We chose Seven Kings Park in the Borough of Redbridge as the venue, because we have put a full suite of new facilities into that park. So we needed to wait for all that work to be completed ahead of a full media launch.
The day had finally arrived. I needed to go into the city afterwards and also needed to get Dumbo (my car) in for service:
Dumbo – a pint-sized Chelsea tractor…more like a Chelsea tricycle really
Point is, I went to the gym, drove out west to the house, then to drop Dumbo at the garage and then commuted to Newbury Park…which I imagined might take a heck of a lot longer than it did take. So I got to Newbury Park ludicrously early.
On emerging from the station, I started fiddling with my map-app to work out what to do next; a non-trivial matter in getting from Newbury Park to Seven Kings Park. A pair of suited and booted people, one male, one female, had also emerged and were carefully studying a large (A3) colour map. I guessed that they might be visiting dignitaries on the way to the same event, so I asked them where they were going.
“Regal House” said the man, turning the map one way up and then the other in bemusement. “Can’t make out one end of this road from another.”
I glanced at his upside down map and noticed “Regal House” clearly marked on the map, about 300 yards to our right just along the main road.
“You need to go that way”, I said, pointing, “I think it’s just past that building, there”.
Some 45 years after earning my cub scout map reading badge, the skills are still coming in handy.
Buoyed by my success and the fact that I had already done one good deed for the day, I got my head around the map-app and strode towards Seven Kings Park, arriving a mere, Dicky Bird-like, 45 minutes early.
I wasn’t the first Trustee to arrive; Chris Swadkin had made an even more cautious time allowance for his journey from Kent.
The new Seven Kings Park nets
There had been a distinctly autumnal (indeed, even misty/mizzly/drizzly) feel to the early part of the day, but the sun started to show its face and then came out full glow just in time for our joyous launch.
Soon there was a melange of cricketers, dignitaries, media folk and a small army of schoolchildren for the launch. Ed Griffiths doesn’t organise things by halves.
The speeches were brief, to the point and note perfect. In particular, Jas Athwal, the head of Redbridge Council, spoke with great passion about growing up in that neighbourhood and playing in the Park. His hope is that these facilities help inspire youngsters to play and love cricket as he does. Jas recorded a version of his message in a short video later in the morning:
Jas’s reminiscences of playing in that park as a kid reminded me a little of my own, albeit on the other side of London and albeit Jas did not go into details about the players he tried to emulate…
…actually, now I come to think about it, Jas did mention his heroes. In particular, Jas mentioned Bishen Bedi. I remember trying to emulate Bedi too, in the summer of 1974. I could manage the loop but not the spin and certainly not the inch-perfect accuracy. But I digress.
Leshia Hawkins, who heads up the ECB’s participation and growth team for London, spoke from the heart about the initiative and how helpful it has been for the four London-based counties (Essex, Kent, Middlesex and Surrey) to come together, with the ECB, to progress community cricket in this way.
Forhad Hussain (the Essex Trustee) spoke briefly on behalf of us Trustees, emphasising the collaborative nature of the initiative, while Dawid Malan said a few kind words on behalf of the county players who had turned out to help make the day special.
Since I started drafting this piece, there is now an official London Cricket Trust short video about the launch, which I have embedded below:
Somehow I have found my way into both videos, albeit very briefly. 15 seconds of fame; perhaps less.
When the players, most of the coaches and kids gathered at one end of the new non-turf pitch for the press shoot, we were left with a fairly large gaggle of schoolkids and one coach at the other end, so I took on the wicket-keeping duties.
I tried to crouch, catch and stump like Alan Knott…
…although I probably looked more like a clumsy git trying to do the policemen’s dance in When The Foeman Bares His Steel…
…not least because I was wearing one of my smartest lounge suits rather than cricket clobber.
Still, I was taking the ball surprisingly well and was only denied several stumpings by an over-zealous ECB official (who shall remain nameless) consistently shaking her head rather than raising the finger at square leg. Does she not realise that those schoolkids were not there to gain encouragement, nor were they to enjoy themselves at cricket; surely they were there to have their characters built in the school of hard knocks that only cricket at its cruellest can provide?
Personally, I got completely lost in the fun of actually playing cricket; when I eventually looked around I realised that the dignitaries, cricketers, media folk and my fellow trustees had all gone, leaving just me, the coaches, the kids and the teachers.
I was five minutes late for the Trustees meeting we had scheduled to take place in the pavilion after the launch. Not my style, to be late for such a transparently frivolous reason, but I think I might have been forgiven in these special circumstances.
We’ve had plenty of media coverage with still more promised (at the time of writing, less than a week after the event).
Our most prized bit of media so far comes in the form of social media – specifically a retweet by AB de Villiers to his six-million-plus followers:
It’s hard to express what a special day this was. I can hardly wait until we can do some more of these launches. We’ll be putting in dozens of facilities across London over the next couple of years, so I’ll be putting my hand up and no doubt going to quite a few.
This event just seems to get better and better each year.
I started my end of season day at Lord’s, as in recent previous years, with a game of real tennis ahead of the lunch.
My task was to play against a relative newbie, to whom I gave a massive handicap – he started each game on 30 while I started on owe 15. That is quite a challenge for a clumsy clot like me who can make racket errors at the drop of a bandanna. I was pleased to achieve a one-set-all draw on that basis.
Mick Hunt, the Lord’s groundsman who is retiring this autumn, brought a couple of visitors into the dedans for a while to watch us play. I told him that I could have done with him leaving a bit more grass on the surface, as I am more experienced at lawn tennis than real tennis. I think he got the joke.
