The Man whose Head has Gone

Well, we found ourselves out at beautiful West Park again, a long way off in Long Eaton, to play Sawley and Long Eaton, as opposed to mere Long Eaton who I've played three times now, and been thrashed every time.

I have always enjoyed visiting West Park, which is public open space as I love to see being used - sports, leisure, relaxation, a proper olde worlde bandstand from which we could hear some ooom-pah music going on early on in the match, and families just enjoying the day out.

It is immaculately maintained, clean and tidy, and with pollinator friendly plants in the beds - the bees were too fast moving to photograph today but I got close ups of a footballer hoverfly! - I love playing here, despite the nature reserve being too faraway to visit today. Or the magnificent old mill with its huge chimney.

As to the match, we batted first and it was a bit of a struggle on a pacier pitch to what we are usedto at our home grounds...wickets fell regularly despite a vicious blast of aggression from the third of the three brothers who put a couple in the lavender beds, and indeed a talented young leg spinner did usfor a hat-trick - I survived the 4 from 4 ball.

Unfortunately I didn't survive my next one from the other end, and missed a huge shot and overbalanced and was stumped. Moron! My batting head has gone at the moment, I don't know whether to attack or defend and have picked up bad habits from going in with a couple of overs to go and needing to hit in the last couple of matches. I've had no net practice either.

This, however, will be rectified. I know I can score a few runs, I'm pissed off I have failed this weekend.

Thank god for our two youngest lads, who did really well and got us up to 87, which looked impossible at one point. Not enough, but our bowling has been very good this year, and we could still give them a scare.

Which we did! I didn't bowl early on, but the third brother turned out to be equally rapid with the ball as the bat, taking wickets - another edge behind wasn't given, another was dropped, and the skipper was pretty quick too. We had them 5 down, and then I tried to be quick too, and caused problems early on before messrs 6 and 7 decided to slog their way out of trouble, to victory.

I threw my cap on the ground to go with the bat throw I had done earlier, although this was to entertain the travelling spectators more than anything else - a grumpy batsman is always very amusing.

Inside though I'm screaming. I can't score any runs when I ought to be able to, and can't take wickets when bowling well, while others can. A friend said "Well, you do many other things well, cricket doesn't really matter" but I just want to feel that bit of respect, the joy of a winning performance - a 50, or 5 wickets.

And it ain't happening.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 10.06.18

In a Rut of Rubbishness

Today saw the longest away trip in our season, the annual 30 plus mile drive out to the strong side at Long Eaton, who despite having beaten us fairly easily last year, decided that an even stronger team was necessary this year.

It's a lovely setting in West Park, with families out enjoying the open space, lots of sport being flayed and the little Fox Covert nature reserve nearby to provide some colour. You may remember I blogged about it last year.

We bowled first, and I didn't bowl well; fair enough, I've had two good games with the ball, can't expect them all to go well. And yet again, this was a very strong side, averaging 10 divisions above ours in ability. Once again our juniors did really well where I didn't, but 277 was always far too many for us to chase.

We started ok if slowly, but then the wheels came off our bus somewhat with run outs and messiness. That the pitch was now starting to get very uneven wasn't helping, the ball began to rear head high one minute, scuttling along the ground the next. I saw some of this, but decided to take a tour of the grounds, taking in the magnificent Harrington Lace Mill that overlooks the ground.

It's not like us to be grouchy.

When I got in, a very slow dippy spinner was bowling, and I tried to get my eye in. 6th ball, I slapped straight to a fielder. My hopes for batting well this year seem to be subsiding horribly, rather as we did.

In order to fit in, I asked a couple of team mates if I should throw my bat as well. They said yes, so I did so, in a sort of "Are you not ENETERTAINED" fashion. Aside from umpiring well at Square Leg, it was the only thing I did well all day. But I enjoyed the game. Usually do, on Sundays.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 25.06.17

Meditation and meadows at Long Eaton Cricket Club

Double cricket for me today, a long trek to the far side of Nottingham to play Long Eaton, a team so flash they even have an overseas professional. What they thought of the motley assortment of very obviously amateurs pouring themselves out of cars when we arrived, heaven only knows.

We're not 11 Usain Bolts that's for sure.

We were playing in West Park, a lovely and evidently very popular expanse of green space overlooked by the towering chimney of the impressive Industrial Revolution era Harrington Mill. I was excited to see as we went in that there was a nature reserve in the park. And as usual, with us batting first and myself well down the order as usual, I took off straight away.

Today was the first truly hot and sunny day we've had here for probably two months; we certainly hadn't had any sunny cricket since playing Colston Basset in May. As well as the families and the cricketers, it brought out the wildlife too, and I'd barely gone ten metres before a glittering in the grass caught my attention; a small greenish damselfly, possibly an emerald. Of course, such a creature is far too ephemeral for me to catch its glint on camera.

I wandered around, past a flooded meadow where the black headed gulls were feeding in the puddles, stabbing for goodies with their powerful beaks. Here I was excited to find a sign indicating that the reserve, called Fox Covert, was nearby, so I followed the path round, past a white butterfly feeding off bramble, past happy children playing on a "Splash Pad" while their parents predated on magnum ice creams nearby.

I crossed a small bridge, headed for a faded old sign, and found myself in the reserve, a reserve where chiff chaffs and blackcaps were singing, and beautiful wildflowers coloured the greenery. There were lots of thistles in flower, I figured a sure spot to find skipper butterflies; skippers of the non cricketing kind. And sure enough, small skippers were fluttering about from flower to flower.

Much more menacing, huge southern hawkers were patrolling the skies above the paths like the steampunk monsters they are. They zig zag about, effortlessly munching up smaller insects as they fly, and have no qualm about bring their bright yellow and green bodies right up to you for a close look.

Meanwhile we weren't batting very well on a low slow deck, and when I went in at number 10, quick runs were needed. They didn't get them from me; after hitting a few powerful hacks straight to fielders I was given out LBW to a spin bowler bowling from way around the wicket. Hmmmmm.

Tea was strange. As I finished my cuppa and made to stand up to go back to the dressing room, I heard the third team captain announce "Si, don't move! There's a pokemon sitting on your shoulder and I'm trying to catch it!"

I thus had to sit for several minutes while he made a big fat fail of attempting to capture the "pidgey" with his pokeball thing. I got my own back later on, when I accidentally maced him in the face with my right guard anti perspirant. He should have thanked me, it meant he didn't have to see the bodies of our team mates as they changed.

I mentioned yesterday how I never felt right, and fielded and bowled like a drain. Today was totally different; the sun and setting brought out a completely different me. At 43, I'm not going to be able to dive about like a madman, but I can still un and chase hard, and by filelding well it meant my bowling, which yesterday was so filthy there wasn't a word in the dictionary for it, was generally gun barrel straight on a full length.

No wickets though. But surely one day that will come. It was still a super day, and even though we lost, we worked very very hard.

Si

Here we are!

And here we go!

Harrington Mill stack dominates the skyline

Meditation

Juvenile gulls stab the mud

green veined small large white. I can never tell.

And again

Band stand

Entrance to Fox Covert

Small skipper

Shield bug

Birds foot trefoil

Thistles

Couldn't get a good capture of this bee

Fox Covert meadow

Ummm, fuzzy stuff

A field of fuzzy stuff