The Sentinel

 The Sentinel has been watching over the people of our town for months now, perhaps as long as a year. 

I think it has no human operator. It works of its own accord, pulling up blocks of building material not particularly high into the air to make a new residential development on the old Marks and Spencer's site; an overpowered machine taller than the church steeple working on a four storey complex. 

Ergo, its purpose is not just there to build. It is there to survey all. 

I have no idea whether its presence is benificent, or malevolent. All I know is by day or night in all weathers, it pierces the sky above our town, casting a red glow over the surrounding shops, visible from miles away. 

What will happen to us when it leaves? Or perhaps, before its work is done. 

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 27.12.25 

Excitement in the Rain

 Saturday saw the third team,  now captained by The Man from Blidworth, head out to the lovely ground at Colston Basset to face Keyworth 3rds again. 

As ever early, I headed off into the gloom up the hill to photograph the ruins of St Mary's Church that overlook the venue and help make it so scenic. 

Well it would be scenic on a normal day, but the entirety of this match was played in what ranged from a misty drizzle to full on heavy rain; that we played the whole thing was remarkable.

We were surprised at being asked to bat first, as we had what on paper was a weak team and we thought this meant we were going to be skittled and the match be over in an hour. 

This was not the case, no sirree. Things started very slowly, with one of the Keyworth opening bowlers bowling seven overs for two runs, until one our first batter, having done an admirable job in seeing off these very good Keyworth bowlers, fell right at the end of the 14th over, at which point we had 15 runs on the board.

A remarkable partnership then developed between the other opening bat, the Owmby coach of our women's team, and the grandfather of our young opening bowler who was out there using my bat and in the process that it is me, not my bat, that is talentless.

The two of them out about 90, starting cautiously before unleashing an array of powerful shots around the wicket despite a very tricky pitch and the awful weather. After they were out, we did subside a bit when the opening bowlers came back on. 

But ask us before the game, we'd have taken 125 for 6, in fact we'd have bitten your hand off to the shoulder. 

The weather worsened. We went out to bowl. Could we do it? Could we pull off an improbable win?

Things started well. The aforementioned young opening bowler found his range very quickly and castled one of the openers, while others fell to the Keele captain LBW. There was a deflection run out - gosh luck really was running with us! 

Before too long, they were about 65 for 6. 

This is where our problems started. These lads did not panic; they knew what they were doing. They played straight. Meanwhile, we were running out of bowling - you could tell this as I was brought onto bowl.

50 runs needed, 45, 40. There was a brilliant run out before a young bat came on and started smoking us everywhere, including a mighty blow off me. The ball was like a bar of soap, it was hard to bowl, but the young opener snagged the big hitter to claim his fourth wicket! 30 runs, 25, 20. I was bowling as well as I could but one bad ball an over was costly, as was a batsman nicking one past the keeper's gloves. 

15 runs, 10. THe number ten bat managed to hit a coulpe of fours while looking like he didn't know what he was doing. Four runs to win, I floated one outside off stump, and got walloped for four. Scores level. 

I then agonisingly beat the bat with a beauty. 

However, he cross bat swatted the next ball for a single, and that was it. We lost. Winning runs scored off me. 

"Well that one was my fault" I said in the dressing room, hoping that the others would tell me it wasn't. 

They did.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 19.07.24

Running to Farndon Church

 It's the time of the year when I knew there ought to flowers filling up Farndon Churchyard, so I figured it was time to go out there and have a look.

How would I get there? By running of course. 

Very slowly as it turned out; my legs felt rather heavy and the roads felt very hard under my worn out running shoes - note to self, buy a new pair - and rare sun was making me boil up inside my Aldi running jacket. 

It was worth it though, as the church grounds were full of forget me not, bluebells and even some lungwort. Sadly, it was a bit chilly and so there weren't any pollinators on the wing. But in the end, I had got a good run in of just short of 10km, although it got very muddy where horses has churned up the bridleways. 