Then to the Middlesex drinks reception. The sun seems destined to shine on this event of late; it was a glorious day yet again and Lord’s looked a picture from the top of the Mound Stand.
Leshia greeted me warmly before informing me that I might expect an ECB disciplinary warning for my conduct breaches on the field of play during the launch…well really!
Daisy (Janie), who had been around for a while, soon found me, as did Escamillo Escapillo & PD. Soon after that, we were summoned for lunch.
Always a good meal and always pleasant company at table, this event.
Lots of awards – David Fulton hosting the event.
As well as awards, there are some raffles and games.
The higher and lower game. Is Leshia hedging her bets there or still making up her mind? We might need to get the anti-corruption unit to have a look at that.I asked Escamillo Escapillo what signal he would give from square leg if a nipper had wandered out of their crease and the wicket-keeper had stumped the nipper at lightening speed
I got nowhere with the higher and lower game, but I did apply my skills, knowledge and experience to filling in my raffle ticket accurately and legibly. So, when my card came out of the hat, I won half a case of wine. 95% luck, 5% skill, just don’t try it without the skill.
Geoff Miller speaks wittily about his career, using only a cricket bat as a prop
Geoff’s cricket bat-wielding oratory brought to mind the “Ian’s Cricket Bat” scene from the movie Spinal tap:
…but I digress.
Where were we? Oh yes, awards and speeches.
James Harris (great name) got several awards this year, including “the big ones”Mike O’Farrell, our Middlesex Chairman, always speaks well and from the heart
After the formal proceedings had ended, Janie and I chatted for some while with Chris Goldie, Escamillo Escapillo and PD, before the sun started to set and we realise that we had, once again, enjoyed an especially long end of season lunch.
A slightly strange chain of events and connections led to me being invited to give a video interview at the London School of Economics (LSE) for the LSE100 course, which is an interdisciplinary course for all undergraduates. The theme of the course this year is quite “Price of Fishy”.
Ahead of that 20 September interview, I thought I owed it to myself and to 1,600 new LSE undergraduates, to mug up a bit on The Price Of Fish – not least because it is a good few years since we last promoted it and longer still since we wrote it.
The interviewers also wanted to talk about predictive analytics and data visualisation. I felt on top of the stuff we’ve been doing lately on that topic, but also thought about the pitfalls of analytics and the graphical representation of statistics, which took my mind back to the wonderful little book How To Lie With Statistics, which I also decided to skim by way of revision.
And if you are going to skim-read books on sunny afternoons during the last home Middlesex match of the season, one might as well do that skimming at Lord’s.
Tuesday 18 September 2018
I got my other work bits and pieces out of the way, but at a slightly slower pace than I had intended, while keeping half an eye on the cricket score.
When I left home, Sam Robson was in the eighties. When I arrived at Lord’s he was on 96. I ran into Richard Goatley and Rob Lynch, who were in the Harris (no relation) Garden. They soon came and joined me in the Allen Stand gap to watch Sam clock up his first century for a while.
Feeling a bit sheepish about reading my own book in public, I decided to sit in the sort-of sun trap end of the Grandstand, where that stand meets the Compo, which is always very sparsely populated and does not seem to attract the usual suspects.
I wrote up this surreptitious Price Of Fish experience in a King Cricket stylee, which was eventually published by KC in February 2019 – click here for a link.
By the time I had delved through those bits of The Price Of Fish that I needed to recall, it was getting very cold so I took sanctuary in the Pavilion Writing Room, where I chatted with a gentleman who looked mightily familiar to me although not in a Lord’s context. Turns out he lives around my way.
Wednesday 19 September 2018
I played tennis at The Queen’s Club that morning and had been asked to return that evening. The Lord’s tennis court is being refurbished this October so we have very kindly been granted real tennis refugee status at other nearby courts, including Queen’s.
I worked out that, between those real tennis gigs, I could get a few hours of cricket watching and book skimming done.
I felt a similar queasiness about being seen reading How To Lie With Statistics as I did about being seen reading my own book. Of course, I am drawing attention to the pitfalls and the ways that bad people might deliberately lie or mislead…not advocating the use of deceit, but that might take a bit of explaining.
So I returned to the Grandstand/Compo corner and again saw/was seen by hardly anybody – certainly no-one I know.
Horrific traffic the last few hundred yards of the journey back to Queen’s, but I got there just in time…which is a little more than can be said for my opponent.
Thursday 20 September 2018
I did my LSE interview in the morning, which seemed to go well.
In fact I could have gone to Lord’s that afternoon for a while, as my afternoon client meeting had to be postponed. But it was well cold on the Thursday and in any case I could think of a zillion things I ought to get done with the unexpected few hours, so I went home and did those things instead, keeping at least one eye on the cricket score.
The plan was to show James Pitcher around the pavilion late afternoon, possibly having met up with Edwardian (one of King Cricket‘s correspondents) earlier.
End of season has been a bit like this, this season. Chas was unable to join me as planned for Day One of the Sussex match a couple of weeks ago, so I only got to see a few hours of that match in the afternoon of Day Two, while showing Bikash and Shivangee around the pavilion, ahead of the Members’ Forum that evening.
Anyway, for this Kent match, I decided instead to go straight from the house to Lord’s in Dumbo and pay to park in St John’s Wood for a few hours rather than stop off at the flat to drop of Dumbo and get suited & booted – Edwardian is a Warner Stand chap rather than a Pavilion person.
