Sandwiches having been lovingly crafted by my own organic, free-range hand, the long train journey to this forgotten corner of Surrey began interestingly, with Stuart Broad’s public admittance to using muscle-enhancing chemicals:
Is the dope a doper as well as a dobbler?Guildford. Ah Guildford. Forever a beautiful, market town.
Look how the sunshine shimmers off the traffic.Losing my bearings somewhat, the prescient local Council foresaw the need for a sign. A sign to joy!
Let us go, stripy jumper, to meet our destiny together.Once inside, we settle ourselves down comfortably with the radio, in order to listen to another, more interesting game.
Observe the generous leg room.The ground was standard enough, for this part of the world, but was disturbed by the haunting howls of South-West Trains fast service to Waterloo.
Despite the turgid innings before them, the crowd enthusiasm burbled through.
Come lunch, it was time to indulge in my morning’s creations. To spice things up, I attempted to break the World Record for numbers of egg held in one hand.
An otherwise brave challenge, was abandoned due to lack of eggs.As time dripped around to teatime, it seemed appropriate to investigate the wonders of the GUILDFORD FESTIVAL OF CRICKET.
Suitably persuaded by the charming, cricket-assailed women of the above stand, I acquired some of their excellent, if lukewarm, tea and a fine miniature carrot cake.
To the English weather!
3 comments:
Wish I'd be there. Days like that won't be seen again.
Been there when it's been a bit busier in the past ... was it just empty because of the weather / Surrey just being a bit rubbish this year (and last year, and the year before, and &c)?
I think it was empty because the Guildford Festival of Cricket is rubbish.
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