As I write, Mr Grigg is involved in the post-match analysis going on in the pub. I am not there because I don't have a clue when it comes to cricket, nor do I much care. However, they are lucky there is at least one solicitor on the opposition side. When I walked up to the pitch earlier, past the wild honesty, dead nettles and red campions, I heard leather on willow, closely followed by 'clunk' as the ball whizzed over the top of the hedge and on to a 4x4. The elderly occupants ducked when the blow struck but amazingly drove on. They looked terrified. Probably thought they had strayed into a parallel universe (which would be correct) and hit by molten lava from Dantes Peak or caught in the Millennium Falcon as it stormed through the asteroid belt.
After that, I felt the best course of action was to stay just long enough to take a few pictures.
Get that ball will you? Skipper Super Mario lets Celebrity Farmer's nephew do the running.
With my reputation? Mr St John, loved-up from his birthday trip to Venice, plays the field in shorts.
That turncoat Mr Loggins, in the hedge looking for a ball, batted for the other side.
Our lads, bravely led from the front by Super Mario, were beaten - but only just, I am assured. And on occasions like these, the super-competitive Mr Grigg always maintains it's the taking part that counts. Yeah, right.
Meanwhile, down at the plot, Mr and Mrs Sheepwash have been bringing the girls into line. The five French hens, egged on by the audacious token Brit, have been on the move. Jane, the Light Sussex pullet, who has not laid since her maiden double yolker on Saturday, was spotted on a fence post the wrong side of the pen, looking in at her mates singing: 'I believe I can fly.' Fortunately, Pelly has spent the last five days training them so well that Jane came back when called. And her reward? She and her disciples had their wings clipped.
No wonder the Sheepwash-lets left home.
That's about it
Love Maddie x
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