V&A PLAYERS: Adam Jacot [Skip], John Langley, Tom P-G, Rob Noble, Louis Jacot, Ross Ashcroft, Christiaan Jonkers, Dennis De Caires, Rob Taylor, Lachlan Nieboer, Nicky Bird

The 39ers are a very pleasant bunch, blending youth with youth. Actually they had roped in a local Oxfordshire chap in his 50s, but he was not in the true ringer class. They were not that strong, their star bowler Suva having buggered his shoulder, and they had a long tail that included our own Martin Bowden (playing for the 39ers to make them 11), which wagged only when their No. 10, S. Kandasamy, who should have batted up the order, stroked 21*. Martin scored a few (20) until freakishly playing on to a Louis Jacot bouncer. Louis, incidentally, had come fresh from a stunning match at the Getty ground, Wormsley, where he had claimed the wicket of the great Gordon Greenidge (and was bowled by Monty Panasar). To bowl Bowden may not be in the same league but it is terribly satisfying. It was strange and rather tiring to play 11-a-side. It means you cannot take a nap every few overs, or walk in the bluebells with the tea lady. Admittedly, 12-a-side cricket is usually forced on us when I have fucked up the numbers but I refer you to Yorks v Notts this week when Yorks played 12, Bairstow being allowed to replace Hodd in mid-match. So we have started a trend.

The game was a Jacot affair, with Adam captaining, Louis bowling and batting (admirably), grandmother Annette providing a scrumptious tea (the sort the Famous Five used to love) and chef Jessica Jacot, with husband Simon as commis, presenting a truly magnificent lunch, including wonderful lasagne, free range ham and pomegranate salad. Jessica and Megan Ashcroft have raised the bar impossibly high, making my occasional culinary efforts look rather KFC.

The only disappointment was that the Jenkins dachshund, Brecon, failed to show, despite visibly enjoying my right leg three weeks ago. I thought I meant something but clearly not. I seem to be more attractive to dogs than women but sexual orientation is like supporting a football club, you cannot just change your allegiance because you are doing badly. Skipper Adam Jacot, arrived late and flustered, having scared (and dirtied) the pants off his passengers Rob Taylor and Lachlan Nieboer. To speed things (because of the Stonor BBQ starting at 6) I had tossed with the affable 39er skip, Bayhr. He won and elected to bat. But Adam screeched to a halt by the pavilion, shouted I AM IN CHARGE and promptly tossed again, won, and reversed the order. We batted. Adam is a dopey presence when he is just playing but when he is captain he is a man possessed, or as the French say, un poulet sans tête. Each V&A captain has his or her own style. Emley, the disciplinarian, is known as The Headmaster. Rupert is The Toff, I am apparently The Tosser. Adam might be The Looney if it were not libellous. To do him credit he was everywhere, micromanaging his boys, chivvying players to eat up and got on the field, to hurry between overs, to wash their hands before tea. His fielding was a revelation, furiously energetic (until one traditional lapse into wallydom at the end). Speaking of libel I mentioned at luncheon that I had paid £1000 for legal advice in my libel case against Private Eye which called me a dodgy, ill-dressed libertine (it was some time ago). Christiaan observed that my case was bound to fail because a) the allegation was not without foundation and b) I had no reputation to lose. This may be so but it is hurtful nonetheless. My £1000 was wasted because the QC concurred with Christiaan. I could have gone to Jonkers for free.

L. Jacot and Ross Ashcroft opened and we were quickly 50 for 0. At 5 an over. Then Bowden came on and the run chase faltered, despite a couple of full tosses that Ross swept for 4. Louis was eventually out for 29, well caught at mid on. Rob Taylor smote a quick 15 before being caught and bowled by Sean Mayana. Lachlan scored a stylish 24, including a whopping 6 before being caught in the deep, and Dennis came and went for 8, also caught in the deep; and at the frenetic finish Adam (8*) and Christiaan (8*) dashed back and forth like madmen, with the occasional moment when Jonkers seemed to lap a puffing Jacot. Adam goes to a gym but he disguises it well. We finished for a respectable 189 in our 35 overs. Catches, as so often happens, had gone straight to their one truly reliable fielder, Suva. Ross was our star man, scoring a less than chanceless but invaluable and classy 66. One pull by Louis was speeding towards the boundary when it plopped down a rabbit hole. You do not see that at Lords.

At luncheon we discussed sporting board games, the nadir being SUBBUTEO, a crass soccer game which involves flicking a little footballer until man and ball land in the net. Totally unrealistic. If you flicked a real footballer like Suarez he would eat you. There was some chat about people trafficking and how lucrative it is. A chap from Eritrea, currently at Calais, paid $11,000 for passage across the Med. Normally, this premium price would include dinner at the captain�s table, a cabin with a sea view and free wi-fi. But the tour operator offered neither a table, a view (there is none from the hold), or indeed a captain. So the money is pretty much pure profit. A sound business model, although possibly a breach of ABTA rules. A philosophical discussion with Dennis about whether a table is there when you are not looking at it, ended with Tom P-G commenting who gives a fuck. I spent a whole term discussing this at Sussex University and Tom laid the conundrum to rest in a few words. Masterful. Tom told me his father Nick, fresh from his tool sharpening course, was on the plant stall at a garden open day. Next week he is at a knitwear fayre.

I began their innings behind the stumps at the insistence of our captain. He rightly feels I am less of a liability there, and Ross, who is an incomparably better keeper, is frightfully useful in the field, where he caught two huge skiers (off Tom P-G and C. Jonkers) that I might just have missed. While setting his field Adam asked for a volunteer to field at first slip and be subjected to Radio Bird. John Langley kindly offered. We discussed geriatric pop groups like the Moody Blues and Fleetwood Mac and their screaming fans who even now charge the stage with their zimmers. The Who gave their first farewell concert in 1983. Even death does not deter these old rockers, look at Keith Richard.

We opened with Dennis and Christiaan. The 39ers were quickly behind the run rate. Dennis (2/17) bowled their No. 2, Neale, but their demise beckoned with a controversial LBW off Christiaan (3/25) when both close fielders and batsman (Grant, who was playing well) thought he had hit it; but our skip was in no mood to be all Corinthian and bring him back, he is a fearsome old pro in this mood. A stunning caught and bowled by Lachlan (2/17), and two wickets by Tom P-G (2/31), turning it prodigiously from the Pishill End, might still not have wrapped the game up but Lachlan then made the result certain. Suva had come in and was masterfully stroking the ball to all boundaries when his first ball from Lachlan pitched just outside off, went through the gate and hit middle and leg. Would have bowled Bradman. Game over. Sort of. Martin and their local ringer stayed for 10 overs without much purpose and at the end an Italian called Alessandro Farina, who had never played before, came in and was politely explained the rudiments of batting by Ross, who had now taken over as keeper after I had modestly surrendered the gloves. Christiaan, who is a hard man, said we should not coach opposition players. When Christiaan eventually bowled him (rather unkindly), Signor Farina turned to face the next ball, so Ross had clearly not got through the language barrier. They were all out for 100.

I represented the V&A at the Stonor BBQ. Last year I let myself down, having overdone the firewater. This year I did not disgrace myself, but I fear I frightened the horses before the BBQ, by walking to my car after a shower to get a change of clothes, with only an umpires coat over my naked pudgy body. I looked like a flasher. Someone took photos. I will pay for the negatives, this sort of thing looks bad on your CV.

Nicky Bird