Spending kids inheritance, ski for short

You can learn a lot when amongst cricketers and on tour, which sadly, I will no longer be by the time you all get to read this. The less attentive amongst you will know that I have spent the last few days in Cyprus, revisiting my cricketing roots and playing cricket once again, this time with the Sussex Seniors. I could even claim to have helped them towards a less ignominiously defeat than that which may have befallen them had I not been there.

I have learned that the art of piss taking is alive and well and living on cricket tours. Just for the record, I have been fined for having an unfeasibly large moustache, being utterly incapable of making the number 4 on a totally incomprehensible scoreboard, buttoning my shirt incorrectly and extolling the virtues of Currencies Direct and of Cypriot red wine. The last charge I vehemently deny but was told that as I had consumed more of it than any the tourist (a charge which if written down will attract the attention of my lawyers, Messrs Boltit, Dribble and Denyit), I had, de facto, been hoist by my own petard. (Winnie, this means guilty as charged).

So with an evening flight and the chance to sober up before driving back from Gatwick, I thought a couple of beers and glasses of wine over lunch would be OK, and so it would have, had I not fallen into bad company. I had walked about two miles along the seafront, determined to avoid the cricket team as I was in recovery phase after the last few days and, thinking that none of them would venture far from the hotel, and that I would be able to sneak out past the pool and along the beach and be able to extricate myself from the madness of the last few days, I was confident that nothing could go wrong. I was wrong. As I entered a quiet beach bar (or so I thought) I was greeted by a huge cheer from at least a dozen of my teammates and WAGS, who unbeknown to me, had gathered there for lunch.

the al fresco changing facilities at the Happy Valley cricket ground.

I think you will understand that they were very keen to give me a good send off and they achieved this with several overs to spare. . I  recall arriving back at the hotel and then been awoken from my beach lounger and persuaded to meet my team mates for a final drink at Francs bar, cross the road from the Mediterranean Beach Hotel, and I recall the round of applause as I fell into the taxi taking me to the airport. It is so nice to be wanted (apparently),and then to  Paphos Airport. .

During the last little drink up, l discovered some more detail about some of my cohorts. I learned for instance that the acronym SKI stands for “spending kinds inheritance”, something which is close time heart. I have told both of the Sprogs that if I have anything to leave when I depart (but as I am immoral, it my not be any soon) that it is all going to a donkey sanctuary. I also learned that a chap who arrived yesterday to join the tour is a Lady Mayoress. He is  referred to thus, as his wife is the Mayor of his town and he is her male consort. I am not sure if that is technically his correct title, but it is good enough for the Sussex Seniors then it is good enough for me.

I got back to Gatwick, waited nearly an hour for my luggage, left my computer bag at the airport and suffered a long diversion on the way home. what a homecoming…

Chris France
@Valbonne_News