What lies between a man or woman and the goods they buy? Is pride of ownership a virtue or a vice?

These questions do not figure in classical literature. Sadly, Aristotle did not ponder them as philosophical issues and leave us any guidance. But had the great man been lucky enough to be born in a cricket-playing nation we can say with certainty that he would have played the game with vigour. And given the choice between a hand-made bat and a factory-made version Aristotle would've chosen the former.

Did Phil Mickelson win this year's US Masters at Augusta with hand-made clubs? No, he did not. But they were not bought straight off the shelf. Doubtless they were carefully manufactured for him, using exactly the right shaft and probably a certain type of grip. Mickelson, like Eldrick Woods and other first-class sportsmen in various fields, have the advantage of manufacturing companies sponsoring them. Naturally they have their professional tools adjusted for them as precisely as possible. Many modern sports professionals have their bodies adjusted before playing. Some even have their minds adjusted by outsiders.

(Asked once about a leading British professional golfer's use of a personal psychologist to prepare for a tournament round, Australia's Peter Thomson remarked that it seemed strange to play golf using another man's brain.)

But professional sport is not amateur sport. We amateurs pay for our sporting goods. It's all too rare that we get to choose between a mass manufactured article and something made by a craftsman. And the problem is not limited to sport, it seems.

This month Europe's luxury goods makers announced a summit meeting to deal with the dwindling number of skilled craftsmen in Europe and the UK. The Financial Times reports that such specialist skills in dressmaking, perfumery, watchmaking, and similar manufacturing are in danger of weakening as the luxury goods companies are driven to outsource the work to Asia.

Despite the obvious economic argument, there is a clear element of snobbery in this complaint. Presumably an expensive watch or bag made by a skilled Chinese or Indian artisan is inferior to the same article made by a skilled Swiss, Italian, or other resident of Europe. Soon the activist class will condemn this as naked racism and in Britain an Amnesty lawyer will likely find a statute under which to launch a prosecution.

But hang on a minute. We know we've allowed the State to legislate what we must and must not say or think. That freedom has long gone. But are we still free to feel as we like? This column says yes. In the darkest, most private corners of our selves - that area of human existence that prefigures conscious thought - we must be allowed to enjoy feelings without hindrance.

If a man or woman feels that a watch actually made in Switzerland or a dress truly made in Paris is worth paying extra for because of something utterly beyond all logic, reason, or fact, then for Heaven's sake let them. What's in a brand? A feeling, that's all. And hopefully a fact - that the article is made in a place and by the sort of person whom we poor, regulated citizen-consumers might exercise such judgement to admire or approve. We buy the hand-made article because we admire the craftsmanship. We like the idea of a dressmaker living in Paris or a tailor in London going to work each day and making a garment. We think the world is a better place for these people being employed and active.

So what of the trend to outsource the manufacturing to Asia? Perhaps 98% of bagpipes are made in India or Pakistan these days. Has this destroyed Scottish music and Scottish culture? Are the misty glens of the Highlands no longer host to the spine chilling sound of the pipes? Not a bit. Economics owes a lot to Scotland's Adam Smith, doesn't it? Let people buy the Asian-made European luxury brand item if they want. There will always be enough buyers looking for an item more personally manufactured - hand-made, in other words.

A craftsman who makes cricket bats is known professionally as a podshaver. Why? Because the raw English willow from which bats are crafted come in the shape of pods, and the process of shaping them into the finished product is very much that of shaving the willow into its final form. There are said to be eight podshavers left in the world - six in England and two in Australia. They are not, and will not, go broke or disappear.

To find one of the two podshavers in Australia you must visit an ordinary, undecorated farm shed a couple of miles outside the town of Daylesford in central Victoria, perhaps an hour and a half's drive from the Melbourne Cricket Ground. Julian Millichamp is an Englishman who migrated to Australia in the 1980s after serving an apprenticeship as a podshaver for John Newbery in Hove, East Sussex. A car trip around Australia led him and his wife to the gentle country of the central Victorian goldfields where Daylesford lies, halfway between Ballarat and Bendigo. The mines are long shut, and these days the town boasts a collection of New Age boutiques, B&Bs, restaurants, and some spa resorts using the local mineral spring water.

Julian and his Screaming Cat bats are not a household name, yet. But some of Australia's Test cricketers know him, and they're in the habit of making quiet visits to his shed in Porcupine Ridge Road to stock up on his product. On a recent visit to Australia, this BPL columnist stumbled across the shed by coincidence of a farm stay with a childhood friend - Julian's landlady - who innocently remarked that the nation's Test captain, Ricky Ponting, recently drove up to make another purchase.

Now life as a podshaver in country Australia is not without risk. In a very Australian moment one night Julian opened the door of the shed after work and saw, staring at him with malevolence, a large Eastern Brown snake. A tense standoff ensued. These snakes are notoriously aggressive and often attack a human who steps near them. One would sooner face Courtney Walsh or Andy Roberts without pads. As Englishmen have done ever since Captain Cook discovered Australia, Julian fought back at the snake and made a dash for his car. Had the light from inside the shed not illuminated the snake Australia might have seen its podshavers halved in number.

Another day the pile of willow shavings on the floor of the shed suddenly quivered, and sure enough a second Eastern Brown emerged to dismiss Julian from this life. A half-finished bat hurled at the intruder sent it slithering away to hide under the shed. Maybe it's still there.

But back to Aristotle and defending a citizen's right to harbour feelings without the legislature and Amnesty interfering. What is it between a man and his bat when facing a fast bowler or an amateur Warne? Will we make more runs because we've met and admired the man who made the bat? We can only hope so. But far more than that, to make a decent score wielding the willow and knowing the bloke who created it would make a cricketer feel better. Thank God, no government or bunch of activists can take that away. Yet.

(EJ Salisbury is Back Page Lead correspondent who divides his time between Beijing, Abu Dhabi and Tokyo - and very occasionally Daylesford.)