Feeling the Heat at Wellow Dam

 Sunday saw us take ourselves - an hour and half early in some cases which must be some kind of club record - to Wellow for a game of proper village cricket at their very rustic ground with its portaloo that not even the insanely brave would dare use. 

It's a lovely setting, a wicket barely distinguishable from the rest of the ground that slopes down a hill to a dam that separates the ground from a fishing lake, where bored men waving sticks at the water were taunted by effortlessly skimming swallows feeding their young of the telegraph wires. 

By the time arrived, our team, somehow an eleven, was more or less there, but the opposition weren't. The suspicion was that they were at the pub, and indeed some of them may have been until fifteen minutes before the game began, Their selection policy seemed to involve asking anyone to play who happened to be at the ground, including the grandfather of one of our juniors, but it worked as they managed to get eleven too.

Eleven v eleven games are a rarity on Sundays these days.

Sent in by my co-captain to contest the toss because he keeps losing it, I indeed won and announced we would bat without hesitation. On a very hot day, this is always a no-brainer, but after fifteen minutes, we all wished we hadn't.

The Keele captain was wiped out by a nasty swinging delivery by Wellow's guest Australian player from Sherwood in the Bassetlaw league 3 and thus better than any of us. Our young left hander was then torpedoed by a ball that rolled along the ground. Batting at four, I then survived one ball, before what seemed like a perfectly safe defensive shot was scooped off the ground by the bowler, a 6 foot 6 beanpole who somehow launched himself forward, downwards and sideways to make the catch.

I stood there absolutely stunned. Defeated by a giant ginger salmon, I pronounced myself cursed. Four ducks in a row. 

Luckily, our batting was heavily backloaded, and our big hitters, combined with wiser batting by our resident geographer, took us to what seemed like a highly competitive total of 157 in a thirty over game. I felt somewhat relieved, but not for long. 

Wellow always seem to turn out a couple of very good players among the young lads and beer enjoying social players, and it was the aforementioned affable Australian who put us to the sword straightaway with some mighty hitting, although he was dropped early on. We were playing "retire at 50" in this match, so when he was hooked off when he raised his half century after what seemed to be about fifteen minutes, we felt we were perhaps back in the game.

No. The new batsman at three was just as powerful. 

We did keep nicking wickets at the other end, I myself took two for 23, but we couldn't get the gun batter out, indeed he too got to 50 before retiring. Could this be another chance??? 

No, for two reasons. One, the Wellow captain who had got me out was equally capable of hitting a very long bowl, and two, the venerable geographer had hatched a plan to replace me with himself in order to bowl gentle lollipops for the Wellow captain to hit into the pond in order to get the game over and get us to what was admittedly a very nice pub all the quicker on what was by now a very hot afternoon. 

He was hit for twenty, and the job was done. So we had lost, but it was still an enjoyable afternoon. 

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 25.06.24

No Hirundines in Winthorpe!

 Keeping myself mobile this week, I headed out to Winthorpe village, the next village downstream on the Trent from here.

I had a very specific location in mind; the old railway station cottage at the level crossing, presumably for when the barriers weren't automatic. This cottage has perfect eaves for house martins to nest under, and if you are there at the right time of the year, several pairs of these white rumped mini-swallows will be there, feeding their little ones with bugs caught from over the river. 

The swallows also enjoy swooping for insects over the water. Alas, no-one had told them or the house martins that I was coming, so they haven't sped up on their journeys over here from Africa. 

So, I just ran back through the village, taking a few photographs on the way.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 25.04.24

Traditional Village Green Cricket

 Today saw us go out to play Car Colston, a ground so pastoral it could bark and round up sheep, for our second last Sunday match of the year. 

I can't say I was feeling massively enthusastic this morning , but having succeeded in getting a lift at the last minute - thanks stepdad! - the really rather beautiful setting, complete with pub beyond the far boundary, lifted the spirits somewhat, as did the totally unexpected decently pleasant weather. 

No doubt fed up with losing the toss every match, the skipper sent his son out to toss with the strict instruction to bat first if he won on pain of eternal torment, and lo and behold it worked. 

It meant that us senior players - excluding myself we had probably our strongest side of the year - could get on with the serious task of sitting our arses on chairs and not having to get changed for hopefully another couple of hours, while our juniors got on with doing the batting. 

WE sent out our young opener alongside our youngest opener, and they made a fine start on a really testing wicket, with a hostile pace bowler making the ball spit nastily and jag around. Scoring runs was difficult, but of course, the young opener was able to, and he nearly made it to his 8th 50 before spooning a leading edge to slip. 

Nonetheless, an opening stand of over 50 represented a really good start. 

The problem was, we had slightly misjudged our batting order by backloading the big hitters, which meant we had too many of the young lads batting together to really hit the accelerator towards the end of the innings. It was still good for the young lads to get used to batting time and building an innings, we could have just done with an adult at the other end. We had the first team captain in the side, left unused in the hutch. 

