Category Archives: Cricket
The events of the last few days have left me, once again dismayed and confused about humans, life and how we interact with each other. I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like to be close to events such as those in Norway, how to react, cries of ‘what must be done?’ – should anything be done, should we just try to normalise and move on? Then there are the thoughts of hundreds of deaths around the globe which could be avoided, treated, prevented. In the end yesterday evening I could not cope with all the confused thoughts in my brain. I wanted to do something simple, I picked red currants, but even there the metaphors caught up with me – so I came in prepped the fruit for the freezer and listened guiltily to Mike Brearley, possibly England’s greatest ever cricket captain, talking from his autobiography about the 1981 test matches. Memories of wandering around Torquay trying to catch up with the game; which as every bar and pub was crowded out with people watching and listening to the game was easy, people shouted out the scores as you went past. Of course nothing has changed in the world, but small moments of calm help.
A playlist here
Red CurrentsGarnet berries, Arterial blood, drips from bushes, Gathering should heal, Life and death are bitter-sweet.
I have to admit that when I bumped into Duckworth and Lewis in the bar last night they were in no fit state to help with any form of adjudication. I decided instead to dig round the back of the pavilion and see if I could find some other form of support. I might have guessed as much, for there under an old net, were my good friends Saggers and Truffles who were only slightly the worse for wear having consumed quantities of scrumpy; but they have the constitution for it. Below is the transcript of the official adjudication.
The Beehive, Suffolk, 600002, 1, 1, 600002
We have Lords a leaping. I love cricket; therefore Lords is inextricably linked to the game. I am as happy with a beach game, village cricket or a county game; sadly I’ve never been to a Test match but have watched hours of it on TV. I am also rather fond of a good pub, with excellent food and a great atmosphere. One of those games to try and break up the miles travelled by car is Pub Cricket; which also ties in nicely to the legs theme running through the last few days.
My quest today is a mini review of a pub, including the number of legs in the pub name, so where have you been, what’s the nosh and atmos like and what score will you declare? We can then have a little County Championship. If there are enough responses I might create another map.
Forgot to do you an update to the legs quest yesterday but for the record we are now up to 548 legs delivered. I now have four declarations of the correct answer.
Last weekend was a fabulous family sporting and supporting session. Starting with cricket: Somerset vs Kent at Canterbury. Cricket is therapeutic; you don’t have to keep watching but can be certain that when you turn your back a wicket will fall. The fanatics sit on the edge of their director’s deck chairs, score cards in hand, looking at the clouds scudding overhead and recalculating the Duckworth-Lewis in their heads.
The more relaxed sit back gaze at the clouds, listen to the trees thrashing, the sound of leather against willow and screams of OwZat. Canterbury is a lovely ground; cars can pull right up to the boundary and part of the excitement when a ball is hit for six is wondering if your car will take the ‘catch’. The old Lime tree is now performing secondary duties as material for souvenirs and the new tree is developing well, this time outside of the boundary.
Canterbury allows spectators onto the field during the interval to play ball games and aspiring players young and old practice their bowling and catching techniques. This is the perfect time too for the picnic. The banoffee pie and quiche travelled successfully to the match and the left over pie was voted ‘the best ever’ by an independent group of university students so thank you @easternsparkle for the recipe, my only adaptation was to use a biscuit base.
We stayed at the Falstaff Hotel, proper old English Inn with eggs Benedict for breakfast and a stroll around the town before making the long and anxious journey to Wembley for the Blue Square promotion battle. Nerves were jangling, Torquay have been there before; more than once. This is the team whose fortunes have previously been won by the bite of a police dog called Bryn.
The atmosphere even in an only half full stadium was terrific and the total despair of Cambridge fans leaving suddenly at the end was heartfelt. The Torquay fans, by now pinching themselves in disbelief, did not want to leave the ground and the team played their part by performing various dives for the cameras. – For the record Torquay won 2.0