Home Tour Diaries Love is in the air

Love is in the air

by Midnight

The final day of a boring Test match and this cant come too soon for many.

The main interest of the morning session is whether England can make up the 150 run deficit brought about by their inadequate total of only 600 in the first innings.

Wycome , not to be deterred by yesterdays events , is considering a spread bet on Strauss at 62 runs. Herbie argues Cook is better value at 53.

Play commences and with every run Alastair Cook scores Herbie the raven of doom croaks into Wycombes ear.

“ Cook. Cook. Cook. I told you mate , you should have bet on Cook!”.

Strauss is out for a modest score and we fear the worst for Wycombe but unbeknown to most of us and especially the raven , he has also placed a sly bet on Alastair Cook and manages to end the day £75 up. This means his bookmaker , Charlieknuckles.uk.com , is only £325 up now so far on this tour.

The game is heading for a boring draw now and Trevors rum shack looks a good bet for some.

I manage to avoid the dangers of the rum shack and instead walk back most of the way to Tara on my own though “Bush Hall” for an early evening swim in our pool.

When the rum shack refugees return to Tara at about 7pm my wise course of action is justified. They have been drinking in Trevors with a large contingent from the Barbados Cricket Board of Control , and clearly this has involved large quantities of “Old Brigand” rum being consumed.

Mrs Blade is “very pissy”.

So are Mr Blade , Vinny , and Freddie.

Mealtime is hilarious. First Vinny tries to bring order to the various conversations happening at the dinner table with the result that people switch round the table to carry on the conversations they were having before – just like musical chairs!

Then , dessert is served and by this time Freddie , to paraphrase the noble statesman Barack Obama , is behaving like “ something out of the special Olympics “.

Matron is called to feed Freddie the remainder of his ice cream with rum dressing , and put him to bed.

After dinner Streetfly checks the fridge and discovers we are running out of booze. A supermarket run is hastily arranged. I request a couple of bottles of “quality” New Zealand white to drink.

An hour later Mr Blade and Streetfly return from the supermarket with rakes of beer and vodka and two bottles of local fizzy sh*te wine that the plantation slaves of yesteryear would probably have refused to drink on pain of death.

Some flirting has now occurred between one of our number who for legal reasons , cannot be named , and the young , attractive , single kitchen wench at Tara called Ulex.

A date is provisionally arranged for the following night.

Son of, meanwhile , for a change is going out tonight to the Gap with Herbie , Wycombe and Streetfly and surprisingly to all Saint is having a night in.

Son of emerges from the shower into the kitchen like Daniel Craig wearing only a facecloth to cover his modesty. Christine , who has been partaking in a drink or two , immediately notices his almost naked torso.

“ Ooooooh , that’s worra call a body ”

And she gets up from her seat to follow him into the bedroom to assist with whatever it was he had appeared in the first place for. Im blowed if I can remember.

A relatively quiet night is had.

Walt & Christine have an early night.

Mr Blade is confined to barracks.

Midnight & Simon chew the fat about New Zealand on the verandah.

And the Saint tosses and turns uneasily in his bed , dreaming about a large dog attacking him. Maybe the Antichrist is amongst us after all.

Quote of the day

Streetfly “ Panic stations folks. Ive just checked the fridge and we have approximately one hours drinking time left”


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