The rain kept us indoors most of the day, so we only got a few overs in.
Sarah (still Head of Marketing) took this as a golden opportunity to ramp up her memorabilia signing efforts, but after yesterday’s marathon, the playing group weren’t too keen to keep up her pace.
It all came to a head just after the scheduled lunch break. “WHO SIGNED ‘JOE BURNS’ ON THIS COMMEMORATIVE RICHIE BENAUD BEIGE JACKET?” she hissed through clenched teeth, standing at the dressing room door, arms akimbo.
“She clearly hasn’t seen that Rob Quiney signed the ‘Tony Greig Commemorative Helmet’,” whispered Mr Darcy.
“Or that Bronwyn Bishop signed the working model of the ‘World Series Cricket Ground Drying Helicopter’,” sniggered Adam&Eve, getting all political on us.
“She used to be a pilot before entering parliament, you know,” said The Prof with a straight face. I don’t know how he does it. “She flew fifteen missions in ‘Nam.”
“Really?” said Puff. He is a live one.
Sarah looked like she was about to explode. Coach2.0 intervened and suggested Sarah leave the team to some strategising for the Third Test.
He winked at us after she’d left. “I hope she ever sees my predecessor’s signature on ‘Boof’s Big Bouncy Castle Inflatable Pool Toy (not a lifesaving device)’.”
Only half the team laughed. [Ed. The half who aren’t dead cert’s to play the Third Test]
We settled into back of Parker’s latest Roller, a nice vintage jobby, as we headed out on the A38. Having secured the afternoon off thanks to the weather and Sarah’s stormy disposition, we decided to travel the 30 miles Sherwood Forest for a look-see, and see if we can get the vibe for the Fourth Test.
“Don’t you think this car might be a bit pretentious for some “Steal from the Rich, give to the poor” type action?” I said, luxuriating in the leather seats and sipping on the inevitable agreeable beverage that Parker had arranged.
“Did sir want some green tights? I wasn’t aware they were required this afternoon, but they came be arranged.”
We just looked at each other. “Parker, is there anything you can’t arrange?” asked The Prof.
“I doubt it, guvna.”
“That’s very good to know. Perhaps we might be requiring some green tights and a few other things on or about the 6th of August.”
“What do you have in mind?” I should know better than to ask things like this.
“Something for the England Team. I suspect they’ll be 1-2 down by the time we get to Trent Bridge, and they’ll be feeling the pressure. Nothing like a good practical joke to lighten the mood.”
The rain was getting heavier.
“Parker, can I suggest an orderly reversal and return to Derby?”
“Didn’t want him to do a handbrake turn and cross the median strip,” whispered The Prof as we took the next exit. “He’s something of a literalist.”
“Like some of the team, I suppose.”
“No, 17th, those to whom you refer in the team are fine cricketers, but are just as dumb as a sack of wet mice.
Before I could say anything, The Prof lent forward. “Can you arrange a sack of wet mice for us, Parker?”
“Dead or alive, sir?”
“We’ll let you know,” said The Prof. “We’ll let you know.”