Fiskerton is the club where I played most of my junior cricket, a tall but feebly skinny 15 year old with too much wavy hair and kit that never looked like it fitted.
I had a trial for Nottinghamshire at that age, but that was with the school. The club itself thought I was rubbish, and to be fair I probably was. I never got to do much bowling and always batted at number 11.
So when I went back today, for the first time in over 25 years, I was determined to do well and maybe show them a bit. Although who I was supposed to be showing, I've got no idea.
We bowled first, and I nearly died with shock when the skipper, a cricketer with 20 times my talent, decided that I should open the bowling. I repaid his faith too, bowling one of the Fiskerton openers in my 2nd over, before producing the best delivery of my entire cricketing life to swing one a mile into the other opening batter and splatter his stumps.
That was as good as it got. It was all a bit of a battering after that, ball after ball disappearing into the thick undergrowth that surrounded the ground. Not bad bowling, the batting was just too powerful despite the fact that one of their main men was barely taller than the stumps. I kept bowling low full tosses while striving to bowl swinging yorkers. Rubbish!
At least I fielded ok - meaning I didn't do any horrific howlers. I leave diving to the folk who are half my age. Or in the case of our wicket keeper, not far off double.
I have all the flexibility of a concrete post.
After my last over involved me being hit out of the ground twice, it was time for batting. I always like batting second, as it means I can stuff myself at tea time and not worry about fielding afterwards, and hey, I'm never going to open the batting, being rubbish and all that.
Instead, I took myself off exploring, poking my nose over the fence into the strange choked undergrowth beyond, seeing a huge hollow under a tree that looked like something Ray Mears would construct. We were batting well, so I had time. Buzzards were keening high overhead, their piercing cries echoing round the ground.
I wonder if any larger birds incubate the missing cricket balls by mistake?
It was a lovely day in a posh part of the world, signified by the croquet club found at one corner of the ground, and a rink being used by a very posh old couple of dahhhhlings.
Eventually all our good batsman got out, including the star of yesterday who found himself involved in one of the wonderful run outs that tend to infect our side like a plague, and so I tremulously padded up. They had some very fast bowlers. What if they came back on when they saw me.
Luckily it was an older, slower chap who bowled, and I managed to swipe him for 4 before the game ended with us about 80 run behind, while making sure I ran fast to help a young player get off the mark.
Ahhh, what a nice old man!
All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 14.08.16