Although to be fair, he wasn't exactly rocketing off his chair to put himself forward to bat, perhaps because his cricket trousers have two large holes in the knees. I didn't feel like batting either, knowing that the opening fast bowler still had two overs left and in no confidence in my ability having not played in a month.

I think we also thought the the young lads would get out, but they didn't. The skipper's son made an excellent 42, the keeper worked hard for 21. But we needed our power hitters to be out there for more than the two ball "cameo" we had at the end from one of them. 135 off 35 overs never relt like a good enough score. 

It was then tea time, and here my admin really failed badly. Or rather my phone did, setting my new phone up meant I missed the text message offering us tea.This really did not go down well with the senior pros in the team, and they kept reminding me of my ineptitude all afternoon. 

So as well as being a hopeless player, I'm now hopeless at everything else. 

So, tea time with nothing to eat, not that I eat at tea time anyway. It gae me a chance to have a walk out of earshot of my grumbling team-mates, and take in the highly picturesque setting. It is deep into September, but the open setting and large numbers of insects on the wing meant that at last I was able to watch swallows swoop low over the ground, while higher up flocks of house martins twittered while their white rumps glittered in the occasional sun showers. 

The chairman having been successfully annoyed by my nature digression no doubt, I can then move on to our bowling, which was opened by our first team captain, who hasn't bowled in Saturday cricket for years, steaming in like a rutting stag and trying to put the batters in fear of their lives with some classic tennis ball bouncers on the spongey wicket. It worked as well, as he had one of the openers caught just about two handed by the skipper's son. 

I did my best to field at sqaure leg, dreading a hard shot being blasted at me but fielding with good energy and enthusiasm - wearing a fitness band has helped greatly with this although not with anything that might be useful to the team like, I don't know, being any good at the game. 

The wicket never seemed to play up as much for our bowlers as it had Car Colston's, and we couldn't take wickets often enough to put any real pressure on the opposition. The chairman bowled well without luck, the skipper's son bowled well to take a wicket first ball but nothing else, and I came on to bowl an over of painful utter rubbish, my arm not coming over properly and my ankle swelling while I bowled. 

I haven't bowled for about 5 weeks to be fair, but it's just physically becoming impossible now, which is making me rather sad. I made the throat sltting sign after just that one over.

We did take a couple of late wickets through some deviously cunning off spin deployment, but all anyone was thinking about now was getting to the pub for roast potatoes. 

Which after we lost, we did and very nice they were too. Feel very fat tonight. 

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 11.09.22

Trekking the Shire Dyke, Redux

 A couple of days ago I decided that I was fed up of feeling lazy and demotivated as I had been for a few days, and felt the need to blow away the cobwebs with a long walk. 

I know. I'm not very good at the "Listen to your body, get some rest" thing, nor the idea that you are allowed to have relaxing days where you do nothing apart from watch movies. I feel guilty about what I perceive as wasting time. 

These are not great attitudes, but then again, going walking is not a bad thing either. It's a question of balance.

The route I'd chosen for my walk was one I've not done for a while; walking the 5 or so kilometres to Barnby in the Willows along the road, and then following the River Witham and then The Shire Dyke back into town, a rather longer route than the outward bound one. 

I was really happily surprised to find in the village that the house with the eaves where the house martins nest was still busy with birds - there are still unfledged young in the nests that the adult birds are madly feeding, with cute black and white faces peeking over the rims of the nests. Plenty of swallows are around too.

The weather prospects look good, so hopefully they will be able to fledge and feed up in time for their trip to Africa. 

The route took me through the churchyard, and alongside the River Witham for a short stretch before its confluence with the Shire Dyke. This is when I remembered why I don't to do this walk very often - most of this section is along the edge of roughly ploughed fields it is really hard to walk along, and the views are actually quite bleak. 

Too much of our farmland feels too sterile. 

More swallows, mostly juveniles, were flying over the dyke at certain points, and also at a stables near the end of the path where it joins the main road, and the rather tedious walk back home along the main road through town. 

All in all, I'm glad I did the walk, although my gammy ankle wasn't, and the sense of achievement was palpable. But it's a slightly grim route to say its the countryside, and it reinforces my view that Notts is just a rubbish county for this sort of thing sometimes!

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 04.09.21

A Hirundine Storm

Utterly blank day yesterday where it was so cold and miserable I didn't do a thing all day.

I suppose we are allowed to have off days, but I still felt guilty about it. Hence me getting another 10km run in today, where while it was cold and windy it was at least bearable.

It was worth it, too.

I ran out to Farndon, then cut along the path to the power station on the other side of the river. It was here that I ran into a veritable storm of swallows, house martins and swifts feeding where the river drops off over a weir and presumably the rising insects were a rich source of food.

There appeared to be a sand martin colony based in the river bank too. Maybe about 50-60 birds present, although sadly rather distant.

Happily, on my side of the river I was treated to some prime aerobatics as the swallows skimmed the furrows of the freshly ploughed field, and the martins and swifts scythed about overhead, challenging the wind to do its worst.

I was happy to interrupt my run to take it all in for a bit.