Edwardian and I spent about an hour together chatting and watching – he is knowledgeable about cricket and very pleasant company at a game. I shared with him my master plan – shredded by James’s inability to get away from work in time for cricket, which was to get Edwardian to pretend that James is a famous cricketing meme on the back of his one piece of cricketing heroics back in 2004:
I had left my thirst extinguisher in Dumbo, so when Edwardian had to leave, I escorted him off the premises – introduced him to Dumbo (who was majestically parked by the Bicentenary Gate) – rescued my thirst extinguisher and returned to the fray, taking up residency at the front of the Tavern Stand.
I also realised that Daisy’s Darren Stevens interrogation incident and James Pitcher’s single moment of cricketing glory incident had occurred within a few weeks of each other.
When Ethan Bamber then bowled at Darren Stevens, I thought I should take a picture of the scene from that seat:
Deserves a poetic caption…the new guard taking on the old guard…or something
Then a strange-looking fellow, with two beers in his hands and the word “chef” painted in white paint on his face in two different places, said, “excuse me, young man” to me in an effort to get past me.
My “young man” moniker years, even at Lord’s, are drawing/have drawn to an end now, so I was pleased to be thus addressed.
He then plonked himself at a polite distance from me. The beers were clearly both for him and he was, equally clearly, far beyond the early stages of his boozy afternoon.
He then formed a one-man chanting troupe – blaring out unfunny, inappropriate and rhythmically-challenged chants in support of his team, Kent. Some people in the crowd tried to shush him. One or two younger folk answered him back. He was in a world of his own.
One of the strange things about him was that his chants came out in very well-spoken tones and had an educated wordiness about them, despite their utter banality and foolishness.
When he left, one or two younger people in the crowd cheered…
…then he came back with more beer.
I got plenty of reading done and even extended my parking to the full four hour maximum permitted, before leaving for home when it started to get a bit chilly, shortly before stumps.
Escamillo Escapillo has, of late, expressed a preference for seeing the first day of a test match. That was not too difficult for me to arrange this time around, knowing his preference in advance.
Of course, he didn’t express a preference for “one of those test match days that ends up being rained off in its entirety but that keeps you in suspense for much of the day, because the rain is light and might just stop”. But that’s what we got.
Ironic weather this, given the weeks and weeks of relentless heat and sunshine that led up to the start of the Lord’s test.
King Cricket lampooned the day, while it was happening, with this piece:
Nigel’s take on the same non-event, linked at the end of the above piece, is one of the finest guest pieces on Ogblog.
Naturally Escamillo Escapillo & I tried to make the most of it, which is not too hard to achieve with one of my picnics to hand. Posh Italian nibbles from Speck and a start on the very jolly bottle of Pinot Gridge courtesy of Escamillo Escapillo. Smoked salmon bagels and latterly prosciutto rolls helped us to get through the wine and warm our increasingly “resigned to the elements” hearts.
We had occasional “it looks like it is brightening up over there” moments but in truth Accuweather left us in no doubt that the intervals between showers were to be short and the showers long.
I think it was about 17:00 before the umpires bowed to the inevitable and we went our separate ways home.
Friday 10 August 2018
The forecast only looked a tiny bit better for DJ’s day. Still, I went through my picnic preparations and got to Lord’s quite early, watching tennis for a while. DJ texted me to say he expected to arrive around the start time.
When Jimmy took a wicket in the first over, I thought DJ might have missed one of the day’s major moments, but DJ came down the steps just after the wicket fell, excitedly telling me that he got to see it.
Just as well. About 30 minutes of cricket was all DJ got to see before the rain came. Then lots of rain. A bit like the September Test Friday last year…
…except this time the weather app warned us that there was torrential rain coming between 14:00 and 16:00; so DJ and I both bailed out ahead of that storm, with a view possibly to returning if, by some chance, the day were to clear up and they were able to get some more play in.
I got some work done – while doing so I kept an eye on proceedings. I also informed Daisy that I hadn’t drunk any alcohol, so was planning to drive over to Noddyland that evening rather than next morning.
The torrential rain was tropical style – the TV showed pools on the outfield – but then the rain stopped. An announcement came up on my screen to say “inspection at 17:00”;I guessed that meant possibly play to start at 17:45 or 18:00 – wrong! Play to start at 17:10…
…I returned to Lord’s, by jumping in the car and somehow found a parking space on St John’s Wood Road. So I got to see nearly 2 hours more cricket and finished my share of the picnic at the designated place. I did alert DJ, but he didn’t return.
Then, after stumps, on to Noddyland for a glass or two while Daisy ate her dinner.
Saturday 11 August 2018
Tennis first thing – I didn’t move so well despite the relative lack of sitting at the cricket. Massage with Lisa after that; much needed.
Then Ros’s visit. Ros is Janie’s very good friend from years gone by who has lived in Turkey for the last 25-30 years. We haven’t seen Ros for about 20 years. Facebook combined with Ros’s decision to visit Blighty reunited them/us.
Janie and Ros: reunited
Not 100% sure that this next picture is from the last time…but it was in Turkey and might have been the last time.
Mystic Ros reading the coffee grounds in Turkey, 1995: “I will visit you two at a place you will call Noddyland in about 23 year’s time”.
The weather was lovely, so we were able to take drinks and chat in the garden for some while, until Janie served up a splendid lunch of smoked salmon and Guernsey crab – the latter delicacy being a gift from Lisa.
Ros is an exponent of Bowen Technique therapies, which gave “the girls” a lot to talk about, while I joined in the conversation as best I could and kept at least one eye on the cricket.
Once the cricket ended, the combination of massage, wine and the gentle therapeutic conversation sent me onto the sofa and into the appealing arms of Morpheus.
