atherton's ears with Caribbean islands to visit, yet they seemed somewhat inappropriate to the tranquility and flapping deckchairs of Hove where a sparse population watched at Hove as Peter Moores was dismissed lbw in the first sun-drenched over of yesterday's play and clearly audible from a seat in the pavilion were the words: ``I put shoes on because I thought it was going to rain. I should have put sandals on.''
It seemed to put the great captain debate in its place. Who knew at that stage what was going on in the troubled breast of Atherton. It seemed safer to talk about the weather, although mischievous Sussex players kept reporting that Hussain had been handed the job. Stewart was disinclined to react, his sang-froid an important contribution both to Surrey and England. That, more than anything, may explain Stewart's elevation in esteem. He is neat, tidy, wears Giorgio Armani aftershave and can procure Chelsea tickets from Ruud Gullit's goalkeeper, Kevin Hitchcock.
``I'm known as the Rob Andrew of cricket. I'm always immaculate. I always have whiter-than-white gear, shoes always together.'' He has, infrequently, shared a room with his fellow wicketkeeper and mate, Jack Russell, which must have created a state of confusion in the chambermaid. ``He always had the bed furthest from the door because otherwise I wouldn't be able to get to my bed because of all his rubbish.''
The difference between Russell and himself, Stewart explained, is that Russell is a batting wicketkeeper and he is a wicketkeeping batsman a clue, perhaps, as to what will drop out of the equation if he takes on the England captaincy. ``Jack Russell is definitely going to the West Indies,'' he said. Clue two.
He is, aptly for a wicketkeeper, a safe pair of hands while England waits for the Australian bent of the Hollioakes to mature.
You can't help wondering how Stewart, an ardent patriot who wishes the national anthem would be played before Tests, has felt about nurturing two Aussies in the English nest. ``Don't get me on that subject,'' he said, with a slightly nervous about-turn laugh, spooning his Rice Krispies with sudden urgency. ``My view is: if you're English you play for England, if you're not, bad luck.''
Since this would eradicate about half the England batting order since the invention of the jet engine, Stewart had a sensible rider to his proposal. ``No, that's not quite right. I think you should be schooled in England.'' Adam and Ben Hollioake were schooled in England. ``You couldn't meet two more competitive people. They'll do for me,'' said Stewart, wisely.
All the more wisely as Hollioake senior had just appeared to warn his former captain of a pre-match warm up at 9.15 am. ``Or whenever,'' he said, antipodeanly. He thought it was too cold to go out. Alternatively, it could be too windy to go out, he decided. Stewart bore this as best as he could. ``Discipline's gone pear-shaped since I stopped being captain.'' He was joking. Although Surrey were warned earlier this season about exaggerated verbals on the field. ``I wasn't there at the time,'' said Stewart. ``See what I mean.''
His renowned genes, as the son of former England team manager, Micky Stewart, lead you to expect something of the drill sergeant in his demeanour. In fact, he can be a mild subversive - he does not like being forced to abandon his white helmet, for example - although obviously not to the Tiger Moth-Miss Barbados extremes that certain other England performers have known.
You imagine, too, he would need to be coated in a extra layer of simulated rhino hide to cope with the charges of nepotism. ``Dad was very good. He just treated me like any other player. He dropped me. We still spoke to one another but mum stopped speaking to him for a while.''
For all that fine upbringing, there remains the suspicion at large, and most especially in tabloid newspaper offices (which is ironic as Stewart went to Tiffins Grammar School, Kingston, with The Sun's cricket reporter), that an England batsman on the way to the crease is an England batsman on his way back from the crease, with only a short break in between.
Stewart candidly differs. Had he ever quailed before wicket. ``I'll be honest with you, no. It goes with the job. We're frontline batsmen. We're going to come up against quick bowlers with a brand new ball in their hand. I've had my jaw broken by Michael Holding playing for Surrey. But that's what happens. There's a bloke at the other end trying to get you out. It's a simple game . . .'' he thought for a minute . . .''made difficult.''