No sign of swallows or martens either, I am keeping an eye out for them, and the swifts too of course. 

They can't be far away. 

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 22.04.24

Berlin - The Obvious Tourist Sights are Obvious

 Berlin is an amazing city, and that was clear the moment we jumped off the train from the airport at the Hauptbahnhof, the magnificent modern building that is the main railway station at the city.

There was so much life on the streets; endless chains of any form of bike you can think of, cars that never need to stop for congestion, and people who answered my attempts to speak in German in perfect English. So many cafes with tables on the pavement, lots of kebab shops, and of course, the clicking pedestrian crossings with the iconic green man in a hat. 

I posted myself in charge of navigation, and after a shaky start, managed to get us to our hostel in Mitte by the Natural History Museum without too much difficulty. The room my sister and I were allocated was perfect; the Alt Bar in the courtyard, complete with sections of Berlin Wall, even more so.

Originally located in another part of the city, the bar's interior was moved in its entirety in 1993, and was once a favoured watering hole of David Bowie and Marlene Dietrich. This also brought us face to face with something British readers no longer experience; the fact that in Berlin, everyone smokes like chimneys and smoking is allowed in bars. 

The moment you walked into a bar, the sting of smoke is blinding. Although the bar was so dimly lit you couldn't see anything anyway. 

The next day had been allocated as the obvious tourist day. We set out from the hostel, and headed south along the Chauseestrasse trying to avoid being run over by trams. Lost amid university grounds, we did manage to extricate ourselves and find our way on the Unter den Linden.

The Unter den Linden is THE tourist drag. Lots of tat shops advertising tours by Trabant. Street cafes in the middle of the road selling kebabs and prosecco. Young kids buying fast food and religiously putting their litter in the bin - Berlin is spotless and seemingly actually respected and cared for by its inhabitants. 

Aside - we only saw four pieces of litter that day. All of which my sister put in the bin. 

After a stop at a cafe where I was shat on mightily by one of Berlin's ubiquitous hooded crows, a bird we don't see in England but do in Scotland, we trundled down towards museum island, but never really fancied going into any of them.

Museums take a long time, and ours was short. 

So, we went through the Brandenburg Gate, a magnificent edifice, before making our way to the huge park that is The Tiergarten, former hunting grounds of the Germanic royals. Sadly there were no wild boar about - just lots more hooded crows - and the cold weather meant there were no butterflies to see. Luckily Mozart and Beethoven weren't bothered about the weather. 

There are lots of little gazebos and things in the park, and each one of these had a homeless inhabitant. Poverty is perhaps less visible in Berlin than London, say, but it is still very much there. 

Another reminder of the darker history of this city is the Soviet War Memorial on the road that cuts that Tiergarten in half. The T34 tanks preserved there had leaf cutter bees living in their wheels. 

We began to head back now, taking in The Reichstag and its various memorials, before having a splendid cafe stop on the way home before stocking up with provisions - and Berliner beer! - at a Lidl. 

Where else?

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 30.04.23

Ooom-Pa-Pa

 Sunday afternoon in the sun took me to the castle grounds, where glittering gleaming instruments and parping sounds indicated that a brass band concert was taking place, surrounded by a generally if not exclusively mature audience stuffing themselves with ice cream.

Enjoying the retro vibe, I got a can of old fashioned bitter shandy and parked my backside on scorched grass more akin to the Serengeti than the East Midlands. 

The band hailed from Shirebrook Miners Welfare, Bassetlaw country rather than the world of Brassed Off, but the stories are pretty much the same. These bands are one of the few things that remain of our mining industry, an industry that lasted a little longer in Nottinghamshire because of the infamous split from Arthur Scargill and the NUM that didn't do them any good in the long run. 

They still bring in the big crowds, so it is something that obviously still means a lot to a lot of people, and I have to say there is something rather soothing about the warm burbling of tubas and euphoniums, although things became a little sharper when the theme from "The Great Escape" was played. 

