V&A PLAYERS: Rob Taylor (captain), Rupert Morris, Nick Emley, Christiaan Jonkers, Tom Bird, Lachlan Neiboer, Adam Jacot, Dennis de Caires, Nick Constantine, Jago Poynter, Henry Turpie, Charlie Wilkinson.

T. S. Eliot’s opinion that ‘April is the cruellest month’ must, I have often thought, been written with cricketers in mind. Many a downpour has dampened the early season zeal of have-a-go heroes across the country. Actually, Eliot didn’t like cricket. Harold Pinter, on the other hand, did. “I tend to think that cricket is the greatest thing that God ever created on earth – certainly greater than sex, although sex isn’t too bad either.”; clearly, he had his priorities in order.

The GTs are a funny old side, captained by one of the V&A’s own. No one could quite explain to me exactly what it stood for. Jago Poynter suggested that it might be ‘Gin & Tonics’, but that’s because he’s a ceramic artist who lives off the Fulham Road. It shall, I fear, remain a mystery.

V&A skipper for the day, Rob Taylor, agreed to an uncontested toss with the opposition captain that saw the V&A take to the field first. The weather was fair. Nick Emley threatened to remove his cherished cable-knit (he didn’t, in the end). It seemed as if the GT’s were committed to a definitive result; we were to have 35 overs a side. All seemed a bit rum when the majority of our youth element arrived tardy. They blamed the traffic on the A40 but we all secretly blamed Henry Turpie’s pre-birthday hangover. He was out on the tiles until the dawn and got in at the same time that Jago set to work on those delectable scotch eggs of his. More on the eggs later.

Our attack was led by Lachlan Neiboer and Dennis de Caires. Lachlan, fired up by the percolated coffee and bacon that we’d knocked up on his camping stove (whilst locked out of the pavilion before the game), bowled with pace and accuracy. When the ball cannoned into their opener on his back leg in front of middle and off, about half way up, he was unlucky not to get the first victim of the day. From the other end Dennis, who is the only man I know that bowls in round, tortoise-shell glasses, beat the edge on several occasions. Runs were slow to accumulate. Debutant Charlie Wilkinson came on and struck twice in quick succession. Charlie is built like one of those modern second-row forwards, and hadn’t played cricket for about five years. The game was well poised as we retired from the field to fill our stomachs.

Lunch has always been rather sacred at Stonor, and huge congratulations must go to our recently crowned ‘Good Egg’ (somewhat appropriate) Jago Poynter for providing a top spread. You can tell he’s well brought up because he puts things like orange zest and hazelnuts in his salads. The piece de resistance was a remarkable array of handmade scotch eggs. Estelle de Caires was overheard informing Jago that if she had a daughter to offer up for marriage, he would be a favoured suitor. Adam gave us his views on the recent BBC documentary about the Gettys (it really is very good) and Christiaan lamented that the current Getty up the road doesn’t buy nearly as many books as his old man did. Lachlan seems quite fixated on the Russian question at the moment, and much was made of the despotism of Putin. Personally, I think a marvellous idea would be to put a piece of lead in him (Putin, not Lachlan) but I’m a bit of a savage like that.

Tom Bird mentioned that ‘everything rather accelerates after lunch, usually: it’s either a collapse or a slogathon’. The GTs, regrettably, did the latter. One of the opposition batsmen, named only as ‘George’ in the scorebook, hit a succession of boundaries and was left 106*. Jago dropped him on 40 and Dennis put him down on 98. But it is early season and these things happen. Lachlan took a tough catch in the deep off Jonkers and then took a wicket of his own. A rather bruised V&A headed for the changing rooms with a total of 213 for victory.

Tom Bird’s prediction proved astonishingly accurate on the collapse front, too, with the top order flourishing as briefly as the bluebells that come out at this time of year. In muggy conditions their opening attack proved a tall order to overcome. Bird fell for nought, Rupert Morris was expertly caught by a leaping chap of some age in the gully (3), and myself (10) and Jago (0) fell in consecutive balls. At 28-4, the top scorer was the extras column and the V&A were very much up certain creeks without various paddles. Nick Emley offered a measured 22 in resistance, and skipper Rob (15), who hit a sumptuous six over square leg, steadied the ship until being run out. At tea, we needed 150 to win from the final 20 overs. We didn’t get there. Christiaan (22*) and Dennis (18) did some damage, but sadly we slumped to defeat at 119 all out. We also batted twelve, so the opposition took eleven wickets – something I’ve never seen in a single innings. Soundly beaten, we all retired to The Golden Ball, now in bright sunlight after a grey few hours, and feasted on chips, commiserations and pints.

It was a delightful day nonetheless. Winter is harsh on cricketers and many of our number go into hibernation until the wickets are playable again. Incidentally, the spectators were of fine calibre too. My old man turned up with his three labradors and three bottles of wine (he didn’t drink it all himself), and Tom Bird and I had a discussion about the impressive quality of most Picpoul de Pinets. Nick P-G appeared, filched an ale from the fridge and informed us that his wife had dismissed him from her birthday prep to go and ‘See the lads down the club!’. I hope the future Mrs. Constantine is as generous of spirit. A special mention must go to Phil Goodliffe, who appeared at the ground at 11AM, for a ‘net’ – whatever that is. Actually, Phil spent the best part of an hour marching around the outfield and filling in potholes left by the ravages of animalia. Remarkably, he had a cortisone injection on Thursday, but trudged on regardless.  A true servant of the club, we salute you, Phil!

Nick P-G was quick to point out that one John Langley was present, too. John is resigned to not playing again owing to a knee damaged by repeated and futile genuflection to countless Culture Secretaries. Before setting off from Cla’am, John had checked the team sheet to see if his ‘kind of people’ were playing. Adam and Dennis were and Nicky Bird’s name was absent from the team sheet (he was at the La Biennale de Venezia, because of course he was), so John paid us a visit.