My Happy Place

This has not been a happy summer.  Not wishing to be sued for libel, I will go no further than saying we've lost £1500+ by being screwed around by dishonest and incompetent lettings agents (and we only moved in the first place to save money).

Moving house – and all our stuff – three times (inc. two weeks house-sitting), in the midst of a generally busy time has been hard.  So why am I feeling alright?  Dear Reader, as an antidote to all stress and suffering, I give you cricket.

 

Cricket is not a sport, per se, more of an excuse to do very little when the weather's alright, with breaks for meals.  I've mentioned it before, but need to do so again, because some things need to be dwelt upon to get the fullest goodness out.

When we were being bullied by agents, being given references that were outright lies, and then being asked to fork out for the privilege, at least I knew that when all else fails I can always depend on Alastair Cook and Jonathan Trott.  I could go to my happy place and be safe there.

On Saturday, opening the batting under murky skies against top-of-the-table Chacewater, I carried my bat with 67 not out.  I've never got 30 before, let alone a half-century, so my free moments ever since have been spent re-visualising it – especially my six over midwicket, having come down the pitch to a seamer.

And we won, in fine style, which capped it all off very nicely.

Yesterday morning, under general anaethetic, I had all four of my wisdom teeth extracted – heaven knows what they had to do; two of them were completely submerged – and now I have to wash out my mouth with salt water and live on mushed up food, smoothies and rice pudding for a few days.  I can't work and it could be very boring, so why not watch through the highlights of England decimating India?

I grew up with the worst England team of all time, so now I'm determined to make the most of what we now have.  Cricket is proving a very happy happy place this year,

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