I really wanted an ice cream afterwards, sadly my way to the rum and raisin was blocked a long queue of musicians in pale blue shirts wishing to cool their lips down after all that heavy blowing. 

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 11.08.22

Village Shenanigans Against Calverton

 Another home match, this time for the Sunday friendly side against Calverton.

This was one of our friendly matches that I had organised, so there was no relaxed preamble for me - I had to help get things set up, and meet and greet the opposition.

Calverton were a good bunch of mainly young lads from their second team, with an Australian captain from the first team who we all assumed would be as good as Steve Smith, and wouldn't take his foot off the gas for a second. Sandpaper optional. 

One of our ground staff very kindly came down to properly prepare the wicket that had been such a bad track on Saturday, and it actually played pretty well today although the odd ball was still misbehaving as I was to find out later. The captain and I thought it would be best to bat first, but of course he lost the toss and they took first use of the track. 

It had been pretty clear from the start of the day that this was going to be a tough match as Calcerton took their youngsters through a pre-match fitness and skills routine, while our players sat around on benches eating and smoking. This was soon borne out, as they got off to a flying start helped by my inability these days to try and catch anything hit really hard. The heart says yes, but the brain says no, and self preservation takes over.

Cortex prevents catching. 

The openers were a contrasting pair - a lad about the size of the stumps but with the seeming power of Ben Stokes, and a big unit in spectacles who hit me for 6 first ball when I came on to bowl, then 4 before retiring on 50. Lucky me. 

For a change I actually bowled ok with a bit more snap than recently, but there was no swing for me. I took a wicket with another bad ball, but there was some good stuff. Alas I strayed onto leg stump once or twice an over and would immediately get hit for 4 - the wicket maiden I bowled was an aberration, evidently. At least I didn't bowl any no-balls. 

Other guys bowled about the same as me but others bowled better so it wasn't a total massacre in the field. They put up 198 for 4 in 35 overs, and we did manage to keep the Aussie skipper pacing the sidelines in his pads which felt like a tactical victory at the time. One guy waiting to bat had decided to take his kit off during the final over, and ended up having to come in to face the last ball just holding a bat with no pads on or anything.

He still hit it for 4 though. 

Our batting got off to a sticky start and within 5 overs we were 9 for 2 with numbers 2 and 3 having both scored ducks. Our opening bat and the 3rd time vice captain were then able to put on a good partnership having to withstand from very good bowling in the process. When he got to 50, the Calverton scorer thought he should retire "because that's what we do".

"Well that's very nice" we said, and told him to go on and make a hundred. Sadly he didn't, but the reality is we were light on batting and figured that once he'd gone, we'd struggle like anything against their bowlers. 

In the middle of all this, the Aussie captain decided to attempt a run out, missed the stumps by miles and succeeded only in smashing one of his own fielders on his upper cheekbone with the ball. There was then a pause as first aid kits were hunted for and instant ice was found.

Science is such a wonderful thing!

Anyway, he went off for a check up and what I'm sure will be a huge black eye as I write this. In the meantime our lower middle order were dropping like flies. I had to go in and face a hat-trick ball from the big opening bat, who turned out to be quite a rapid bowler as well. I kept the first ball out, at which point the fielder at extra cover decided to try and run me out but only managed to hit me in the chest with the ball. 

Second ball I kept out too, but the third was short, jagged back and kept low to remove my leg stump, at which point the bowler ran down the wicket bellowing like King Kong and leading me to think he was going to try and eat my head. He was rather pleased with his triple wicket maiden. 

It was all over after that, a heavy but not dispiriting defeat to a fine young side. 

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 09.05.22

Sunset Bandstand

 I've accumulated a fair bit of Christmas chub alas, and after barely remembering the taste of non-cream cheese of the low calorie variety, I've found myself eating far too many wedges of Port Salou and blocks of Red Leicester on rich tea biscuits, which are at least the least-fattening biscuits you can get. 

