Anyway, Mrs H wanted to go because some of her colleagues had formed a team to play a village side at a ground no more than five minutes’ drive from our house. Given these facts, it is disheartening to report that we spent so long driving around in circles, attempting to follow the detailed instructions on how to get there. After about an hour and a half, we found ourselves passing our own house, which we normally reach from Mrs H’s office in less than half that time. We then adopted Plan B and put the cricket ground’s postcode into the car’s sat nav. Within half an hour we were driving slowly down a village street, agreeing that we might as well pack it in and go home for some supper, when suddenly we spotted an open gate with a cattle grid and, a couple of fields beyond it, a row of parked cars and a flash of white that might either have been a man playing cricket or a swan making an emergency landing. So we went for it. We turned out to constitute 60% of Mrs H’s firm’s supporters.
The Boy had two new experiences this evening: watching cricket, and being licked in the face by a passing Labrador. I cannot be absolutely sure, but I sense that he probably preferred the cricket.