I’m not entirely sure how much longer Ros stayed but I did wake up properly before Ros left.
Sunday 12 August 2018
Weather forecasts ahead of Sunday were not promising. I warned Janie that we might get nothing at all, but that we should be ready to go. Even first thing on Sunday itself , the forecast was aweful.
But then the wind direction shifted, such that the Thursday-like constant light rain looked likely to miss Lord’s for most of the day.
Daisy of course wasn’t ready for such a dramatic change of plan, so I jumped into Dumbo to get a good parking spot and get a couple of good (dry) seats in the Warner for us, suggesting that Janie & the picnic join me by Uber once they were ready.
in the end we got a super day of cricket in a very comfy spot with just a few short interruptions for drizzle.
Umesh Yadav continued to demonstrate his fitness at tea until the very last second
Nice people sitting around us, including an amusing gentleman from Oxford who had an aversion to the England team’s infantile nicknames and who seemed convinced (wrongly as it turned out) that Stokesy was going to go to jail.
We saw a great England win and then had the luxury of Dumbo just round the corner to run us home. We celebrated with a glass or two once we got back to Noddyland.
31 July 2018 – The Day I Forgot That I Hadn’t Forgotten The Tickets
The plan was to have a quiet morning finishing off work bits before setting off towards Birmingham for three nights and three days of Heavy Roller cricketing joy…
…but we all know what tends to happen to that sort of plan.
So I ran around like crazy that morning, fitting in two client meetings, getting my packing done and shovelling down some lunch. Still I managed to leave home at a reasonable hour to avoid the traffic and get to Brum in time to shower, change and join up with the lads.
As I drove past the Warwick junction of the M40, I had a horrible brain flash. The utter conviction I had, earlier in the day, that Chas has the tickets this year, morphed into a distinct memory of Chas handing me an Essex CCC ticket wallet.
“But that must have been my Chelmsford ticket,” I thought, until my memory distinctly remembered the sight of Edgbaston tickets in an Essex ticket wallet. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I had been an idiot not looking in my ticket draw when packing…even though, in truth, I could not recall seeing those tickets in that draw in my recent ticket trawls for Lord’s matches and the like.
I remember you…not
I decided that I simply needed to fess up to Charles “Charley The Gent Malloy” Bartlett on arrival and we’d work out how I might get replacement tickets issued. I cannot be the first “gentleman with waning powers of memory” to travel to an Edgbaston test without his tickets, so there must be some sort of reissuing procedure and I knew Chas would have his ticket records with him.
I called Chas on arrival – he and The Boy Malloy had just gone down to the bar to meet Nigel “Father Barry” Hinks. Chas’s immediate reaction was that he had all the tickets in his care, including mine, as is usually the case…
…then he went on the same memory journey as I had travelled…he did remember handing me an Essex wallet and he did remember separating out tickets for me, for some reason…
…anyway, by the time I had showered and got to the Plough And Harrow Bar to join the lads, Chas had checked the ticket situation and discovered that he had them all.
We then both realised that the memory flash of Chas giving me my tickets in advance was from last year, when Daisy and I travelled up the night before and had pre-arranged to join the others at the ground for the start of the West Indies day/nighter:
Did the lads give me a ribbing for sort of forgetting my tickets…or rather for forgetting that I hadn’t forgotten my tickets?
Yes.
I tried to counter-rib by suggesting that they had forgotten to book Colbeh, stymieing our dinner plans, but that didn’t work. In fact, it is just as well that I saw Azlan from Colbeh as I walked past, as he said he was pretty full that night so I did genuinely make a booking that might just have saved our evening plans. Chapeau to Azlan for remembering my name from last year and the year before.
Anyway, this year’s pre-match dinner at Colbeh comprised me, Chas and Nigel. The Boy Malloy had arranged to meet up with a friend at the Birmingham Cosy Club, the name of which drew a similar “oo er missus” type reaction from Chas and Nigel to that of the burghers of Leicestershire CCC, when I announced a similar meet up in Leicester a few weeks ago:
The Colbeh Three (as Chas, Nigel and I should now be known) had a superb meal again this season at Colbeh. It is a joy to see how well that place is doing, Nigel and I having been early customers there a couple of years ago when it first opened. I think the food might still be getting better and better. When I got home, Daisy asked me if I had thanked Azlan for recommending the book The Saffron Tales to her, from which she has taken much pleasure and adapted several recipes. I admitted I hadn’t…
…until now. Thanks, Azlan.
Match Day One – On Making The Most Of Plenty: Copious Mrs Malloy Sandwiches c/w England’s Run Scoring
After a hearty breakfast based on kippers, I chose to walk directly from my digs at the Eaton Hotel to the ground. It is a lovely 45 minute walk across Edgbaston.
Ticket scanning and security is so well organised at Edgbaston these days; I was in the ground around 10:30 and heard the toss as I was entering the stand.
I was the first of our group to arrive, but there were quite a few people already seated in our block. Then a young man came along and sat in one of our seats. I said, “excuse me, that cannot be your seat”.
“Yes it is”, exclaimed the young man, “look!” He showed me his ticket. Block 06, Row A, Seat 5.
“You should be in Block 6”, I said, “this is Block 7”.
“No it isn’t”, said a few people seated around me, “this is Block 6”. I really was starting to worry about waning powers now, but turned around and saw, clearly on the wall behind me, the big “7” sign that indicates Block 7.
“It really is Block 7”, I said. “See the sign…”
…then one or two other people chimed in, “of course this is Block 7”.
