Conker Candles, Cricket, and a Taste of Asia

A rather bitter taste, as it turned out, as we were battered out of sight by a talented and professional Pakistani side. But at least it was a fraction warmer than yesterday, I even had to take my sweater off when I was bowling.

It was still a bit cold for our New Zealand player, making his debut, who decided to bat in a hoodie. But I digress.

Yep, they were talented as anything. And after us from the word go. I opened the bowling and managed to get away with it for a few overs, causing problems and getting their opening bat, who I bowled a fairly awful slower ball too, which he swiped hugely at only for the ball to roll down the back of his bat and off his legs onto the stumps.

The keeper even apologised. Still, it goes in the scorebook as "Bowled Simon" and no-one will ever know how it happened. I was ashamed, but still stood there with my arms spread like Andrew Flintoff.

After that, it was fairly non stop ball whacking, as their number 3 bat got a modest 178. I was spared most of this as I hid in a quiet spot on the field after I finished my opening spell, but after getting another wicket caught and bowled (I celebrated by merely running a lap of the ground screaming), I had him caught on the boundary. This time I lay on the ground screaming. I might have waved my legs in the air a bit.

God I love bowling. I love taking wickets.

They got 280 odd, but our very young team plus old crocks such as myself never stopped trying.

We realised we had no chance of winning the match, and just batted our own game, pretty well at first. I couldn't go nature hunting straightaway, as I had to stand on the field and count 6 pebbles out over and over again. Square leg umpring, gah.

You never saw Dickie Bird wearing a padded plaid shirt on TV though.

WHen I did get to go and search, I went and had a close look at some of the horse chestnut trees around the ground, which are now in full "candle", the tall stalks of blossom that appear in spring. They make the conker trees look like huge leafy candelabara.

The flowers are oddly plasticky looking.

Herons and cormorants flew over the ground, and swallows were about too. Sadly, no swifts on view for me yet.

I went into bat at 9 eventually against bowling far too good for me, and got 0 after getting far too early on the ball and spooning up an easy catch. I want to do well at batting, but as El Presidente says, maybe I should settle for good bowling and fielding. We nearly batted the whole 40 overs though, which was good.

The Lights go on, the Temperatures go Down

Newark's Christmas lights went on on Sunday; I was just on a pretty decent long run, 10.5km in when I turned into town to see what was going on, and found myself running into a solid jam of people packing out the market place listening to One Direction cover acts on the stage, while hogs were roasted, porks were pulled, and funny spinny lighty-up things were sold to excited children.

I've never seen the town so busy for such an event, and although this was pleasing indeed, it wasn't my scene at all. A lot of tat and fairground rides, and far far too many people. But hey it gives me colour to show you! And that can't be bad.

Since then, the temperature has been dropping until the last two nights it hit about -6 and -7, which has made my morning cycles to work utter agony; I have Raynaud's syndrome and my left hand in particular has been telling me how cold it has been by means of the scale of agony.

"Bullshit was that -1" I announced yesterday, referring to the weather forecast, and my left hand was right.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 30.11.16

Doolittle is at the Locks

The last time I showed you the locks it was when they were emptied so the gates could be replaced. I'm showing you them again 1) just because they are historical and heritigical and stuff and have the castle behind them and 2) because of a particular sign I found.

More Joy of Morris

I was wandering moderately aimlessly around the market square today, after buying two tins of soup and other assorted excitements, when I heard the sounds of aggression, the sounds of fighting.

These are not normally unusual events in this town during the night, but fights during the day are not that normal, unless it's a couple of the town drunks fighting themselves at high volume, but as time went on I realised that no fights 1) went on that long and 2) were accompanied by the sound of bagpipes.

So I traced the sound past the bear baiting post, and onto the little square backing onto the Wetherspoons pub, to find a wide variety of Morris sides performing while a blue faced man dressed as a sailor called out helpful information.

"Why are these people dancing with brooms?" I thought to myself, and as if reading my mind, he piped up, loudly "THIS IS A TRADITIONAL NOTTINGHAMSHIRE BROOM DANCE!!!"

That would explain it then.

After a couple more dances, various scarily dressed mummer types lined up in order to look like the case of The Wizard of Oz on LSD, and scream scarily at us that they would essentially kill us if we didn't give them money. I was in no mood to die so I thought I'd leave before this costume mugging could be enacted.

But as ever, nice to see something that turned out not to be violence outside those particular pubs.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 02.01.16

Line up in line, line up in line

Formation closes in

The blue sailor

Swords now out!

A complex tangle

And a star of swords is made, just like The Wicker Man!

Broom dancers

Brushes to centre!

Mummers mugging

Pub Quiz Funs

Up until 8 years ago (!!!) I ran I weekly pubquiz at the much missed Mailcoach Inn here in Newark, but when that place eventually turned into a Sicilian mobster's den - truly! - my Thursday nights ended up being my own again.

However, David and Leslie, who used to run The Coach, got me to do a new quiz at Oscar's, the pub they have now taken over. So, after a lot of research and struggles with busted internets, I took my black book of doom down to the bar last night, with much trepidation.

An empty room is the quizmasters dread.

Luckily, the room was absolutely stuffed with competitors, including to my delight top local birder Nick Crouch, and many friends I hadn't seen for years. Within seconds I was sweating with nerves, and that was without the presence of Irene from Home and Away, who is appearing locally in Panto and drops into Oscars from time to time.

People were expecting questions about nature, astronomy, and of course, Christmas questions. What they got were a musical round where I played Christmas songs I didn't know how to play on my guitar, dodgy 70s sitcoms like Love Thy Neighbour, and unspeakable euphemisms from Star Wars.

Naturally, as with all my quizzes, it turned out to be murderously difficult and 21 / 40 ended up being the winning score. But that was kind of irrelevant, as it was all a hell of a lot of fun and everyone ended up rather merry.

Thanks then to Dave and Leslie, and all who played.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 30.12.15

The Golden Castle on the Silver River

Sometimes you go out and just don't want to pressure yourself with the expectation of running a long way, or craning your neck treeward to take photographs of things that probably won't come out.

Sometimes all you want to do is just get out there and go walking, listening to the radio, and in general, just mooching with no direction in mind.

If there is something to see, then snap it! But don't go looking for it until your eyes pop out of your head.

If it's there, you'll know.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 12.12.15

The Railway Arch

Found myself unexpectedly fascinated with one of the old bridges that cross the cycle path, formerly a railway branch line (not the old London line as I thought) while out running yesterday. It was easy for me to keep my eyes open for objects of interest, as a calf injury was hindering me yet again.

This whole summer has been one of "being crocked". Blame the cricket.

This railway bridge is encrusted with lichen and dirt, the deeply embedded smoke of a thousand ghostly trains beheaded by Doctor Beeching, and the modern scrawl of the sadly witless local graffiti artists. Earlier in the year, the much missed kingfisher would erupt from the greenery just beyond it as I interrupted its stickleback hunting with my heavy tread.

It may not be the most interesting piece of history, but it is historic none the less.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 04.09.15