The season ended not with a bang but a whimper. Our last improvised fixture at Stonor was not to be. God intervened as She/He often does, though for most of the summer you’d have thought cricket was what God did, so glorious was the weather. And for much of it I was in the mountains of upstate New York in persistent rain. Fuck it. I am not sure that improvised games work, oppositions are cobbled together and inquorate. We should ensure, though, that we do not get any more fixtures snaffled by the bohemians of the Chelsea Arts Club.

We had an astounding number of close, even nail-biting, finishes. Not of the engineered type I used to contrive when I was a sort of permanent captain. If the opposition looked to be needing help I’d put a wally bowler on. The trouble was the wally bowler knew why he was being bowled and resented it. Wally bowlers often don’t accept they’re wallies. An ideal day at Stonor is an affable sunny one with lots of stylish runs, a good lunch and a dramatic finish, with the V&A picking up the last wicket off the last ball. Lunches were beyond superb this year, thanks to the Goodliffes, Sarah J, Jane and Megan, the Morrises, Steph, Cath, Lucinda… I myself provided memorable hand-crafted baked spuds.

My knees limited my appearance on the pitch to one or two, to no-one’s chagrin I fear; Martin Bowden’s knees handicap his running between the wicket which is now much like Adam’s in the field, not technically running in a biological sense. Adam’s mother, complete with Daily Telegraph, graced our ground for most games, and is an invaluable asset for those like me who cannot field so need a) an audience to talk at and b) a crossword. She overheard me say that I try to avoid smut when she’s about. She commented ‘no, you don’t.’ But I do try to treat her with respect. I just fail.

After we played on the green baize that is Turville Heath some of our lot asked me to encourage the Stonor groundsman to mend the outfield holes and improve the track. So I did, rather clumsily. It caused offence. I responded by changing tack by saying he was actually the best groundsman in the county because our close finishes were proof of his fair-minded approach, giving something for both bat and ball.

Diplomacy was needed during our tour of Wiltshire, when a volatile Rumanian called Ido told us to quit our hired house pronto ‘cos we had ignored his diktat that no dogs were allowed. He made the mistake of accosting our leader on the tour, Ross, after Ross had a) just put his exhausted children to bed at midnight and b) taken strong drink. Mr Ashcroft told Mr Ido to fuck off. The diplomacy required in the morning, when I met Ido, was of the grovelling sort. The two grounds we played on were lovely, Chalke Valley being one of the loveliest in England. I cannot recall the cricketing results but we partied with relish, being catered for by Michelle Wathes. I provided the wine, which connoisseurs like Emley, Tom Bird and Christiaan sniffed at. But the price, £4.95, was not to be sniffed at. Tom Ayling played on the Sunday, sort of, having arrived late Saturday and suffered some alcohol and substance abuse, which was by no means his fault. Nick Constantine fell into the river, sober.

We had our share of argy-bargy in the field this year, some of it mere banter. Christiaan, that Jekyll and Hyde, one moment languid and Edwardian, the next appealing for LBW with the reticence of a Dervish, revels in repartee with batsmen, of the ‘why not try a cricket shot?’ sort. I particularly enjoy his description of a pull or hook as a ‘hoik’ if it is done off his bowling. However, he should be treated with deference as he is our new Treasurer. Rupert Morris, having done 10 tens years fine service, is handing over the ledger and quill.

We saw Dennis de Caires depart both as an invaluable player and as our Fixture Secretary of many years. Chris Mounsey-Thear has taken over and already shows what an efficient bloke he is, this despite new baby and sleeplessness. New babies also arrived for Steph Bird and Ali Julka. We hope both will be V&A players one day, gender for Ottilie Bird being no problem. The team of the future may look different, things change. We had a sort of huddle at one match, a rarity at Stonor; and one captain, Ross, urged players to eschew drink, sex and a late night prior to the game next day. From the evidence of the scorebook Nick Emley disobeyed.

The pitch cannot be that volatile as we had centuries from Chris M-T, Ross (2), Nick Constantine (just short of a ton before lunch!), Andy Taylor and Lachlan; a fabulous match saving innings from Adam Jacot and tremendous knocks from Nick P-G, Rob Taylor, C Jonkers, Vin Grantham, Tom Ayling and Tom Bird. Lachlan is the pick of our bowling but Christiaan, Tom P-G, Rob Taylor and Adam J knock over the wickets.  Phil Goodliffe continues to amaze behind the stumps. Catches by Tom B, both Taylors, Nick P-G and Ross were truly stunning. Nick P-G also impressed behind the wicket with a great catch that reminded me of myself in 1976.

Next year – put this in your diary – we have a three-night tour of Herefordshire (24-27 May), with a 20/20 on the Friday and two games over the weekend. If you still need V&A equipment like hats or sweaters let me know. A bill will eventually be sent for those who’ve picked up their stuff.

We will be convening in the New Year a committee meeting so demarcations between Fixtures Sec and captains can be ironed out. Some people think the pavilion might be upgraded, sight screens and pitch covers provided, but they cost money. Anyway, the facilities are a far cry from 1983 when the pavilion was a shack, just a roof and floor. Or when the Home dressing room was home to a rat that seemed to inhabit the S bend in the lavvy. The late Roger Smith sat on the lav one morning and I heard the scream. Terrifying. But think of it from the rat’s point of view. The rodent died of fright.

Much talk at luncheon this year was either pretentious or unprintable. There was one conversation about broadcasting bloopers and whether they were apocryphal. Like this famous one by John Snagge, reading out the cricket scores on the BBC –

‘Yorkshire all out 232, Hutton ill. Sorry, Hutton 111.’

True apparently. You will note from this End of Term Report that I am being uncharacteristically benign, and have insulted hardly anyone. This is because I got into serious trouble this year with facetious comments. I will try next year not to offend but, as Annette Jacot knows, I will fail.

The V&A’s AGM or dinner dance will possibly be held, again, at Turville Heath House next year, because it remains unsold, the neighbour’s noisome restaurant having deterred potential buyers. All welcome, including dogs. By the way, Boycott – in his pomp – once scored a century guesting at Turville Heath, and refused to be retired when he got his ton. He wanted the practice. Having scoffed ALL the cup cakes, he said ‘they’re not a patch on a Yorkshire Tea Cake’. Typical Yorkshire boor.

At the old people’s end of our luncheon table at Stonor, we turn sometimes to the absurdities of the modern world, and the horrors of marketing-speak – like this gem from a Coca-Cola spokesman, explaining why they’re buying Costa… ‘Costa Coffee is a scalable coffee platform with critical know-how and expertise in a fast-growing, on-trend category.’ Eh?

Someone suggested the V&A CC should have a ‘mission statement’. ‘Throwing balls, hitting balls, talking balls’. Or something. Any suggestions?