Green up the whites

Right arm over, from the end with the large skeletal tree, either late to put on spring growth or dead. It was thought to be an elm. The grass was long and luscious apart from a miraculously (given the recent weather) manicured square, the transition twixt the one and the other during the run-up rather cumbersome, especially for someone who can't seem to iron out a little shuffle a few paces before the delivery stride.

Before all that, a near spanking new changing room block (for it was neither pavilion nor clubhouse) with magical lights in the toilets and a carpeted interior that made it a boots-off-at-the-door affair, unlike some cowsheds that are commandeered.

Green up the whites on the first ball of the match, diving to prevent overthrows from an enthusiastic run-out attempt. The opening bowlers limit, tie-up and break through before a new batsman cuts loose towards the elm. The lambs bleated in a teletubby-esque landscape but was that sweet smell grass or manure?

Right arm over the wicket; you've got to pitch the ball up on this square, go for yorkers, different grips, slower balls, pray for swing. Sometimes, runs should count against the fielder not the bowler, especially if you let one through your legs for four on the cover boundary, even if you do later score a 50 and win the match with a six.

"Do you want him at slip?", asks the skip.
"Oh yes, keep him in for now" and to justify, bowl a full ball a little more to the off-side which with a bit of swing, movement off the pitch or whatever pegs back the troublemaker's off stump: First scalp of the season.

Apart from a pair of howlers the fielding was sharp, nevermind the near total lack of practice; a couple of run-outs and reasonably straightforward catches held.

A child, barely a teenager, came into bat wearing a white helmet not seen since the days of Graham Gooch. It made a nice change. Usually they're those uniform blue ones and everybody looks the same. He played a good, straight game but the long grass didn't reward his driving.

Bowling in the middle (of a plateau 500 feet above sea level) focuses the senses on the stumps somewhat more than in the nets, without all those stringy restrictions, walls and clutter, or so it seemed, with the ball seldom straying from the stumps. There was no extravagant swing to control but a couple of balls bit the turf, jagging in unexpected directions. The laddie had the sense to watch and block the yorkers, playing everything perpendicular, the other one risked more and when he swivelled and missed and was hit as straight as a very straight thing, the denial of the earnest LBW appeal was a disappointment hard to bear.

Came off to come back on again at the death but other bowlers had plans and guile, plugging away and whittling the wickets until earlier score predictions were revised down. A brilliant stop at mid-off ended in another run-out and attempts to go aerial mis-fired and were caught. Our eldest finished with 3-10 with the opposition on 99.

Domestic gods in our midst served tea with wholemeal baguettes, cheese, houmous, scones, cream and jam, plus all the usual. Someone had to do something about a broken down car.

Post teatime is often a good time for a bowler to curl up with a good book, and so it happened that the scorebook was claimed. Others wandered off, allegedly to avoid being asked to umpire, whilst batters 1, 2 and 3 got their freak on.

Bloody long grass; now it's slowing our progress. Drives and cuts on one side of the wicket go nowhere for nothing. By the 14th over the scores are identical with both openers gone. Chalk and cheese batting now; circumspect straight blocks at one end, punchy lofts from the other, some into danger zones but unattended to.

"Can you ask him to come and look after his daughter?"
"Erm, not really, he's batting"

She's really not badly hurt, it's just a graze and she'll pick up with a bit of attention. We can talk about snakes.

The partnership flourished and blossomed, in turn defending, pushing and fruitfully dropping plums by and over the boundary line.

"Let's finish this now."