Bowling quick is not easy at my age. When Oh when will I learn that I am no longer Michael Holding (careful Geoffrey....the corridor of uncertainty etc etc)....Sidmouth was as pretty as a picture, and a pleasure just to stand on the boundary or in the outfield and watch the play. I did manage one wicket off a beautiful late swinging delivery...and about thirty runs. The Boffins just fell short by 38 runs of the 338 required. No mean task. We had the usual run of Celebs turning up, and some who could not make it, or were injured. The Faulks lads came as one again. Sebastian sadly came alone without Edward who had an injured pelvis. Apparently he fell off the Woolsack and tripped up on his Ermin. Now that he's in the House of Lords must be more careful. Seb failed for the first time at Chardstock (usually scores a ton), and young Robson appeared in a blaze of glory from an enormous black machine with blond in tow and yappy dog.....muttering Mourinho's no longer his friend....blah blah....its all gone to his head (or bank account).....and not forgetting our budding new author, Monsignor Mathieu, whose splendid account of The Masters of Manton I see is out of stock on Amazon. Push harder Paul.
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