Cricket nets tonight, on a greasy, spongy astroturf that prompted more mis-steps than Strictly Come Dancing on Acid. I was pleased. I didn't get hit into the car park at all, although I still bat like Penfold with my helmet on.
Some school playing fields are a vision out of JK Rowling. Newark Academy isn't. Birds and wildlife stay far away as we go through our expansive strokeplay on the ground beneath, trying to smack the ball over the fence and onto the hot hatches of the posh souls playing tennis at the club next door.
They can afford the repairs.
A bonfire at the south end of the field began to slowly spread its smoke over us, making us look like we were playing cricket in a World War One mustard gas attack, sepia ghosts in a toxic mist.
I badly need a good game. I fielded badly last week, lumbering about in the outfield and feeling much more unathletic than normal. I didn't bowl. I batted like the living dead. I think the bad weather affected my game physically and mentally.
Hopefully, on this double header weekend, the weather will be better, the sun will smile down, and I will play like Viv Richards with the artistry of Vivaldi and Van Gogh. Chances are however, my time out in the middle will be limited, and so I will wander the ground looking for things of beauty; birds, butterflies, and the decent tea we aren't going to be given for reasons Ramadanical.
No bad thing really. You've never seen a man who can inhale mini scotch eggs the moment he sees them, until you see me.
All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 30.06.16