It pissed down the night before. Match Manager was still keen on the day. He suggested heading down there fingers crossed.
Another lost hundred surely? Rain, the enemy of cricket, is fine in winter but insufferable in summer. It kills all the hope you had for the day. Like Larkin’s mother, Phil not Wayne, I’d hold up summer days, give em a shake if I could, ‘lest swarms of grape-dark clouds’ a’ lurking.