After a needed Saturday siesta, a Sichuan nap of sorts, I cycled down to the local village Cricket green to see if there was a game on. To my delight, there was. I propped my bicycle against the picket fencing sectioning off the Croquet court and watched the two in-batsmen stroking it around the field for an over or two, before strolling around a quarter of the boundary.

I struck up conversation with the lad fielding as sweeper, and after gleaning the scores, generously commented that it was close, at the same time thinking if that Bat continues to cream sixes the home side have no chance. Chasing around 210, the opposition stood strong at 160- 5.

Cracks started to show and after a lucky wicket from a full toss, the home side got the bit between their teeth. I was witnessing a come back. Only twenty four hours ago on TV I’d seen the English bowlers outwit the Aussies in the first of the 3 match 20/20 series, surely it couldn’t happen two days running?

There was the usual beautiful village cricket stuff : batsmen colliding with bowlers; a thwack on the kneecap from an effective but ungainly piece of fielding by a portly gentleman at mid off; banter.

Wickets continued to fall. Another dislodging of bails from a full toss. A well held catch at mid off. The home team were in the running. The score was not nudging beyond the 180s and the visiting XI seemed to be throwing away their chances.

I think there was above all a feeling of relief to be out there playing, and I for one was feeling joy at just watching some live cricket. In the end, the home team did it. A glance and a nick down the leg side, with a catch held by the keeper saw an unforeseen (from my book) victory.

Cycling away down the lane I thought how scenic it was, the late Summer / early Autumn evening sun streaming through the leaves giving a dappled lighting, highlighting the flying insects.