V&A PLAYERS: Nicky Bird (skip), R Ashcroft, L. Jacot, A. Jacot, A. Taylor, R. Taylor, L. Nieboer, N. Emley, S. Julka, A. Wayland, T. P-G, N P-G

Tom Bird’s stag game was a family affair, with his fiancée’s parents catering nobly, his Dad umpiring, his Auntie coming for drinks and lunch in that order, his Uncle Nicky skippering for the oppo, his Grandfather rising like Lazarus to watch the game from his car. The day was bright if cold and plagued by occasional rain and hail but no locusts or boils.

Tom’s mates were once our Yoof element. Ollie Bamber, Ed Churchwood, Ollie Newton, Andy Sharp, Steve Coltman, Johnny Stokes, Will King, Freddie de Vas all played pretty regularly until work and babies took them from us. Ollie Bamber’s charming wife Sophie was once accosted at a V&A party by one of our more lecherous members who had taken strong drink. I had to explain to our stalwart that Sophie was off the menu. I am afraid I rather let myself down yesterday by declaring my interest in Jessica Jacot (or Fellowes as she is known professionally) because she ticks so many boxes, fabulous cook, very attractive, architectural historian (she writes about Downton Abbey). novelist… her Achilles heel is that she is married to a man who has paid his sub. Helena Bonham-Carter is not married and nor is the tea lady’s dog. Nick P-G suggested the dog was a more realistic proposition, certainly more so than the Estonian barmaid I clumsily approached in The Crown. Nick called my technique ‘pathetic’ which was fair.

We played 12-a-side (in a 35 over game), with one fielder always in the slips. C. Mounsey-Thear, their skip, suggested we bat first as their chaps were unlikely to give us a proper total. I made a fuck up of the batting order. We opened with Nick P-G and Ross. Partly as they were not going to bowl and had to do something. After 10 overs when Nick was caught by C. Jonkers (playing for Tom) we were 23. Nick had scored 3 singles. There were cruel shouts of ‘Emley’ at one point but Emley was swashbuckling in comparison. However, to be fair, the pitch was another pudding and came so slowly on to the bat that runs were scarce. Louis Jacot was out caught (as were most), but Andy Taylor and Ross steadied the ship and put on 74 before Andy was bowled by Dr. King. In Will’s previous over Andy had plundered 16 which had transformed our innings. We were up to 4 an over. Rob Taylor was out first ball, caught and bowled, a victim of the pitch. Lachlan looked set for a big score when he was bowled by Jonkers, which must have irked. Enter Emley. I yield to no man in my admiration for this erudite connoisseur of fine wine and weed, but the vulgarity of the run chase is not his baby. He prefers, like Plum Warner, to ‘build an innings’. In the last 3 overs of our innings just 8 runs were scored. As an illustration of the trickiness of the pitch Ross, in an invaluable innings of 57 not out, hit 34 singles, and only 3 fours. There were 21 wides in our total of 142, which meant that we actually had about 40 overs.

Lunch and tea were scrumptious, hot lentil and carrot soup, terrific game pie, lashings of scones and cakes, a veritable Famous Five event. Tom is very lucky to be marrying a saint who a) caters beautifully and b) tolerates his appalling cross bat shot that usually gets him out. We discussed inter alia at luncheon Red Ken and his stupid remarks about Hitler being a Zionist because he wanted to expel all Jews to Israel (which didn’t exist then) – an odd definition of Zionism. I mentioned the Bangladeshi test cricketer who has been suspended for torturing his 11-year old servant, a Miss Happy, for three years. The man said he had made a mistake and that ‘to err is human’. Someone thought this a bit much. I think the disapproval referred to whacking one’s servant rather than the suspension. My wife, the terrifying Dr. Bird, does not as far as I know torture our servants, the odd smack apart.

We opened our bowling with Sunil and Andrew Wayland. They had not batted. Sometimes opening with the second string (‘innocuous’ I think Jonkers called such bowling) is a smart move, they don’t get whacked when opening batsmen are at their most tentative. The Tom Bird XI started as slowly as we had. Nevertheless there was no real hurry so it was silly of Ollie Williams to risk a second run when R. Taylor had the ball at long off. His throw was precise. Steve Coltman was well caught and bowled by Sunil. Chris M-T came in and promptly offered a chance back to the bowler, Wayland, who fluffed it. Those of us fielding in the slips (me) thought this might be expensive. Chris and Ollie Bamber seemed untroubled by bowlers or pitch but were mainly scoring in singles. Then came two balls that rather changed things. Chris appeared to have gloved a ball to keeper Andy Taylor. Chris ambled off muttering something about it hitting his forearm. The fielders agreed. Back he came. The next ball L. Jacot dug one in and Chris skied it to the square leg boundary, where Lachlan was positioned for just such a shot. But Ross had done the trigonometry and charged towards the spot where the ball must fall, and where stood Lachlan. I yelled ‘Lachlan!’ and Ross stopped and Lachlan caught a bloody good catch. Tom Bird then came in and ran himself out. 61 for 5.

The game was still nicely poised, with Ollie Bamber playing faultlessly, if slowly. Enter Will King. He clouted his first ball to deep mid-wicket, where Ross was poised. To amuse us he juggled with it before making the catch safe. This excellent catch proves how useful Ross is in the outfield (despite his bad back), notwithstanding his prowess behind the stumps.

The came a Brearleyesque piece of captaincy. I had noticed that Andy Sharp, in next, specialised in a nice thwack to deep point. I moved Wayland there. The next ball he palmed a very difficult catch and Tom Bird’s team were in a bit of bother. They were not helped by a beauty from Rob that bowled Ed Churchwood. Nor by another stupendous catch in the deep by Ross (off Tom P-G), again entertaining the huge crowd by pretending to fumble it. Incidentally Tom P-G gave a very good impression of a chap with a fabulous hangover, standing dopily in the outfield with his hands in his pockets. At one point he went off to A&E to have stitches in a cut. How the cut occurred he couldn’t recall. I suggest it might have happened when he was blotto. He reminded me of a butler we had when I was young called Moloney. He was a drunk. During dinner parties he would be slumped on the kitchen table, insensible with drink, while his wife, the cook, would berate him and hand him the peas to serve. Yet when he passed through the green baize door to the dining room he was a different man – erect, his hand steady, his speech unslurred. Because he was a pro. So it was with Tom P-G when he bowled. The shambling wreck on the boundary was no more.

They were still in the hunt in the 30^th over but Lachlan bowled Ollie Newton and that was that, they petered out for 108, well short of our modest total, one I had thought inadequate. Tom Bird’s crew went off to London for his stag do, a bibulous evening no doubt, complete with stripagram (so Ollie Bamber hoped) which is nostalgic. It was how I first met the tea lady.

Next week we play the All Sorts. Louis knows them well. He said I would enjoy the company of their skipper, an old boy who can name every Prime Minister since Walpole. This is coded language for – ‘he is even more boring than you’.