On 18 May, for example, I visited my friend Rohan Candappa in Crouch End…
Crouch End’s equivalent of the bread line emerges daily outside the Sourdough Shop
… and then went on to meet Sophie Kent, one of the LCT Trustees, to take a look at Hornsey Cricket Club to discuss a prospective indoor cricket facility project (not an LCT one).
Half-close your eyes, wish and imagine…
On 9 June we had a face-to-face LCT meeting at The Oval. Dumbo, my car, was very excited at the opportunity to park within the hallowed grounds of The Oval, adding to his bucket-list collection of “cricket grounds within which I have parked”:
Why shouldn’t Dumbo have a bucket list like everyone else?
But I digress.
Birchmere Park via New Zealand, Hendon & The Woolwich Ferry
I started the day in New Zealand. Not physically of course, but I did Zoom over to Wellington for a short meeting on Z/Yen business.
Then I set off for Hendon, to Middlesex University for a game of real tennis, in which a sixteen-year-old utterly took me to pieces. I had pretty much been able to keep up with him a couple of weeks ago, but his regular play post GCSEs and the rapid improvement available only to people 40 or more years younger than me means that he is at least 10 handicap points better than me now and shall soon sail off into the stratosphere of only wanting to play with serious sporty folk and pros.
It doesn’t get much better than this
Having allowed bags of time to get to Birchmere Park in Thamesmead, I trusted Waze to sat nav me there and was led to expect to arrive more than an hour before the event, via the Woolwich Ferry. Time for a wander around when I get there, I thought.
I had never attempted the Woolwich Ferry before. My only real knowledge of it, from my youth until this day, was traffic announcements on Capital Radio & Radio London saying that only one ferry was operating and that there were hour-long queues as a result.
I didn’t listen to the radio on my journey from North-West to South-East London. Why should I? The sat nav does that traffic guidance job these days…
…except that the sat nav clearly didn’t know that today, as in my radio-listening days of yore, the ferry was operating with just one boat and the queues were some 40 minutes long.
The Woolwich Ferry from a Dumbo perspective
Still, it was another tick on my bucket-list and Dumbo was very excited to travel by boat again, for the first time since his trip to Ireland with us six years ago.
Fortunately I had allowed so much extra time for this journey, even with the long wait for the ferry, I still arrived at Birchmere Park about half-an-hour before the event.
New Zealanders have an expression for their weather – all four seasons in one day – which can apply to English weather too and certainly did apply on this day. In fact, I think I can safely say that I experienced all four seasons in one two-hour journey from Hendon to Thamesmead.
By the time I arrived at Birchmere Park it was unquestionably the rainy season. It was bucketing down.
My trusty weather app suggested that the rain would ease off after about 15 minutes and even suggested that it should stop completely to allow us a 45 minute event in dry weather.
And so it was. The weather smiled on us for our launch. Only the multiple rainbows in my picture present clues to the changeable weather on that afternoon.
As the Trustee of a cricket charity that is putting dozens of non-turf pitches into parks around London, I am glad to point out that only a non-turf pitch would be playable just a few minutes after the sort of deluge we experienced that afternoon.
Can you see the join?
These cricket pitch projects tend to need several organisations to come together. In this case, not only the LCT, the ECB and the local (Greenwich) council, but also Peabody and in particular its Thamesmead Regeneration arm. It was very interesting to meet the various dignitaries and activists from the area. I also sensed genuine interest in progressing more projects of this kind in that corner of Greater London.
I took my stroll around after the main event. Birchmere Park is a charming place with a lake and plenty of bird life on the far side of the park.
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.
For some while Janie had been expressing a desire to see Sissinghurst Gardens. So when she saw an article about the place in a Waitrose magazine, together with a rave review for The Milk House as a suitable place to stay and eat in the village, our plot was hatched.
We hadn’t arranged anything for Janie’s birthday weekend and, as luck would have it, Middlesex were to play Kent at Canterbury starting that Monday. A perfect storm at the planning stage, so I arranged for us to stay an additional night and dine at a super-looking place just outside Canterbury – The Iffin Farmhouse.
I didn’t realise, when I arranged the trip, that Sissinghurst is so very close to the Yeandle residence in Frittenden. So when I mentioned to Mark where we were going, he said, “but you must come and visit us, our house is a 25 minute walk from Sissinghurst if you walk across the Sissinghurst Estate.
Sunday 24 June 2018
So, Janie and I played tennis at home early on the Sunday, had a wardrobe-design session with Glenn and Daniel for an hour or so (long story) then showered and set off for Kent. I figured that the roads would be clear while England were playing World Cup football, which was true, but the roads were still very busy for the first 45 minutes or so of our journey, before the football match started.