But for some reason, perhaps an errant steward, perhaps group-think amongst several unconnected parties of people, 15 to 20 people got up and relocated to the real Block 6.
I had a good chortle with a few of the real Block 7 residents about that one.
Then I took the photograph below.
Before The Start On Day One
Then I started to wonder whether the others were ever going to show up; they are usually so keen to get to the ground in good time. Eventually show up they did; slightly frazzled/later than intended. Something about a wrong turn.
Heavy laden, they were, with a picnic fit for Heavy Rollers. Mrs Malloy had gone wild with the sandwiches this year: corned beef with mustard and smoked ham ones for the meat eaters, quorn chicken for the veggies, cheese for everyone and egg mayonnaise for everyone other than me.
Mrs Malloy had also gone wild with her gold-ink sandwich-pack labelling pen, to symbolise the impending golden anniversary of the Malloys.
We ascertained that Those Were The Days by Mary Hopkin was number one in the charts when the Malloys hitched; likewise when Harsha Ghoble was born. Very apt.
…but I digress again.
While we tucked in to the picnic for several hours, England seemed to be tucking in to the Indian bowling quite nicely too.
They say that history doesn’t repeat itself but it does rhyme. In a strange echo of the Charley The Gent run out from 2004, Joe Root was run out, while attempting a second run, by Virat Kohli, soon after tea. That incident and the rest of the day one highlights can be seen on this short reel:
Meanwhile, as England’s fortunes rapidly declined, Charley The Gent was insisting that we finish all the sandwiches today, withholding snacks and sweetmeats for the remaining days. “I have to be able to report to her that all the sandwiches went”, said Charley.
They all went. We were stuffed. We did not eat that evening. We simply met in the Plough and Harrow bar for a couple of glasses. We concluded that, although Charley hadn’t thrown away any sandwiches, England might well have thrown away the match in that last session.
Match Day Two – More On History Not Repeating Itself But Rhyming
After breakfast (I went full English today after last night’s dietary abstinence), again I walked to the ground directly from my hotel.
…which mentions a particular address in Edgbaston, Fairlawn on Westbourne Road, as the home of Pelota, an early form of lawn tennis that most resembled the version that took hold and was possibly the first of that kind.
Fairlawn Or Forelorn?
No longer is there a commemorative plaque and I wasn’t expecting late 20th century modern build flats either; I was expecting a somewhat distressed-looking Victorian villa, much like some of the neighbouring houses, which are mostly used as low key residential care homes or sheltered housing these days. Oh well; I’ve seen it now.
The lads arrived in good time today – no wrong turn.
Charley was a little sheepish; he’d been ticked off by Mrs Malloy for force-feeding us with infeasible quantities of sandwiches. She hadn’t honestly expected us to get through them all, she just wanted each of us to have plenty of choice.
“Can’t win”, said Charley, presumably in the matter of pleasing Mrs Malloy but perhaps he was thinking about the cricket match too.
We snacked while India seemed to establish their innings, until Sam Curran had other ideas and the match swung back to England until Kohli and the tail had yet other ideas…you get the idea.
It all reminded me a little of a couple of the excellent matches I have seen recently between Middlesex and Warwickshire; one at Edgbaston last year…
…with there respective missuses, sitting right at the front of the block before the walkway we needed to use to get out of our Raglan Stand. The others must have walked past them obliviously several times. I stopped and chatted with the Tufties a while and alerted the other Rollers (especially Charley) on my return, enabling him to join the Tufties for a while later in the day.
…bit the dust when The Boy Malloy announced that he doesn’t like Indian food and a search to discover whether Mr Idly has other options revealed very poor recent reviews.
I did some extensive research and due diligence (didn’t these guys used to pay me to do this sort of thing, albeit on slightly bigger and more important procurement matters?) to uncover El Borracho De Oro (subsequently defunked) within spitting distance of the Plough & Harrow. With some difficulty, I managed to book it on-line so we were sorted.
While I was concentrating on all that, England’s fortunes slid again and by the end of Day two we were, one again, convinced that India had the edge.
Here is the ECB short highlights reel from that day:
El Borracho De Oro proved to be a good choice for dinner; the only shortcoming being the music noise. Also for future reference, the portion sizes were a little smaller than we expected so we possibly should have ordered more tapas – we’ll know for next time. It was very reasonably priced for its quality.
Apart from Charley disappearing back to the hotel to sort out an errant duplicate payment that wasn’t and Harsha disappearing to pick up on some work malarkey, it was a very cohesive, convivial and enjoyable evening.
Day Three – A Wonderful Day Of Test Cricket Leaving The Match Finely In The Balance
Back to the kippers for breakfast today, then I left my electricals and Benjy The Baritone Ukulele in the safe hands of Roberto at the Eaton before walking, for the last time this trip, to the ground.
Again the lads were in good time; indeed they got to the ground ahead of me this time. All except for Harsha, who had to deal with his business crisis before coming to the ground. I thought that might be the last we’d see of him, but in fact he turned up about 10 minutes into the day’s play. After a short committee meeting, we decided that he could participate in that day’s prediction game anyway, despite the additional inside knowledge that 10 minutes of play provides.
It didn’t help Harsha.
In fact, I was the biggest winner of the day; actually I showed positive on each of the three days – that might be a first.
Again the match tilted one way and then the other. Despair before lunch as England collapsed. Some respite after lunch as Curran tried to get England to a defensible score. Then joy as India collapsed. Then an impending sense of doom as India recovered somewhat late in the day, leaving the match perilously poised at the end of the day – probably just tilting in India’s favour.