Wasn't the only good sighting I had either, earlier on in a cow pasture over the river from the South Marina, I flushed a pair of noisy oystercatchers.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 11.05.20

Cricket with Robin's Pin Cushion

The final final final game of the season today, a little friendly at Upton village, a very affluent settlement a couple of miles this side of Southwell, famous for its Horological Institute.

We played this corresponding fixture last year in warm sunshine, with butterflies and swallows plentiful up on the top of the hill. This year, it was grey, cold and windy, an autumnal scene nicely augmented by the mournful clanging of the out of tune bell on Upton church.

In comparison to other recent games, I was in a much better mood and able to field happily for over 20 overs without getting a bowl, helped by the knowledge I was being held back for the better Upton bats who were lurking down the order like hungry sharks. Our juniors got in with it early doors, and I was happily fielding - and fielding well - as the need arose. Even had two run out chances, both of which I missed of course.

Skipper's tacticts would have worked if I was able to bowl consistently, but the annoying habit of bowling 4 good, one indifferent and one terrible delivery an over that has plagued me the last month of the season cropped up again. I bowled some absolute screamers, quick swing balls that beat the bat and nearly took the stumps, and also some short balls on leg stump that got thumped.

I wasn't quite alone in this, the wind up there was making things rather difficult. But no wickets for me in my last game of 2017.

Chasing 160 on a very tricky wicket - you know it must be if I can get the ball going shoulder high past the batsman - I let my wonderfully welcome hot tea of pasta bolognese settle by taking walk round the rather peculiarly shaped Upton ground, and taking pictures of their slightly phallic looking logo.

In the wild rose hedges, I came across the most bizarre furry structure;  a sort of red and green candyfloss of tendrils and wisps upon the bark of a very thorny bush. Turns out it is a Robin's Pincushion, a gall caused by a parasitic wasp. Swallows appeared, chattering twitteringly to each other, but we were losing wickets too regularly to enjoy the surroundings too long.

I ended batting at 8, and was feeling really confident, defending the ball with purpose, knocking it about - and then my young partner committed suicide and ran himself out - and looking to sttle in to make a score. Unfortunately, my habit of playing positively at the ball rather than dead bat means I tend to leave a hell of a gate between bat and pad, and an Upton bowler with a striking resemblance to Mike Gatting castled me through it.

Luckily, with 9 wickets down, the rain, and some very generous drops of our skipper, meant we got away with the draw.

I did enjoy it though, felt in much better mood and really enjoyed my fielding out there. Must work on that positive thing, and then really sort some consistency out with my bowling. Batting, I'm better than 11 but need to work out how I'm going to play.

Ah damn. No more cricket for months and months.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 10.09.17

Victory at Last, Victory at Last, thank the lord almighty Victory at Last

Ok, it wasn't a Martin Luther King level achievement today, but we won a game.

Our little band of third team players took off to play Ellerslie IV, a team that boasts a compact and well appointed club ground, but their lower level teams are banished to out grounds.

Clifton Playing Fields was our home for the day, a seemingly rather grubby facility on the outskirts of Nottingham.

A pre match French Cricket knockabout in the surreally large toilets was about as much time as we spent in the dressing rooms. They were a bad, bad place, disease lurking in every corner. We lugged our gear out to the ground itself, and there it stayed.

Skipper won the toss and had us fielding. We made a good start, although I had a slight rat on as I hadn't been given the new ball. We had them 4 down before I got on to bowl, and I wasn't good enough to get any wickets myself today. Or rather lucky enough, as usual I went past the outside edge about 30 thousand times without getting a nick. Bowled rather quick at times, by my standards. I don't think Mitch Johnson would have been impressed.

7 overs, 4 maidens 0-8 I would have been thrilled at a year ago, but I'm a wicket hunter now.

As ever these days, we have other very good bowlers, and we kept them to 64-9 off 40. It was a tricky wicket, to be fair, and we fielded brilliantly.

After tea, we got on with batting, and I went off to investigate the grounds. It looked dull, but there was a butterfly meadow with some bees, and a little stream where some large fish, probably chub, were cruising around. A fly rod would have been the best way of getting them. Swallows skimmed the water, and at the other end of the ground a noisy flock of house martins picked at insects among the tree tops.

I thought I'd have time for all this, and some sketching too, but alas their bowlers were just as good as ours, and we struggled. I was down to go in at 10, but it became clear I'd be needed, and at about 45-8, in I went.

My first partner went quite quickly, so it was soon the number 11, a young cricketer who isn't a great batsman, but has a strong head, and a good cricket brain. We agreed to take any runs we could, anywhere, anyhow, snicks, nicks, pads and thin air. I struggled, he smiled and swung. One by one, we got the runs. Only I wasn't counting. I didn't look at the scoreboard.

LBW appeals came and went. I was dropped at gully. My nerves were all over the place, but I managed to get bat on ball most of the time. Eventually my partner informed us we had two runs left go get, with a very jangly me on strike and a new bowler coming on. I missed the first two balls, but produced my best shot for the end, an off drive that beat everyone.

We had won!

I've never done that before. I only got 10, but they were the most important 10 of my career.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 27.05.17