Far From The MCC

~ Est. in 1998 ~

 

“Barbeque Inspector’s Report”

 

 

Sunday 7th May 2006

Result:  Lost by 5 Wkts

Venue:  Cholsey

40 overs

FFTMCC

93 ao

I. Howarth  30,  M. Westmoreland  27

Cholsey

94 - 5

A. Mann  2 - 16,  S. Dobner  2 - 26

 

 

 

Twas after a light but however not altogether unexhausting stroll through the fields of South Oxfordshire that Majorie and I happened upon an impromptu cook-out in the sleepy village of Cholsey. Places were limited, but as darkness set under a clear, smogless sky, we took our seats and considered the fare. I decided upon the organic burger whereas Majorie plumped for a sausage and coleslaw combo. Our host, a rather ship-like gent with a curious accent, supplied a flagon of the finest local cider and left us to ponder the unique colouring of the local brickwork. No sooner had we discovered that the glasses had been stolen from a Camra event nearby, than we were joined by a motley bunch of vagrants who, it seemed had only that afternoon, been challenging the Cholseyites in that most gallant of pursuits – cricket.

 

 

Thumbs up for “uncouth” behaviour.

 

I myself, had once returned a ball from the hospitality at Lords whilst a guest of my very good friend Sir Simon Smithy Simon, so felt a certain affinity to our newly arrived comrades. Majorie said she had once entertained the idea of French cricket but was convinced by her mother to smother the notion until the war was over. My burger certainly complemented the spring apples; Majorie was heard to remark on the superb consistency of the dressing. Our cricketing friends appeared familiar with the menu, slouching comfortably into their positions and whipping up fervent conversation, which I did my best to overhear. The lazy one protested his hatred of trains, impending exhaustion and disappointment of not being given a shot at the century that was, to all intense purposes, pre-destined for this overcast afternoon. A slighter figure with a passing resemblance to Camberwick Green’s finest, promptly disappeared with the lazy one’s cycle, and attempted to squash it into his motor car. The two uncouth individuals, sharing a woodbine between them, appeared delighted to have been invited to any social function outside their own birthdays. The shorter one of the two seemed to accept his lot as the bike took pole position, and he was relegated to sitting under the rear wheel. The northern one looked visibly pleased at the reasonable prices, his grin growing ever larger as he made off with our hosts’ tip cup under the pretence of match fees. Our host, mild mannered man that he clearly is, actually reduced their bill by a further £3.25! based on a curious competition where the cricketers indulged in flights of fancy, followed by cacophonous laughter and general backslapping – Majorie felt quite sorry for the poor chap, who look dazed and bewildered at the accusations flying his way – “it wasn’t his fault that it rained” – she murmured under into her scrumpy.

 

 

A stray dog homes in on Nick’s burnt sausages.

 

After the sportsman headed for home. Majorie and I were left to a scrumpious cheeseboard and champagne cocktails, that the proprietor explained “he wouldn’t serve to the likes of them”. I would certainly recommend you stop by if you are heading to the Shires – look out for the art deco styling en-route to the lavatory – inventive, if not completely in keeping with the surroundings.

 

 

‘Barbeque Inspector’

 

 

 

 

 

(...back )