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Got any tickets?

July 23, 2011

A bus she said. “Let’s take the bus to Lords”, “but there’s a taxi across the road” I remonstrated, and I thought I had written my last column. A well dressed muslim chap boarded the bus in Marylebone road. The nature of his religion was betrayed by his attire and beard but mostly by what he was carrying; a copy of The Muslim News, with the headline “Israelis imprison Palestinian children” prominently displayed. This in itself is not an issue, and he had a perfect right to be on the bus, but it was when he turned around to use his mobile phone and I spotted the large rucksack on his back that I became uneasy.

Anyway, we lived to tell the tale and, as we got off the bus near Lords, we are asked by a couple of touts if we had any tickets.  That nice lady decorator thought he meant bus tickets and kindly offered them our used ones. It was a kind gesture, but I don’t think the touts were exactly pleased with the offer but I am not certain if she understood why.

A great day at Lords, in the box of Adidas who were kind enough to provide champagne, Pimms, wine and beers, plus breakfast lunch and tea and a host of fine company. Kevin Pietersen has long been known by that nice lady decorator as “eye candy”. His making a double hundred for England against the best team in the world, India, and the presence of his look-alike brother Brian being in the box made that nice lady decorator especially attentive.

Lords, day two, view from the Adidas box

The big Grace Gate at Lord reminded me of prison gates and I had a brief rewarding thoughtful about banjo, the cantankerous canine, still languishing in his on little prison in the south of France.

After game had finished for the day, we found ourselves still thirsty, which was remarkable because of earlier excessive consumption, and adjourned to the nearby Warrington Hotel in Randolph Avenue, an old stamping ground. I was enjoying the evening but a dark cloud was always in the background which I could not reconcile, and then I had it; the name  of the pub is the same as one of those towns in the frozen hinterland of England and to which I am being dragged next week.

Today we are scheduled to go down to Hurtwood Park for “Polo Rocks” a slightly uneasy mix of polo and rock music in the form of The Faces with Mick Hucknell from Simply Red in place of Rod Stewart. However the usual joker that is the English weather may see us eschew the polo and cut straight to the music.

Then Buckinghamshire awaits next week, where I am scheduled to remove some money from old pal Paul North on the golf course, despite his continuing to claim a girls handicap of 28. However a few days in the damp home counties will not be sufficient to prepare me fully for the horrors that await from midweek, when we journey north. Idly, when considering how not to mention Currencies Direct, I asked that nice lady decorator whether she thought we would be able to see the Northern Lights when we go up there, and she said they had plenty of shops in Chester and she was sure some of them have lights. It seems that the glories of electricity have reached even into the north of England. Luckily we have been rather too well fed and watered down here in the south over the past few days, so perhaps some privations may improve the bulging waistline.

Chris France

One Comment leave one →
  1. Peachy permalink
    July 23, 2011 11:42 am

    Your daughter has arrived here safely and we have put her to work outside in the driving horizontal wind and rain , plucking and gutting the pigeons for your supper next week . I have put the Mancunian Merlot in the freezer ready to micowave it upon your arrival . Toodle Pip !


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