It has been an interesting week, and for aficionados of cricket at our humble level, a not untypical one. I shall detail the timetable of events as it illustrates the absurdity and pitfalls of organising cricket matches in a north European climate.

I have two family games per year, one for my brother Tony’s team who play The INVALIDS at a charming ground at Maidhurst in Sussex, and one for The V&A against The HERMITS, my brother-in-law Tim Squires’ team.

With awesome incompetence these two games were organised for the same day, AUGUST 14. And as I had agreed to play in Sussex before The Hermits’ game was fixed, I felt obliged to play for my brother, but to help get a team for The Hermits’match.

On Wednesday we had just three people, including Adam Jacot who is palpably unfit for sport at the highest level, or even for the V&A. So Martin Bowden, skippering, decided to tell Tim that we were not quorate and unlikely to be, given that it is August. I suggested that we make a big effort but Martin considered it would be a waste of time and told Tim we were buggered, and told the groundsman not to prepare a pitch.

Tim immediately rang me to say he had got a full team, that many had already bought train tickets, that we were treating the game ‘as just another one’, and that I should have organised a proper team worthy of the Hermits before I wogged off to America. Stung by his harsh but reasonable criticism I told him and Martin that I would get a team, and told the groundsman to get back to preparing our pitch.I heard that Tim was also pissed off because he had got some butch ringers and was looking forward to a consummate victory, after losing the last 3 or 4 matches against us.

A morning on the phone found a couple of players, two more came in through e-mailing some teams we play, Patrick Cobb was approached and graciously came on board, Chris Moore was cajoled into playing despite infirmity, and by Thursday morning and further frantic e-mails we were on, with 8.Martin, thinking the V&A game off had committed to the National Theatre, one of the many teams the old tart plays for. Rupert Morris, that stalwart, agreed both to skip and to cater, what a brick he is.

I drove down to Chichester Friday p.m. for some golf with Andy Fraser and my brother Tony before the game next day. It pissed down. The pitch at Maidhurst was waterlogged and the match was off. But with amazing ingenuity and endeavour Tony found an all-weather pitch nearby and told The Invalids’ captain Richard Durdon. Richard did not seem impressed and said he would ring back, which he did to say that the purists in his team would not play on artificial pitches and that was that.

So I could play in the V&A game after all, and so could Andy – who had as we spoke become a grandparent [‘We are a grandfather’]. Pat Cobb rang to say he had recruited a strapping 16-year-old so we were 10 or so.

On Saturday morning I phoned the ground at Stonor and we were given the all-clear. I phoned Pat and others to say the game was on; and then phoned Tim who said he had been to the ground which was wet, and as it was drizzling he had decided the game was off and had told his team. I mentioned inter alia that the groundsman was happy for us to play, that the local forecast was merely for a light shower at 4, but he had done the deed.

It is rare for opposition captains to abort but Rupert was sanguine, his lunch would perhaps keep in the freezer. I rang Chris Moore to cancel – he was sitting in a car outside a sports shop. He said ‘Oh dear. I met an Aussie fast bowler/batsman last night who agreed to play. He has just bought some flannels so he can look the part. He is walking towards me now. Perhaps you would like to speak to him’. Apparently he is built like an outback privy. He made us a certain 11. He would have outringered their ringers.As it turned out the day at Stonor was not wet and by 3 the sun was out.

So…what a fucking waste of time, like Waiting for Godot, but at least VladimirandEstragon didn’t frig about on the phone for hours.