No nature running or cycling for me yesterday. I was playing cricket. Not pretend cricket, on a lovely warm evening just having a knock around in the nets like I've had up until now, but your actual, proper English cricket. The sort where you need three jumpers on to avoid dying of hypothermia, and the wind blows as strongly as upon the summit of Everest while your fingers turn black and drop off.
The result for us was positively England like as well. We were bowled out for 29. 29!!! It took us 26 overs to get that many as well, although in fairness to us the wicket was a gluepot and timing offensive shots very difficult. I hit the one boundary we managed to score, in my devastating top score of 9.
We then watched as our opponents knocked the runs off in five overs. The one over I bowled was spanked for twelve. I should be on youtube, watching coaching videos, instead of writing this! I need a lot of lessons, although not as many as our opening bat who took 14 overs to get off the mark and ran out our number 3 without him facing a ball.
We played at Ruddington, on a municipal ground, not the prettiest in the world but it would be hard for aany ground to lok good under scudding grey clouds put there by a particularly grumpy god. But our home ground, on one of those aforementioned warm evenings, sports swallows swooping low over the outfield and chiff chaffs calling in the trees behind me. Last night, after our distinctly non-victorious return, a small white fluttered one way, while what might have been a burnet moth went the other. Chaffinches fly over the ground. "Deeeee-Doooo" cry the great tits in the hedgerows.
It's a lovely little spot, and no doubt, when I bowl on this ground, I will have ample opportunity to report on what's living in the long grass beyond the boundary, while I search for the ball yet again...