Suave writes from La Republique:
The rain had stopped when I got off the tube at Regent’s Park, and I was looking forward to a nice afternoon definitely not watching cricket.
Unfortunately, it started lashing it down as I was halfway through the park. I got soaked and battered by bloody hailstones. I felt like I was being peppered by the West Indian pace attack of the mid to late Seventies.
I wasn’t really dressed for it, as it was cold and windy. I really should have listened to KC when he said that April means double trousers.
When I got to the game, the fella on the ticket stand told me that there’s no guarantee of play, and no refund. I paid the £14, and swiftly made my way to the Lord’s shop.
Inside, they had all sorts of really badly designed Lord’s clothing, that I imagine the old duffers in the MCC bacon and egg would love. No-one under the age of 50 would buy it, I’m sure.
I then made a trip round to the Middlesex CCC shop to see if they had any nice things. They didn’t.
I felt a bit bad about not buying anything, so I bought Fatty Batter by Michael Simkins.
After this, I had a pie. It was called a Chicken Of Aragon (named as such because it’s made of chicken and tarragon, and one of the wives of King Henry XIII was called Catherine of Aragon). It was fantastic, so I bought a hot coffee, a pint of Marston’s and another one. Two pies! I bet Rob Key wishes he were my pal.
One supremely posh old boy with really big gold rings on his pinkies stood in my way when I wanted to watch some cricket. I asked him if he would kindly move and he apologised profusely, saying: “Sorry dear boy, it’s early in the season and I seem to lose my etiquette in the same way a player loses his form.” Off he toddled, looking the worse for wear to drink. I liked him.
Some cricket happened, although I was busy reading Fatty Batter.