Cricket, Scrabble and the Election

The cricket season is almost here. Nasty Jen is pumped. A palpable sense of excitement hangs in the air, poised, expectant. Sort of like Morpheus in the Matrix as he hangs, suspended in mid-air, before slamming to the floor and putting his knee through the floorboards, somewhat carelessly. Perhaps they were able to claim on their buildings and contents insurance. Ah, the Matrix. It’s been with us for eleven years now. Almost as long as this Labour government. Now, this is not a political blog, goodness, it’s not even a blog about cricket. But the impending general election does provide some joy in this corner, as the nice people in the comedy department at Radio 4 produce a veritable glut of satire on the subject. And it’s even been possible to watch Gordon on television, shamelessly trying to imply that Labour have been doing a grand old job of running the country these last thirteen years, which is quite entertaining. And, unlike most people I speak to, I haven’t found the recent televised leaders’ debates a dreadful bore, in fact I have to confess that I’ve enjoyed them, what I’ve seen of them. I was prevented, sadly, from witnessing the early exchanges in Bristol, due to my involvement in a titanic Scrabble battle, where I was pitting my wits against a stellar line-up which included DC, Wiseman and Mrs G. I have pitted said wits against them on an almost annual basis since 2002, when Mrs G was still Miss C, and Wiseman may well have been DC’s flatmate. (That was a short-lived arrangement). Each time I have been found wanting, the spoils being shared over the years between Mrs G and, more commonly, DC, the latter’s word power being head and shoulders above ours. Much like his head and shoulders. So we were all more than a little taken aback when I emerged from the fray victorious, looking mildly shocked but unmistakably pleased with myself, almost Clegg-like in fact, to claim the prize (a rather fetching pewter tankard). You could have knocked me over with a small plastic tile.
I should warn you, dear reader, that due to a withdrawal of support for ftp publishing by Blogger, this blog may, around the beginning of May, disappear from the ether. Or into the ether. Disappear, anyway. But do not fret (of course if one or two of you did, momentarily, fret, I’m sure it would do no harm at all, and I would find it gently reassuring), as technical issues such as this are Wiseman’s speciality, and he assures me everything is in hand. At least, I think that’s what he said. I trust you will be able, accustomed as you are to this blog being updated with near-military regularity, to stick it out for a few days without a fresh post should everything go belly-up. You’re a hardy lot.
But back to the cricket. Tomorrow sees the start of the season proper, and an outing for the mighty Holy Cross 3rd XI. The weather is set fair and I may even have a new pair of batting gloves in time for the occasion. Brilliant.

6 thoughts on “Cricket, Scrabble and the Election”

  1. Yeah, I am totally pumped!

    Did you win? Any sunstroke?

    BTW – so glad that the scrabble help and advice F and I were able to give you in the roseleaf paid off 😉

    Many congrats 🙂

  2. So, you were bound to win something eventually, right?

    The floodgates (of victory) are now open. Can't wait to hear the tales of Quinn reaching 150 n/o, taking 10 catches, running out his opponents for a handful of runs and, of course, achieving the kind of peace that so many of our fellow citizens only dream of having with the machines that are all around us…

    As for the blog – can't you just use the editing pages, or is that too simple? :->

  3. Surely it's impossible to share a Scrabble-based anecdote and not share the one crowning moment of said game (every game has one)…

    AND… please tell me you have rejected Scrabble's decision to allow Pronouns…

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