Still, we got to Sissinghurst soon after 14:00 and enjoyed a super lunch at The Milk House. Prior to lunch, we had an interesting encounter, in the garden bar, which ended up on the King Cricket website – click here or below:
The roast of the week looked like a massive portion ahead of a walk across the estate, so we opted for signature dishes – Daisy for the burger and me for the bangers and mash.
Then a very pleasant walk across the estate. We took the picture (below) the next day, from the top of the tower, but it depicts the top of the archway through which we walked and technically I think you can see the Yeandle House in the distance, probably the size of one or two pixels in the photo.
Superb views of gardens and surrounding area from the top of the tower
Actually the Yeandle House is bigger than a couple of pixels and was awash with family and neighbours sitting around the swimming pool, eating strawberries and drinking Pimms. As Mark put it, “for some unknown reason, the Yeandle House seems to be very popular on hot summer days”.
Sadly, the strawberries were not the local Frittenden ones I have praised in Ogblogs passim…
…yet still they were Kentish strawberries and tasted very good indeed.
Janie gave the boys (I should now really say young men), Freddie and Sebastian, the benefit of her views on how young men should interact with young women, which I am sure they will find immensely helpful. I’m not 100% sure whether the expression on grandfather Geoffrey Yeandle’s face was fascination, shock or a combination of both.
Later in the day, after we’d had a guided tour of the Yeandle estate and we muttered about leaving, Jane Yeandle offered to run us back to Sissinghurst village. Janie tried to decline this kind offer by suggesting that we would hail an Uber from our phones or – after she was politely told that there is no Uber in deepest Kent – call for a cab. No cabs either. So we gratefully accepted the kind offer of a lift.
Tired and happy, we had an early night.
Monday 25 June 2018
We enjoyed a super breakfast at The Milk House before checking out and driving to Sissinghurst for the centrepiece of our visit.
In the herb garden, one of the many wonderful areas in the grounds, an old seat has been turned into a camomile pot, with a clear message telling less sensible visitors not to seat there. I spotted one bumpkin trying to sit down there nevertheless:
Janie doesn’t tend to linger anywhere, not even beautiful gardens, so we had a thorough walk around making sure we got to see all of the various formal gardens – we’d chosen “peak rose” season in a location that specialises in roses – then had a look at the house – in particular the library and tower.
Another superb view from the tower
We also took some light refreshment and looked at the exhibition about women and gardening – little did we know how closely the women’s suffrage movement was linked to the equally radical notion of women gardening, back then. Janie is fascinated by Vita Sackville-West – almost to the same extent as the Bloomsbury lot whose homes we visited in Sussex last year:
Once replete at Sissinghurst, we drove on to Canterbury – less than an hour cross-country – to check in and freshen up at the Iffin Farmhouse ahead of popping down the road to see a couple of hours of cricket.
One thing I hadn’t counted on when I first arranged the trip was the fact that the cricket match was to be one of those day/night, pink ball affairs, until the pink-ballness of the occasion came up in conversation with Beefy Roberts at Lord’s one afternoon earlier in the season. Whoops.
Still, I learnt of my mistake far enough ahead of time to arrange for us to visit the cricket in two tranches – the second session (late afternoon) on the Monday and then the first two sessions on the Tuesday.
In changing those plans a few weeks ahead of time, I also phoned to see if I could slightly vary our arrival, departure and eating times at Iffin Farmhouse. Thus I discovered that the Iffin people were very friendly and sounded flexible. I also discovered that anyone who answered the phone might be named Sarah but would not necessarily be the same person. (Strangely, our hostess at The Milk House also turned out to be a Sarah).
When we arrived at the Iffin Farmhouse we in fact encountered a man gardening; he was not named Sarah – he turned out to be David who is the man of the house but not really the person with a pivotal role in the hospitality business. Still, he helped us to our charming bungalow and promised that Sarah would no doubt be back to see us some time soon, which she was, so we were able to finalise our dining arrangements just before we set off to Kent CCC, which is just two to three miles away from the Farmhouse.
We were well looked after in the Kent CCC Committee Room for the couple of hours we stopped by on the Monday, although we had said that we didn’t want formal hospitality that day.
Photo taken before Middlesex batted – obviously
We chatted with a few of the Kent regulars (more on them below) but particularly with a couple of MCC gentlemen who were guests of a Kent Committee member and showed signs of having been enjoying the hospitality for some hours before we arrived. One of them, named Rodney, was especially skittish.
Middlesex couldn’t quite finish off Kent before the second interval, but still appeared to be in a good position at that stage. We took our leave of the party and returned to the Iffin Farmhouse for dinner.
David and Sarah present dinner on our terrace at twilight
A very tasty chicken dish in a sort-of Spanish style with rice and a hearty salad. Janie wondered whether we were eating the kin of the chickens who were in full view while we ate, but Sarah assured us that they do not eat their own Iffin chickens. Still, it was local free range chicken with a superb flavour and texture.
