Match: 06
/ 120
Lost
by 5 wkts
Team |
Total |
FFTMCC |
93 |
I. Howarth 30, M. Westmoreland 27 |
|
|
|
Cholsey CC |
94 - 5 |
A. Mann 2 - 16, S. Dobner
2 - 26 |
‘Twas after a light but however not altogether unexhausting
stroll through the fields of South Oxfordshire that Majorie and I happened
upon an impromptu cook-out in the sleepy village of Cholsey. Places were
limited, but as darkness set under a clear, smogless
sky, we took our seats and considered the fare. I decided upon the organic
burger whereas Majorie plumped for a sausage and coleslaw combo. Our host, a
rather ship-like gent with a curious accent, supplied a flagon of the finest
local cider and left us to ponder the unique colouring of the local
brickwork. No sooner had we discovered that the glasses had been stolen from
a CAMRA event nearby, than we were joined by a motley bunch of vagrants who,
it seemed had only that afternoon, been challenging the Cholseyites
in that most gallant of pursuits – cricket. I myself, had once returned a ball from the hospitality at Lords whilst
a guest of my very good friend Sir Simon Smithy Simon, so felt a certain
affinity to our newly arrived comrades. Majorie said she had once entertained
the idea of French cricket but was convinced by her mother to smother the
notion until the war was over. My burger certainly complemented the spring
apples; Majorie was heard to remark on the superb consistency of the
dressing. Our cricketing friends appeared familiar with the menu, slouching
comfortably into their positions and whipping up fervent conversation, which
I did my best to overhear. The lazy one protested his hatred of trains,
impending exhaustion and disappointment of not being given a shot at the
century that was, to all intense purposes, pre-destined for this overcast
afternoon. A slighter figure with a passing resemblance to Camberwick Green’s finest, promptly disappeared with the
lazy one’s cycle, and attempted to squash it into his motor car. The two
uncouth individuals, sharing a woodbine between them, appeared delighted to
have been invited to any social function outside their own birthdays. The
shorter one of the two seemed to accept his lot as the bike took pole
position, and he was relegated to sitting under the rear wheel. The northern
one looked visibly pleased at the reasonable prices, his grin growing ever
larger as he made off with our hosts’ tip cup under the pretence of match
fees. Our host, mild mannered man that he clearly is, actually
reduced their bill by a further £3.25! based on a curious competition
where the cricketers indulged in flights of fancy, followed by cacophonous
laughter and general backslapping – Majorie felt quite sorry for the poor
chap, who look dazed and bewildered at the accusations flying his way – “it
wasn’t his fault that it rained” – she murmured under into her scrumpy. A
stray dog homes in on Nick’s burnt sausages. After the sportsman headed for home. Majorie and I were left to a scrumptious
cheeseboard and champagne cocktails, that the proprietor explained “he
wouldn’t serve to the likes of them”. I would certainly recommend you stop by
if you are heading to the Shires – look out for the art deco styling en-route
to the lavatory – inventive, if not completely in keeping with the surroundings. ‘Barbeque
Inspector’
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