Here is the ECB short highlights reel for Day three:
Chas kindly dropped me at my hotel to help speed me on my way – Daisy had invited some people over for dinner, although they all knew I would be back late. So we said our fond Heavy Roller farewells in the Eaton Hotel car park.
The Epilogue
It took me just under two hours to get back to Noddyland, where the dinner with Deni and Tony was only just underway, so I could shower and catch up with starters before joining the group for the main meal. Daisy has some pictures and I’ll report that separately.
London was sweltering – far hotter/muggier than Brum.
The next morning, Daisy and I did battle on the tennis court first thing. I gave it 120% and needed to do so in order to overcome a very keen Daisy. She felt that she ought to be able to beat me after I had sat around for three days watching cricket, eating and drinking. But I’m made of stern stuff.
As soon as we got home, just before the cricket started, Daisy kindly offered to do my washing from the trip, including the tennis kit in which I had just played. “Just pile it in front of the washing machine, ” she said.
When she came to the pile, she exclaimed, “urgh, what the hell is this? This is disgusting. What have you done?”
I wondered what on earth was the matter. I stepped in to find her holding my recently-worn briefs at arms length. “Have you wet yourself or something?”, she asked.
“No, I’ve just played an hour of rigorous tennis against you in sweltering heat, that’s all. You don’t normally do my washing and you certainly don’t normally see my sweaty undies before they have dried off a bit.”
“I don’t sweat like that”, said Daisy. I wondered whether to offer a short biology lesson but decided against.
Then we watched the cricket match pan out. If I gave the tennis 120%, then Ben Stokes must have given England 150%.
“I wonder whether Ben Stokes gets GBH of the earhole from his missus in the matter of his sweaty briefs”, I thought to myself, before deciding that “GBH of the earhole” was an unfortunate phrase in Ben Stokes’s context.
Just thought this bit of writing captured much of our experiences over our collective cricket-watching years
Chas responded:
The writer’s piece was wonderful and it made my emotions bubble up again! I believe he was absolutely spot on with the analysis of Stokes bowling, the brilliance, the commitment and the ‘gut renching’ dedication to win, no matter of the pain his body was suffering – because it was for the team – definitely some comparison to Freddie!
My major disappointment was not being there on Saturday to see and witness this fabulous and emotional win by England!!
Here is the ECB short highlights reel for the final day; those 90 minutes I witnessed on the TV rather than live:
…another very enjoyable day at Lord’s, this time with Rohan Candappa.
The contrast, in truth, is that Ian is a cricket lover who found the idea of meeting up at Lord’s especially enticing, whereas Rohan isn’t particularly keen on cricket, but we wanted to meet up for lunch that day and there are far worse places for lunch and a chat than a county championship day at Lord’s.
Ahead of the day, I was a bit concerned about Rohan – one of life’s natural comedians and rebels – rising to the challenge of the pavilion dress code. So I sent Rohan a link to the code and left him to it.
I wondered whether his eye might fall on the “national dress” exception to the jacket and tie rule. Rohan could (just about) claim to be Burmese and turn up in a longyi with hnyat-phanat. Mind you, given the sweltering weather, I wouldn’t have minded sporting a longyi with hnyat-phanat myself, and do still have a range of such garments in my collection:
Me and my longyi (wrap)…and hnyat-phanat (flip-flops), Burma, 1998
More worrying, was the thought that Rohan might don “THE” jacket, as opposed to a jacket. When Rohan took his wonderful one-man show, How I Said ‘F*** You’ To The Company When They Tried to Make Me Redundant, to Edinburgh last year, he promoted his show by walking around that elegant city thus:
Technically compliant jacket for the pavilion?
Actually, Rohan turned up in a fine linen number not dissimilar to my own. We must have looked like Our Men In Havana…or, given the extensive Moncada Barracks references in Rohan’s “F*** You” show, Our Men In Santiago de Cuba.
I recalled, while waiting for Rohan, that he had written a rather scathing short piece about gap years and their dilution through ubiquity, in his book University Challenged…
…and wondered what Rohan would make of Ian and Sally’s mature gap year. Then, when Rohan arrived, I clean forgot to raise that point with Rohan. Perhaps Rohan will chime in about that latterly.
Rohan and I are old mates from Alleyn’s School. In the couple of days leading up to our meeting at Lord’s, I trawled the diaries for sporting references to Rohan, but only could find one, relating to fives, previously Ogblogged:
…plus references to my own (previously forgotten) glories playing field hockey that same term, plus my cricketing annus mirabilis (or should I say terminus ludum mirabilis?) the following term, both of which I shall aim to Ogblog very soon.
But I should be honest about me, Rohan and sport. I don’t think either of us will be remembered at Alleyn’s for our sporting prowess. Enthusiasm and willingness to muck in with sport?; possibly. Enjoyment of the competition without taking sport (or indeed most things) too seriously?; I hope so. But prowess?
Whoops – did someone speak out of turn to Rohan Candappa?
Anyway, so there I was, in the Lord’s Long Room, cricket’s holy-of-holies, with Rohan. We watched briefly in there (he’ll need to be able to say that he has done that; watched first class cricket from the Long Room) but soon moved outdoors to backache central – the pavilion benches, on the shady side of the pavilion.
We discussed ancient matters of sporting derring-do (or lack thereof). We agreed that we secretly resented those boys who were not only exceptional at sport but also exceptional at chess/academic stuff and who were also good blokes. I think we agreed that we are almost (but not quite) over that now.
