Soggy Tail From Uxbridge

I couldn’t hitch a lift with Daddy either – he decided to stay home and work, silly sausage that he is.  “It’s going to bucket down”, said Monkey-Face solemnly as I set off to the underground early in the morning.  It did look a bit gloomy, but I scampered onto the Central Line to West Ruislip and then hopped for a couple of miles to the ground. 

Uncail Victor and the boys were busy getting the ground ready when I arrived.  Uncail Victor at Uxbridge is very friendly, not like Uncail Micheál at Lord’s who tries to chase me away all the time and stops me from having fun.

I offer to help with the pitch preparation (well, we want a result, don’t we?) but I was politely asked to do some burrowing on an adjacent field to help prepare for Nashy’s party, so I did that instead.  Can’t imagine what good that will do, but I’m always willing to help.

Soon the hour for cricket approached and Derbyshire won the toss (drat) and chose to bat (double drat).  Perhaps the overhead conditions would help our boys.  That balding pitch with a tinge of green certainly won’t. 

Then more bad news – Finny hurt his knee so he can’t play, but I want to see David Burton bowl so I’m not too upset. 

Two men and a dog show up to watch with me.  That’s about the sum total of the crowd.  It’s mighty cold today, even with a green fur coat.  I seem to disconcert the dog for some reason, so those men keep away from me. 

One strange man comes up to me and talks to me for quite a while.  Eventually he asks me for my vote.  I can’t remember his name.  I tell him that Bunny members don’t get the vote.  He rushes off and leaves me on my own again.  This outing isn’t much fun after all.

The boys are bowling well but the pitch is doing nothing and the batsmen are scoring a few runs.  Then Burton bowls a good’n and Rogers nicks it to slip – what a catastroff – Murali Kartik puts it down.  A coupel more go through vacant slips and it looks like it isn’t our day, but then Simpson takes Rogers off Timmy’s bowling and I feel good about that. 

Iceman Berg bowls a few decent deliveries too, but soon there is rain, we do the on off bit a couple of times but then we go off for early lunch.  72/1.

I call Monkey-Face on the bunny-phone.  “Come home, you daft bunny”, he says, “it’s going to heave it down”. 

I didn’t listen.  I waited at Uxbridge in the cold and wet for the inevitable.  I should have realized when even those men with the dog went home, but I’m keen as mustard, me.

I got home too late to see any of the Middlesex boys bat on the TV – I even missed  Eoin Morgan (my hero! my hero!! my hero!!!) scoring plenty for England (treble drat) and Monkey-Face just keeps telling me that I’m an idjit when I complain. 

So, the place to watch Middlesex players today was in front of the TV and not at Uxbridge.  But tomorrow, Thursday and Friday are other days and the weather forecast looks good.  So we can still win this.  I’ll always believe in the team; always.  “Right until the bitter, bitter end when Middlesex get confirmed bottom of the pile”, says Monkey-Face.  Don’t you hate know-all siblings?

Thank you for reading this.