Today was the first Sunday game of the new season, an away match at Ruddington where seemingly entertainment had been laid on for us; a Deep South sounding marching band was playing somewhere nearby for the early part of the match.
I was hoping they would launch into "Tusk" by Fleetwood Mac and do a march past. But they didn't.
My first game for the club was here three years ago, on a freezing damp day in early May and Elms Park looked fairly grim. Today, in the endless sun, it was lovely.
We bowled first, and I in no way disgraced myself against a standard of batting rather higher than my usual level, although my opening partner is far quicker, more dynamic, and a brilliant fielder unlike muggins here who struggles if the ball is anywhere on my right hand side. Or frankly, anywhere at all.
I took 1-25 in 7 overs, until a young chap hit a couple of fours off me and I was rested. He then hit about 80, giving us a fair bit of runaround until our Sunday skipper, a natural athlete and distinctly quick bowler, took him and a few others out. Our Saturday skipper also bowled very well, but against that powerful batsman, who stung my fingers a fair few times, it was hard.
212 was about 40 too many really. On the plus side the tea was excellent, and the orange squash at drinks wasn't too dilute, which is really important.
However, thanks to our only upper tier playing today, who scored 88, we kept in the game for a long time, but the opponents set so many fielders back to him it was impossible for him to score at the required rate, even with the support he got from our other batsmen. Things all got a bit surreal at the end, I must say.
They usually do on a Sunday, as the sun lowers towards the horizon and the opposition bring the odd bowlers on, as opposed to the first team Asian speedster we had to fight off earlier on.
Nature wise, it was a little bit bland, but I did find a fascinating bug to commune with for a few minutes.
All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 20.05.18
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