A Gentleman's Game.

The covers are off, the grass mowed, the pitch rolled and the good lady's steam iron has got me a crisp popping crease in my whites.

The thwock of willow upon leather, cries of "Howizzzzzheeeee?" Tea at 4:30, perhaps a cucumber sandwich and a slice of Victoria sponge.

He was in! He was OUT! Ya cheating b*st*rds! The fight among the Biffa Bins behind the Cricketers Arms later that evening

A Gentleman's Game.

I can almost smell summer.