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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Crickets

Last weekend, He Who Only... was invited, as he is now a fully-blown (steady now) celebrity, to play in a Charity Crickets Match, which is the kind of thing you'd expect to hear about Bruce Forsyth being involved in.

Here he is, doing his best Brucie impression:




In a former, much younger and less booze soaked point in his life, He Who Only... was quite handy with a cricket bat and one of those little round ball things, and he played for a variety of teams, some of which were quite important. I'm constantly telling people this, because it's very impressive to me, having never once been good at a sport ever. He Who Only... is one of those irritating people who's basically good at every sport he tries out. Apparently. I've only got his word for this.

Despite the fact that we have now been "dating" for almost three years at this point, I had never actually seen him play crickets before last weekend. He was suitably nervous about me watching him perform in the field, since apparently all of his virility can be immediately assessed through sporting performance.

Well, I'm no expert at the game but I was jolly impressed. He made a couple of fantastic diving catches during the first half, some of which even threw his crickets hat off, and I applaud any kind of unnecessarily demonstrative and potentially life-threatening sporting moves in what is essentially a friendly match between two sets of men (and one lady) who are old enough to literally know better.



This hole was there before we got there, honest.

The whole day was just fantastic, set in ridiculously beautiful countryside and on the sprawling grounds of a privately owned estate with breath-taking views every where you could look. In the distance, a glider plane was repeatedly launched and swooped about all afternoon, and just down the dirt track from the cricket grounds a mass of hens stood grazing. There wasn't another house as far as the eye could see, and the eye could see quite far in most directions. God, it was great.

In the second half, I became inadvertently in charge of the score board, as it was being attended to by a nine-year-old and a seven-year-old who kept wandering off to find some cake, and adding on runs whenever they felt the need.

I enjoyed the responsibility, and importantly didn't secretly add runs to He Who Only's... team score because I am both honest and worthy.

Next week we're going to Leeds to watch England play the West Indies (or "Windies", as I shall be calling them, because I know all the lingo). Expect some rivetting expert reports from that soon, probably.

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