Daisy much enjoying her grub in the open air
The only thing that rendered this outdoor dining experience less than blissful was the constant buzz of “wicket alerts” from Cricinfo, letting me know that Middlesex’s batting was falling apart rapidly.
Still, we persevered with our food, enjoying a very nice pancake thing as a dessert and I even got to see a small owl in a suitably distressed-looking tree before we went to bed.
Tuesday 26 June 2018
Next morning, Sarah cooked us a splendid breakfast of Kentish kippers (kippers with a poached egg on top). We took our time, as there was no cricket until 14:00 and Janie really didn’t fancy an outing ahead of cricket. Sarah and David were very accommodating, allowing us to hang around the farmhouse until we wanted to leave. Janie read on the porch while I took the opportunity for a baroq-ulele jam, which David and Sarah’s ageing spaniel seemed to enjoy:
Me and the farmhouse spaniel; old enough to remember some of the songs I sing?
David and Sarah were very interesting and charming hosts. David is a child psychologist who has done fascinating work over the years, while Sarah was a civil engineer who used to specialise in sewers…she told us this after she’d cooked and we’d eaten dinner!
We certainly would and probably shall stay at the Iffin Farmhouse again…if Middlesex and Kent perchance are ever in the same division again.
On to Kent CCC where our host for the day was Kent President Jonathan “Jo” Rice, who was one of the authors of the Guinness Book Of British Hit Singles and Albums, of which I have several editions. Don’t take him on in a pop trivia quiz; he really knows his stuff. Excellent company though and he wore his popular music knowledge lightly…
…possibly just as well, as one of his other guests was the classical conductor Nicholas Cleobury, who was, along with his entourage, also delightful company. He is currently in England planning his return from Brisbane.
We enjoyed an excellent meal together at the rather unusual hour of 16:00 (that’s what day/night cricket does to the catering arrangements), then at the second interval, as if anyone was hungry again by then, scones, cake and a large platter of cheese which perhaps sustained those who were staying on to the final session – no-one was hungry for cheese at 19:00.
Before tea Janie and I had a very pleasant stroll all around the ground.
A different viewing angle but only one conclusion to be drawn on the likely result
Janie and I said our goodbyes and set off for home after tea; we got a pretty easy run through London.
It was a very one-sided cricket match; Middlesex’s performance was shocking – click here only if you dare see the card. The superb hospitality and charming company made up for the paucity of competitive cricket.
But Janie and I had enjoyed a thoroughly entertaining and diverse few days away, so we were very happy indeed with our short break overall. Sissinghurst really is a stunning and unique place.
I was the guest of Mark and Geoffrey Yeandle at Canterbury that day. We had a very enjoyable day – Canterbury is a charming place to watch county cricket.
Before looking at that piece, I couldn’t have told you that the Kent v Essex game was the first of the semi-finals, but on reflection of course it was.
Daisy and I had played tennis that morning and I hunkered down with the TV soon after our return from Boston Manor.
In those days my set up at Sandall Close was a bit rudimentary – Daisy’s dapper Sony VAIO with a plug in thingie to her NTL doodah – or was it already called Virgin by then? Anyway, it was trailing wires and a bit Heath Robinson-like.
The semi-final went Middlesex’s way in a fairly convincing fashion. Daisy and I found that hard to believe, but excitedly realised that we had a final on our hands.
I vaguely remember texting Ed Smith between the matches, which was not a very good idea. I have no recollection of what Daisy and I ate, nor when we ate it, but I’m pretty sure we ate.
What a day. It’s weird that such a day yields so few new insights, but I suppose the reactions/sensations at the time, encapsulated in the MTWD links above, really do tell the story.
After the Richmond debacle on the Sunday – click here- Middlesex had played seven, won five, lost two. That sounded great, except that the losses were the most recent matches and we knew from bitter experience that Middlesex’s T20 squad could snatch failure from the jaws of success.
This Uxbridge game against Kent was to be the last home game and seemed vitally important at the time. A win would mean qualification for the quarter-finals. Defeat would mean the need to win at least one of the two remaining away matches.
In the end I worked from home that day. I was due to be at a meeting in Westminster early afternoon to discuss a publication on business ethics I was being asked to edit. I did end up editing it, but the meeting that day got postponed.
I ended up taking the tube to West Ruislip and walking from there – a long but pleasant walk – an easier journey on a good weather day than tubing into town and then out again to Uxbridge.
Barmy Jez, who was working for Ged Ladd & Co in those days, tubed it to Uxbridge with some difficulty if I recall correctly, arriving “fashionably late”. But Barmy Kev and I had found a suitable second row seat on the side boundary and saved Jez a seat. Middlesex were in a spot of bother when Jez arrived, but then revived, which also revived our spirits. A couple of beers probably helped revive our spirits too.