In some ways the next few hours resembled my previous day with Ian T; Rohan and I similarly stuck to water and some cashew nuts ahead of a late lunch in the Long Room Bar. Today’s bap was beef rather than pork (also top notch). I perhaps made the mistake of having a glass of red rather than white today.
…so we rather sped our way through the post-lunch pavilion tour, view from the top deck and then some views from the rest of the ground. I showed Rohan the “front of the Lower Compton” view that I often enjoy for test matches, which shows the pavilion in all its splendour. Rohan commented that his late father would have very much enjoyed such a day at Lord’s.
Rohan’s one man shows are good…very good. This photo from Edinburgh 2017
I sat in the Warner Stand for a few minutes, when a wave of excess heat and fatigue hit me. I rather regretted the glass of red and even considered going home to hide from the hottest part of the day. But instead I steeled myself and returned to the pavilion top deck, seeking a little breeze and the opportunity to see a potentially exciting ending.
I chatted with a couple of regulars up on the top deck. Then, when the final wicket just wouldn’t come, I decided to decamp to the Long Room in the hope of inducing that final wicket and witnessing the end of match ceremony from there…
…well that did sort-of happen, but not before a further 45 or so agonising minutes had passed. I ran into one of my real tennis friends in the Long Room, who was giving an old pal of his, who lives in Dubai, the Lord’s experience for the first time. We discussed, amongst other things, cricket, politics in Pakistan and where the twain meet in the form of Imran Khan.
After witnessing the Middlesex win, we decamped to the real tennis area, where I had left my kit for safe-keeping. The other two stuck around for only 5 minutes, but I watched a rather good set of doubles while the crowds and the rush hour died down, before hailing an Uber and stepping out into the sunshine once again.
While waiting, I saw an elderly gentleman, whom I recognised, keel over while sitting on one of the benches in the shade. A member of catering staff went to his aid immediately and, once I had seen his condition at closer quarters, I told her that I thought it was serious and that we should summon medical help straight away, The staff and stewards sprung into action very rapidly, summoning a para-medic and an ambulance, at which point I thought my presence was superfluous (I am not a first-aider) so I retreated. My cab arrived just moments before the ambulance – very impressive speed from call to arrival – must have been well under 10 minutes.
The gentleman, who did not survive despite the rapid attention, was J T Murray, a great Middlesex wicket-keeper from before my time – his last playing season was, coincidentally, my 1975 annus mirabilis. JT was a regular supporter at Lord’s in the years that I have been going to Middlesex matches. A sad end to my two days at Lord’s in some ways…
…but not in others. A great former sportsman died peacefully, in his 80s, just after witnessing an exciting finish in which his beloved Middlesex team won a fine match against the odds.
The bittersweet irony of that ending won’t be wasted on most readers; it certainly won’t be wasted on Rohan.
“You could have said no”, said Daisy, as I prepared to leave Noddyland ridiculously early on a non-working day, with reference to the 9:00 game of real tennis I had agreed to play as a late substitute, in addition to my 10:00 game. “Two hours of singles on the hottest day of the year is not a very bright idea”.
“I’ll drink plenty of water,” I mumbled.
Two challenging hours they proved to be; one against a newbie whose handicap has clearly not yet settled in its firmament way beyond my level, then my anticipated hour against a familiar adversary with whom I tend to have very close battles. Today was a very tight battle until the last 15-20 minutes which went resoundingly his way. The experience probably did more for my strength and conditioning for tournament play than it did for my confidence.
Soon after that 2017 visit, Ian gave up full time work and disappeared for a gap year with his good lady, Sally. I love the rationale behind the Ian and Sally gap year; such things had barely been invented when we were younger (or rather, they were beyond the means of most), whereas their kids had taken gap years before starting formal work; why shouldn’t Ian and Sally have a gap year when concluding their formal careers?
Anyway, they went to New Zealand, then Japan and then – or should I say, at the time of writing, now – the canals of England. This adventure, which Ian and Sally have almost completed, they are blogging as Living In Hope…
…not to be confused with The Rutles classic, Living In Hope:
So Ian thought he had his work cut out pulling together suitable attire for the pavilion, given that his former life possessions are mostly in crates…
…except that, being Ian, he had kept one business suit and tie accessible for “just in case” – and this was such a case.
More challenging, for me, was the space in the pavilion guest book where the member records the visitor’s address. I have often wondered whether anyone ever pays heed to this box, which is often filled in with only the scantiest details…
…indeed I would question its GDPR compliance these days – organisations are not supposed to record personal details they don’t need…
…anyway, I merely wrote “canal boat” as the address in the book, so I am living in hope that no-one hauls me over the coals for some rule breach or another; not least the rule that says “though shalt not bring persons of no fixed abode into the pavilion as guests”.
Ian had never been in the pavilion before, which surprised me as I know he has quite a few MCC members in his circle. Still, this gave me an opportunity to give him an informal guided tour and witness a cricket lover taking great pleasure in watching cricket from the inner sanctum that is the Lord’s pavilion.
Ian was a little disappointed, though, with Ryan Sidebottom. He was expecting a hairy Yorkshireman who used to play for England, not a tidy-looking Victorian who used to play for Victoria.
Side on, Sidebottom
So, to please Ian and Ryan Sidebottom fans generally, here are two short vids of recently-retired Yorkshireman Ryan Sidebottom’s biggest moment; his hat trick against New Zealand in 2008 – a “language-strewn” hand-held shot of the moment (which I have discovered on YouTube) follows:
The second of these vids is one of the most absurd/extraordinary stop-frame animation films I have ever seen – by Are You A Left-Arm Chinaman? – the Ryan Sidebottom hat-trick starts around 3:30 and is well worth waiting for or sliding the dial towards:
But I digress.
