03Jun2004
As I reported last week, I made it into that hallowed ground the home of cricket – Lords. I recalled the editors injunction to me “you're not there to give us a ball by ball commentary. You're being sent there to find out what goes on behind the stands...”
My first impression on arriving was of an elaborate fancy dress party. Or a movie set. It was like a scene out of 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'. There were the delightful elegantly dressed women but not many of them. They were earnestly chatting with hundreds of Hugh Grant look-a-likes. You know the sort. Stripped blazers. Trousers with razor sharp pleats. They all had shocks of untrainable hair. Constantly being swept back from their high foreheads by hands heavily burdened with gold signet rings. And in the other free hand available to them a glass of PIMMS. Lots of heavy chortling from the men. Nervous chirping from the women who were likewise partaking of the PIMMS. The air was aloud with the clinking of ice. All this and it was only 1130am. Suddenly the milling PIMMS drinking throng's camaraderie was shattered by a red cricket ball landing in their midst. This was just the first of a series of Chris Cairns sixes that had come over the top of the stand. The PIMMS drinkers recovered their composure as quickly as they had lost it. Great what a public school education does for one.
The scene was full of colour. Against the backdrop of off-white marquees were the dark suits with chalky stripes, blue, green and striped blazers. And everyone but me was wearing a tie. And every tie was of the same colours. Burnt orange and a lemony green. The official colours of the Marylebone Cricket Club, affectionately known as the MCC. I eavesdropped onto one of the conversations.
“Did you hear the sad news about Rupert and Jocasta, Geoffrey?”
“Poor show I was never all that keen on her.”
“She always seemed to be more interested in what make of car a chap was driving rather than the chap himself.”
“I knew as soon as Rupert swapped the BMW for that Japanese 4WD there was going to be trouble.”
“And he only did it to please the kids – not for himself. He was an unselfish blighter.”
“He may have to sell 'Thropmorton' to pay her out. If that happens that's the end of our regular Sunday cricket matches. The wicket at Thropmorton was one of the best.”
Geoffrey nonchalantly brushing the unruly shock of hair I earlier spoke of from his brow responded “We'll be all right. Sebastian Chippendal-Wigmore has just bought a fabulous estate near Godalming. He's putting in a pitch, bringing the clay down from Yorkshire. Ten truckloads of it. We'll be playing there before the end of the summer.”
“How's your drink?”
Before Geoffrey could answer the ball from another Cairns six dropped just short of the group.
”These colonials are nothing but sloggers. That's the fourth six that blighter Cairns has hit this morning Let's move over to the champagne marquee. It will be more peaceful there.”
And it was. But it wouldn't have mattered. A loud roar had just gone up from the stands. Cairns attempting six, number 5, had been caught on the boundary.
My first impression on arriving was of an elaborate fancy dress party. Or a movie set. It was like a scene out of 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'. There were the delightful elegantly dressed women but not many of them. They were earnestly chatting with hundreds of Hugh Grant look-a-likes. You know the sort. Stripped blazers. Trousers with razor sharp pleats. They all had shocks of untrainable hair. Constantly being swept back from their high foreheads by hands heavily burdened with gold signet rings. And in the other free hand available to them a glass of PIMMS. Lots of heavy chortling from the men. Nervous chirping from the women who were likewise partaking of the PIMMS. The air was aloud with the clinking of ice. All this and it was only 1130am. Suddenly the milling PIMMS drinking throng's camaraderie was shattered by a red cricket ball landing in their midst. This was just the first of a series of Chris Cairns sixes that had come over the top of the stand. The PIMMS drinkers recovered their composure as quickly as they had lost it. Great what a public school education does for one.
The scene was full of colour. Against the backdrop of off-white marquees were the dark suits with chalky stripes, blue, green and striped blazers. And everyone but me was wearing a tie. And every tie was of the same colours. Burnt orange and a lemony green. The official colours of the Marylebone Cricket Club, affectionately known as the MCC. I eavesdropped onto one of the conversations.
“Did you hear the sad news about Rupert and Jocasta, Geoffrey?”
“Poor show I was never all that keen on her.”
“She always seemed to be more interested in what make of car a chap was driving rather than the chap himself.”
“I knew as soon as Rupert swapped the BMW for that Japanese 4WD there was going to be trouble.”
“And he only did it to please the kids – not for himself. He was an unselfish blighter.”
“He may have to sell 'Thropmorton' to pay her out. If that happens that's the end of our regular Sunday cricket matches. The wicket at Thropmorton was one of the best.”
Geoffrey nonchalantly brushing the unruly shock of hair I earlier spoke of from his brow responded “We'll be all right. Sebastian Chippendal-Wigmore has just bought a fabulous estate near Godalming. He's putting in a pitch, bringing the clay down from Yorkshire. Ten truckloads of it. We'll be playing there before the end of the summer.”
“How's your drink?”
Before Geoffrey could answer the ball from another Cairns six dropped just short of the group.
”These colonials are nothing but sloggers. That's the fourth six that blighter Cairns has hit this morning Let's move over to the champagne marquee. It will be more peaceful there.”
And it was. But it wouldn't have mattered. A loud roar had just gone up from the stands. Cairns attempting six, number 5, had been caught on the boundary.
posted by Lundon at 1:55 PM
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