In front of us sat a father and son combination; the father quite old, the son middle-aged or perhaps a young fogey. The father turned around and asked us to quieten down, as we were disturbing his peaceful evening at the cricket. I’m not sure that the marketing gurus who invented Domestic T20 quite had “quiet, peaceful evening matches in Uxbridge” in mind when they invented the format. (Ged makes a note to ask Stuart Robertson that question if ever he gets the chance).
I had brought plenty of picnic food with me, so, during the innings break, I tried to placate the irate gentleman by offering him a packet of M&S Sea Salt and Black Pepper Cashews – a not insubstantial offering in the circumstances. The man looked at me incredulously.
“Are you taking the Mick?”, he asked.
“No, I’m sorry we disturbed you and am offering you a small gift by way of apology”, I said.
“You’re suggesting that I’m nuts, aren’t you?” said the man.
I kept the cashews.
The father and son moved their chairs a bit to place some distance between themselves and us; we weren’t regretful.
Barmy Kev suggested later that I should have offered him some crackers instead. Sweet.
The cricket match ebbed and flowed. We tried not to get too noisily excited, which was quite difficult because it was a very exciting match.
It went down to the last over. Kent was one of the better T20 sides and we all knew that team’s capacity to pull off unlikely wins. But on that occasion they fell a few runs short.
Little did we know at the time how much the match was to foreshadow the final, which took place a month or so later. But for sure that was the evening that I really started to think, “gosh, we are capable of beating the best sides even in tight finishes this season. Maybe, just maybe we could win this tournament this year”.
Michael Mainelli and I had formed a tradition – I think 2006 was the third instance of it – that I would take Michael as my guest to a day of county cricket early season, before the crowds get larger and (most importantly) before the days get hotter.
Some like it hot, but Michael REALLY doesn’t like it hot.
So, Day 3, Friday, first county championship match of the season seemed just the ticket. In many ways it was. Middlesex v Kent. Good fixture. April.
The match was well advanced by the start of Day 3 but not too well advanced.
As tradition would have it…this sort of thing IS a tradition by the third time, possibly even by the second time…we watched the first session from the pavilion. Then, at lunch, as tradition would also have it, we perambulated on the outfield (smaller crowd than Middlesex’s glorious September 2016 match depicted above), then retired to Harry Morgan to grab some takeaway New York deli-style food – probably a chopped liver sandwich to share plus a salt beef sandwich each plus some pickled cucumbers.
We took our feast back to Lord’s in time to munch, drink some fine red wine and watch the second session of cricket from the Compton Stand.
The Compton Stand offered a rather binary choice; absolutely exposed to the elements in the upper tier, or caged in away from the elements in the lower tier. As I write in September 2019, that stand is being demolished, together with its smaller twin, the Edrich, to be replaced by more modern facilities.
Anyway, in April we opted for the upper and the sunshine while we ate our hot food, rather than the wind-tunnel cooling effect of the shady, cagey lower tier.
We finished our grub around about the time that Nick Compton’s fine innings for Middlesex entered the nervous nineties. I explained to Michael that the lad had been on Middlesex’s books for some years but this was, hopefully, to be his breakthrough season. He had just scored a big hundred in a University warm-up match but this might be his first County Championship hundred.
Shouldn’t we move now to a shady spot? Perhaps the pavilion again or the Warner?
I asked Michael, noticing a few beads of sweat and a slight reddening of the face. It was proper sunshine that day and by mid afternoon it was really quite warm.
Let’s wait and see Compton get his hundred. We should see Compton get his first hundred from the Compton Stand,
Michael replied; a cricket aficionado in the making.
Michael’s early effort in 1998; a Z/Yen & Barnardo’s & The Children’s Society match
We could go down to the lower tier and get some shade…that’s still the Compton Stand…
I suggested.
No, said Michael, we shouldn’t move. He’s in the nineties.
Now anyone who knows Michael surely knows that he is one of the least superstitious people you are ever likely to meet. He’s logical. He’s rational.
But cricket seems to get all of us…yes, even Michael, with quirky superstitions. Perhaps all sport does this to some extent, but cricket has superstition in spades.
And of course Michael had enough exposure to cricket through our charity matches and stuff to really understand that a century is a big achievement and a maiden century a really big thing…
…Nick Compton also knew the importance of making a ton, of course…
…so Nick’s nervous 90s went on for rather a long time…it seemed like a very, very long time…
…while Michael got hotter and hotter; ruddier and ruddier. I asked him a couple more times if he wanted to move, but Michael was glued to the cricket and absolutely intent on not jinxing Nick Compton’s century quest.
Within moments of Nick achieving his hundred, Michael was up and we were away in the direction of the shade. I think we went back to the pavilion for the rest of that very pleasant spring day.