It's going to be a long, tedious and joyless route back to trimness.

Cricket nets are looming this weekend, which strikes me as being a little risky in the current climate, but it's not for that reason I shan't be going. It's my spasmy back, which I intend to rest for at least another week before trying it out with a spot of bowling.

The other big worry is my ankle, I haven't done anything to put any pressure on it in months.

So, after a week back at work in either stygian gloom or freezing conditions, there's not a massive amount to see. But now, ever so slightly, there is a little more daylight, a little more time, to see and do things. 

I can hardly wait for spring.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 07.01.22

A Covid Draft up to the Seconds

 Was expecting to play for the third team today, after C19 caused a few gaps in the Saturday line-ups, but a late "ping" to one of our players on Saturday morning saw me moved up into the second team to play Hoveringham 2s on what was a blisteringly hot day.

Today sporting a cap, as opposed to my usual headband this year, was a very good move. My brain would have been fried to a crisp otherwise. Spray on factor 50 was slathered all over my face and neck. I had enough water in my cricket bag to fill the hump of a camel. And it still wasn't enough.

I had kind of resigned myself to a no bowling or batting day, as opposed to just no batting, as the second team have proved to be incredibly strong this year, riding high second in their division. So I tried to do the best I could in the field, and luckily I was actually quite sharp and made no cock ups whatsoever which is staggeringly rare for me. That was fielding in the "Jonty Rhodes" position at cover point as well!

Hoveringham too had struggled with C19 related issues, and could only play 10 men in the end, and it was, shall we say, an experienced squad. This combined with the heat and some extremely accurate bowling from our lads up front led to some very slow progress, with regular wickets keeping Hoveringham in check. 

This was all watched, probably with little interest, by three buzzards circling on thermals and making regular keening calls. Looks like the resident birds from the stand of trees at one end of the ground have successfully raised another little raptor!

After 25 overs with Hoveringham 4 down for about 90, I was slightly surprised to be called into the bowling attack after the Sunday skipper was hoiked off for bowling too many beamers. And it went pretty well, all things considered. I didn't bowl anything short, only bowled the one wide when I stumbled in delivery, and best of all - lol - forced the keeper not to stand up to the stumps as I was getting ball to zip through reasonably sharply by my pitiful standards. 

And yet, I took no wickets despite beating the bat a few times, and every so often I got spanked for four by Hoveringham's resident cow corner hacker because I look to bowl the ball full to get it to swing. 

"Never be upset by being hit for 4 on the drive" is often the club bowler's mantra, but I was still annoyed. "Grrrrrr". That's how annoyed I was. 

Our opening bowler then returned, and in combination with our "mystery spinner" at the other end, made short work of the remaining sloggers to bowl Hoveringham out for 132. 

Unbelievably our opening bats knocked off the runs in less than 20 overs to win by 10 wickets, while I tried to increase my step count by walking round both grounds on my shonky ankle. Racked up over 20,000 steps in the end. 

As the third team went down to a heavy defeat that I would have done nothing to change, I probably had a decent deal out of the day, although my ankle is telling me otherwise.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 17.06.21

Harebells are out on the Sconce

 I'm sure harebells used to appear far later than June, but, here we are. They have started to emerge in their usual spots on the slopes of the Civil War era Queens Sconce, the iconic Royalist fort that was designed to protect Newark from the Parliament forces of General Poyntz across the River Trent.

It is easy to take this wonderful historical artefact for granted, having walked around it and on it so many times. It is also a lovely little nature habitat, I know of nowhere else in urban Newark where harbells and greater stitchwort grow. 

Around 380 years ago, this site would have reverberated with cannon fire from the 4 bastions at each corner, while being hit by shot from the Roundhead positions over the river. Men ate and slept up here, hoping not to cop a musket ball in the head if they stuck their head over the parapet. 

Me, I'm glad all I have to do is just walk around it. 

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 19.06.21