It was clear early on that we were going to have a good day’s cricket. The sign came midweek, when a hearty laugh, familiar to residents of the Stonor valley, echoed through the bookshop from Mr. Jonkers’s office. More often than not this indicates the arrival of a missive, in all-caps or none, from N. Bird. But mirthful message came from our caterer, Nick Constantine, who had asked for permission to go “a little over budget” for Saturday’s spread. Now, those of us who can be a little tardy in paying our match fees, will know that our Treasurer likes to run a tight ship. But, much like Elizabeth Von Arnim’s Mr Wilkins, he “encourages thrift, except that branch of it which gets into his food”, and so the request was summarily approved. We, and the fatted calf Constantine had singled out for the feast, were off to the races. […]