Dewey-eyed I was, as we stood up soon after the umpires called lunch; not with emotion you understand, but two hours of tennis followed by those rump-racking pavilion benches was telling its toll.
Actually we decided to stick around that pavilion spot and continue munching cashews and taking on water, until about twenty minutes after lunch, by which time there is usually room to sit reasonably comfortably in the long room bar and take some proper lunch. Bap of the day was a wonderful pork jobbie with crackling and a sort-of sausage meat stuffing to add to the general porkiness. I had a glass of white while Ian opted for a beer.
After lunch, Ian fancied trying the new Warner Stand, where the seats are far more comfy than the pavilion and the view is still very good. Then, come tea-time, we returned to the pavilion, enabling me to conclude Ian’s guided tour of the pavilion with the upstairs bits, ending up on the top deck, where we enjoyed a cuppa and a breeze to provide slight relief from the heat of the day.
Ian needed to leave an hour or so before stumps, whereas I fancied seeing that last hour of cricket, so we parted company at the pavilion door – I decided to watch the last hour from the comfort of the Warner Stand seats.
It had been really pleasant to catch up with Ian over lunch and cricket; not least because chatting about some of his gap year experiences added an element of colour that no blog (not even Ogblog) can provide.
When I got to the Warner Stand, I spotted Ed Griffiths watching solo and asked him if he minded me joining him. He didn’t. I hadn’t really watched cricket with him before, despite having spent a fair amount of time with him, not least over the London Cricket Trust initiative. While it was very interesting to watch and discuss cricket together, unfortunately Middlesex’s improving position went into reverse while we were watching together, leaving matters seeming very precarious overnight.
Since Jez Horne left Z/Yen, he and I have a rather shocking record of planning to meet up for a T20 match at Lord’s on a day that turns out to be rainy.
We expected no such problem in this glorious summer of 2018 and, as luck would have it, Jez was available on one of the few T20 evenings I can manage this season.
I arranged to play tennis at 15:00, giving me plenty of time to sauna, shower, spruce myself up and bagsy some good pavilion seats.
My opponent for the afternoon, Bill Taylor, is one of my favourite adversaries; although I tend to come off second best against him, we nearly always have an epic battle along the way.
We had an exceptionally good first set, which took almost the whole hour. Playing level, the pesky ninth game went to deuce upon deuce upon deuce…
…upon deuce…you get the idea. But in the end Bill prevailed, both in that game and then the set and match.
I took my time over warming down and my ablutions. As I was just preparing to leave the changing room, John Stephenson (MCC Director of Cricket) and Guy Lavender (the new MCC Chief Executive) emerged from one of the squash courts. They were discussing the pavilion dress code and the practicalities around the “jackets allowed off in hot weather” rule.
I was putting the finishing touches on my tie, jacket and general pavilion aesthetic look when, horror of horrors, I realised that I had come out without a comb in my linen suit’s jacket pocket and had used a kit bag that also lacks one of my emergency combs.
My hair probably looked a little like the following photo, taken at the end of a victorious tennis skills night eighteen months ago…
…perhaps a little worse when combined with a jacket and tie.
“Just as well you don’t have a bad hair rule for the pavilion”, I said “I have come out without a comb”.
“No we don’t, but don’t worry, there will be a bad hair rule in time for your next visit”, said Guy with a smile.
Guy’s smile widened a little forcedly, as if to say, “…and your point is?…”
“I’ll bring a comb,” I conceded. Need to stay on the right side of the new Chief Exec, I thought.
Jez is not exactly the sartorial type…he used to hang out with Barmy Kev for gawd’s sake…so I didn’t need to make any any excuses or explanations to him. He seemed pleased with my choice of “right up front” seat.
As always, it was good to catch up with Jez. He and his burgeoning family have recently relocated to…
…coincidentally given my visit a couple of days earlier…
We chatted about cricket. We chatted a bit about work. We chatted about…
…trigger warning…
…geeky statistics, operational research and machine learning stuff.
We both brought nibbles of the “old style Z/Yen gathering” variety with us – in my case parcel-type bites from M&S, in Jez’s case from Sainsbury. I had brought a mini bottle (250 ml) of Sancerre for myself – that should last the evening on a warm night; Jez managed a few bottles of quality beer. I remember Badger and Theakstons Old Peculiar as two of the labels.
We watched Middlesex start well with the bat, seem to get bogged down, finish better, then watched Somerset do all that with quite a bit more purpose than Middlesex.
To Lord’s for luncheon in the Tavern with Richard Goatley, Rob Lynch, Escamillo Escapillo and PD.
Not a match day, this, but a chance for a bite and to show PD around the ground.
After lunch, a quick look at the real tennis (naturally) and then, despite the fact that there was no cricket on that day, the pavilion.
In the committee room, I found this little fella occupying a seat normally reserved for a visiting dignitary or, on the rare occasions she visits, Her Maj ERII.
King Cricket relishes pieces on animals displaying conspicuous indifference to cricket. I thought this image was an interesting variation on that theme. King Cricket clearly agreed, publishing the following piece in December 2018:
We enjoyed a pleasant wander around many other parts of the ground, including the indoor academy, where Escamillo Escapillo and I got PD interested in the idea of having a go by recounting some of our tales of derring-do at that place…
Anyway, the upshot of that extremely pleasant afternoon, some months later (March 2019), appears to be this – click here. (Or, if anything ever befalls the Middlesex CCC site, click here instead.)
