'No regrets about the decision to retire'

I hardly saw the ball that dismissed me in the first innings. I had walked down the pitch to a short delivery and, instinctively I suppose, raised my gloves to protect my face. The ball lobbed off my hand to the fielder at square leg. Another duck. And another dismissal to a short ball.

The second innings wasn't much longer. I got off the mark - and off a pair - with a nice clip through the leg side off Taylor and actually felt pretty good. My mind was made up; there was a freedom in my play.

But it wasn't to last. Taylor got one to nip back at me, I played across it and they went up for leg before. I knew it was out. Cooky briefly suggested I think about a review, but there was no point wasting it on me at that stage. "Nah, I'm out of here," I said.

As I walked off, a group of Barmy Army supporters at the same end as the dressing rooms stood and gave me a warm ovation that was as appreciated as it was surprising for a man walking off having played his last innings of an unsuccessful tour. But they knew it was over and they were, I reasoned, taking the opportunity to say goodbye and thanks. I couldn't raise my bat - I had only scored 9, after all, and England were in a hole - but I gave them a little wave.

I'll forever be grateful for their gesture. They proved, in that moment, that they were true supporters; not fairweather types who were only there for the good times.

They also proved they had a memory. They remembered the times before I became a stuttering wreck; the times before I wandered towards mid-off before each ball was delivered; the times the only thing people could find to complain about was the manner in which I marked my guard and the time it took us to win Tests.

The good old days.

I didn't want to be remembered like this and I was fearful that in my last four or five Tests I had diluted any reputation I had earned. At a time when things seemed pretty hopeless, I really appreciated that they were understanding and compassionate enough to show they weren't judging me on this version of myself.

Some in the media might not appreciate the Barmy Army but you'll never hear a bad word about them in the dressing room.

As I got into the dressing room, I remember thinking, "Thank God that's over." It's a feeling that has never completely gone away. I have no regrets about making the decision to retire.

But I don't regret playing, either. Very few players have the opportunity to say goodbye and those last days within the England set-up gave me closure both on my international career and on a traumatic episode in my life.

An hour or two after the game, with the presentations and formalities taken care of, Peter Moores told the team that I had something I'd like to say.

The room fell silent and I could feel apprehension in the air as I stood up. I wasn't completely sure what I was going to say, but it felt important to mark the occasion. I stood in front of the team, with my cap in my hand, and I started to talk.

I told them I had come to a decision about my future. I told them it had become clear I wasn't able to play at the level I once could and that my time was up. I told them I had been impressed by the talent and spirit I had seen within the squad and that they didn't need me holding up their progress. I told them I believed in them and that I would be supporting them from afar for the rest of their careers. I told them it was their turn now to build a successful England team.

I told them that their England cap was the best thing they would ever wear. I told them how my cap had been soaked in champagne and sweat and tears along the way and that every experience, be it good or bad, had made me appreciate it more.

I wanted them to know how much it had meant to me. How much they had meant to me. And I wanted them to know, however hard they might find it in the future, there were people who they could confide in and people who would understand.

And I wanted to say goodbye and thank you.

We sat together for a few hours that night. It was emotional, but I knew it was right and I knew I was fortunate to leave in that way. Sure, I'd have loved to score that century and I'd have loved to win the game. But I'd been around for long enough by then to know that cricket rarely works like that. My Test career had started with a fairytale; it wouldn't have been fair if it ended in one, too. It almost always has to end badly or it wouldn't end.