"OFF WITH HIS HEAD"
The Royal Wedding is on Friday and we have a loaded calendar of cricket for the weekend. There's nothing better than drinking all day to then play the first league game of the season with a headache that feels like you've just nailed a picture to your eye and a throat as dry as a nun's nasty.
The club's looking OK with some good performances in the pre-season friendlies. With last years heart attacks, cricket tour, hernia operations, swollen testicles, loss of lighters, pubic shaves that went wrong and everything else hugely drastic, I hope the new season brings success. We must look to bring in the younger blood of the club, all of whom have real spark and it would be good to turn that effervescence on, on the pitch. Early signs are full of promise.
Preston CC veteran, the Big Bird turns 50 this weekend. The man that has spent most of his adult life exploring the effects of shit beer and prawn Bhuna has on the human digestive tract, has made the big 5/0. I'm told a barrel has been purchased which means that most of us will be going home in a box that evening, which will be good. Big B, a legend in his own lunchtime. The man who wore only a plastic lobster for a night out in Deal, the man who classifies Luther Vandross as a "Like" on Facebook, the man who hospitalised Clarkie by simply running into him, the man that bats with a 4 pound cricket bat and the man who has got Preston CC 3rd Eleven promoted for the third season turns 50. Well Done Bird.
The season will soon be in full-swing. We will soon be in the bosoms of our Preston CC cricketing brethren on the veranda of the Red Lion, supping on some glorious summerish ales as the heat of the day gently lows in the late evening. The sweat of day's hard cricketing yakka disappearing as quickly as the beer. What news of the second's, the third's, and the fourth eleven? With the bats swooping with insect chasing abandon and the midges start to infuriate, we will talk crap about season's gone by; of glorious innings knocked, of wonderful strokes made, of unplayable balls delivered, of amazing catches snaffled, of willies painted blue, of minibuses reversed into other minibuses and other heady tales of great season's gone by - wonderful stuff - and whilst all this goes on and the merry chit-chat of a fantastic cricket club at rest in the company of great people, the pub's pea-hen will be shitting on Bomber's bonnet.
Marvellous.
