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Clear blue skies signalled the arrival of one of our toughest tours, destination, East Prawle. Set in the beautiful South Devon countryside this was a much anticipated weekend away.
We welcomed five Pig’s Nose Virgins, Jones, Ash, Smith, Nicholls and Fraser. Previous tours to this delightful spot have included the added spice of accommodation on the floor in the local pub. Not so this time. We were in a high quality B&B, with sea views and our own en-suite bathrooms. The main house was not spacious enough to house the entire team, so the Virgins were outsourced to a caravan, parked in the rear garden with a large family of chickens. The vehicle had clearly seen the last of its days on the road, but still afforded four bunk beds and a level of comfort that suited the new boys on the block. They too had the benefit of an en- suite toilet, that our hosts advised not to use, unless in dire need.
Friday night brought the usual revelry with Shandy drinking cautiously, not wishing to add fuel to his well acquired nick name. Several beers later, the evening seemed to suddenly come to a premature end, as the pub closed its doors, at the unusually early time of midnight. This meant the Crossbats were only completely pissed rather than totally off their heads and it seemed a quite reasonable suggestion to drive down to the beach and go for a swim. Collier disappeared to collect his car and, moments later, was taking on board passengers. What followed was the first of several road traffic accidents, and apologetic calls home. You will be pleased to know that the trip down to the beach was abandoned, mainly because no one knew the way there. However, after negotiating the short journey back to the B & B without incident, the car was reversed carelessly into the owner’s garden brick wall. Time for bed.
Match day arrived, and over breakfast, whilst Spiro grumbled about life on a separate table, apologies were made to the hosts about the damage to their property. The wall rebuilt, it was time for some practice down the beach. The drive took us down some narrow roads that clearly had not been built with Sir David’s Jaguar in mind; nevertheless, we eventually arrived at a stunning bay with rock pools and a calm cold sea. Shocked holiday makers looked on as numerous beer bellies were exposed to the warm August sunshine.
The trip back was equally hazardous, and it was not long until Sphing rammed his car into a bolder hiding on the side of the “road”. More damage and another call home.Lunch followed back at the pub, and then finally, it was time for the game.
Captain Ash duly lost the toss and we were batting first. Skipper then made sure he would get a bat by putting himself at number four, and then sat back and waited…….. and ……..waited ……and…… waited……. and then waited some more.
This was Dunbars day. Striking the balls to all parts of the field and into the adjacent farm. 7 sixes, loads of fours, this man was on fire, finely supported by Collier, who played another quality innings.
This was Crossbats in full flow, mercilessly crushing the opposition.
138 NOT OUT Dunbar and 107 NOT OUT Collier. 273 in 35 over for the loss of just two wickets.
After a heavenly tea, with cream scones, jam and numerous cakes, it was time to field. Ash opted for the relaxed approach, letting anyone field wherever they fancied. East Prawle felt under immediate pressure, as four pretend slips, took their positions.Local rules dictate that all players should bowl three overs minimum, but this suited Crossbats who have a team of wannabe bowlers.
With our top attack threatening to take the farmer’s heads off, if was left to Wright to really get under their skin. Tossing the ball high up into the setting sun, the locals started complaining of unfair tactics. Red rag to a bull, Wright launched one into orbit. Eventually the ball returned to earth, briefly threatening to hit the whinging batsman on the head. A few more words were exchanged between bowler and batsmen which included “I can see why you are called Arse” and “try putting a hat on or buy some sunglasses”
It was just a question of time before the final nails were put in the opposition’s coffin, which did also include one of the best run outs your correspondent has ever witnessed. The ball was spanked to cover, surely on its way to the boundary. A diving Fraser somehow stopped the speeding missile and threw it straight back, arrow like, to Pads behind the stumps. Luckily, no extra work was needed by our rehabilitated keeper, it was a direct hit. The Zero was indeed back as a Hero.
Then, with Sir David taking another wicket in his long and distinguished career, it was all over.A fine win, handshakes all round with the exception of one batsman who was still spitting blood over the “ball too high in the sky” incident.
Today is Sunday, and as I sit in the bar, still in East Prawle writing this report the opposition captain has wandered over for a chat. A decent fellow, who has taken the defeat in a fine spirit, but tells me that his team was somewhat in awe of our ability to drink ourselves senseless on Friday night, but able to put in such a fine performance on match day………
Maybe, that is a definition of a “Crossbat”.
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