Sometimes, when writing emails and even Blogs, it is worthwhile having a period of reflection before hitting that ‘send' button. I think I have waited long enough. There could not have been two more contrasting days of cricket over the past two weeks for the Saturday 1XI. Two weeks ago we played a team, lets call them Hammersham Mill to preserve their anonymity, and we had a thoroughly unpleasant afternoon. To be fair, we anticipated this having played them earlier in the season. The racket and cacophony of ‘encouragements' while they were fielding was a little like Wimbledon Centre Court, but substitute Andy for Buddy. The ‘common buddy' count and clichés reached epic proportions and was clearly aimed at putting off the batsmen as they obviously did not back their bowlers to do the job. Our obdurate ‘go slow' and determination to grind out a draw would not have been half as effective had they not been so objectionable. Let's hope they get promoted to Division 1 and others can enjoy their particular brand of village cricket.

Meanwhile, at the lovely Little Marlow the silence was blissful, the game enticing and the company witty. The game swung more violently than Linford Christie's shorts and was lit up with a superb century from Naeem to pull us out of another batting mess, Alex R ripping out their middle order with career best 3-22 and the Profster hitting the stumps three times in the penultimate over to secure victory. The opposition were very sporting and even had almost as many as us in the King's Head afterwards; also kudos to the superb rack behind the bar.

The enthusiasm of our colts fills me with great hope. James Taylor was down the club today (Sunday) and in the nets after his brush with a collapsed lung and Portuguese doctors and hopes for a return to the ranks next week. Even dad Steve (who follows my musings) was offering son to the sacrificial altar of the 1XI next year. George Lewis was peddling around the boundary organising drinks and a select batch were contributing to two fine performances by the Saturday sides. Poor Ross could not play this weekend as his parents were going away and would not leave him on his own despite his protests. I am sure someone would have adopted him for the weekend!

And finally, common buddy, I mean Freddy.