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A splendid day to end our season. Charming opposition (alumni of Durham University), a warm sun, no Muzak in the Park, a fine lunch (voted Best Cricket Lunch by AFGM) and tea (both prepared by the Catering Committee: N Bird, N P-G, the Morrises, Jessica, Megan) with only a naturist to disturb the view.

54 degrees, in old money. Damp, grey and spore-laden. The weather. Not the new whites that Adam now sports. He is pristine these days. It was a 70-over game, as per against the Silk Boudoir XI and ACME were asked to bat by skip.

This was the first fixture between V&A and the Authors XI, which is curious given the apparent synergy between the two clubs. The Authors own opening batsman, the lugubrious Anthony McGowan, describes his team as “crammed to the gills with the quite ludicrously posh… the full rage of characters from a 1950s public school story – the hearty, sporty type; the etiolated intellectual; the endearingly modest earl; even an exiled Ruritanian princeling.”

[highlight background=”” color=””]V&A PLAYERS: Nick P-G [Skip], L Nieboer, N Bird, R Morris, R Smith, A Fraser, R Ashcroft, R

After the horrific ending to last week’s match at Turville, it was nice to return to the serenity of Stonor, with no blood on the pitch. Stonor is more Quentin Crisp than Quentin Tarantino.

We were 11 on Saturday, not 12 or 13 as is our wont. They were 11. A traditional game in an idyllic setting. England at its best, puffy clouds, sun, pleasant company plus Adam Jacot, a delectable tea, a good pitch prepared by the doyen of Turville Park, John Hancock. All a far cry from the horrors of Calais, the M20, swarms of migrants in the boot of my Passat, Grexits, and Jeremy Corbyn.

The Jaguars were nine but nine fit young butch men. No chance of running 5 to them. A token Dutchman, Wortman, hit a run although I would take ours, skipper Jonkers, on past performances. They won the toss and batted.