Match cancelled. Rain again. Aston Rowant is one of the best wickets I’ve batted on. It is firm and true. But it’s the lunch by Wendy Scowen of the Shepherd’s Crook that’s worth a year long wait. Last year she dished up wonderful cold rare beef; perfectly coooked. It was dark pink in middle, clarety red on the edges. If you wanted fish there was salmon, if you didn’t like fish there was zesty coronation chicken with sautéed potatoes, fresh salad and mango sorbet for pudding. What a spread!
In 2006, I made it to lunch after opening the innings; batting from 11.30 to 1.00. I was piling on a big plate of chicken, beef, and fish, salad and spuds when Peter Ray, the match manager, sidled up and said “you’d better fall on your sword, I’ve got a host of big guns waiting to bat. I didn’t think you’d last this long.” To be at the wicket that long was a feat for me. There were a meagre 25 runs to my name at lunch. 70 to the other bloody good left hander batting with me. I was struggling but hanging on. Batting ugly. Occupying the crease. Being bloody selfish; something I strive not to be as a batsman; a trait I can’t stick in other batsmen.
There’s no point hanging around if others can score quicker. It’s wrong but it was a day to give plain bloody wrong a go.