Had a funny dream last night, I thought I was eating a 10lb marshmallow and woke up this morning and my pillow was gone! That is silly, let's never loose silly.
I do not want to make every cricket lover too envious but I am watching village cricket at its most traditional. Ages range from 16 to 58 and that is just our team. The field is really the extended front garden of a farmer's house. See photo. On the hill behind the field, (Michael just took his first wicket), is the regimented badges of the troops who were stationed here in the first world war, before being shipped to the trenchers in France. Sunday 2nds playing Fovant. Fovant is at the extreme top of Dorset, really small rural village, farmer's country. We have playing throughout Dorset and have seen many a field, some perfectly kept by a handful of keen players. I remember Chesselbourne, surrounded by maize on a keen slope. Really Dorset country folk with a broad Dorset accent and what a spread of food, the old dependable sandwiches, pizza slices, Dorset pies and cakes. Not just cakes but farmer brown cakes, huge and sweet and succulent. Then there was Ashmore, a rye field in the winter and a cricket field for the three short summer months. I can not remember what the tea was like but the people were salt of the earth. Fovant surpasses them all for its location, immaculate pitch and surroundings. The tea? Michael said it was alright, he has had many tea's and should know.