No ball

A fruit cage has arrived. It remains in its constituent parts, partly as I’ve been busy on other things and mostly because there are a few pieces to come. A discrepancy between the actual area to be caged and the size the supplier* was told is to blame**.

Having a fruit cage arrive has a strange rights-of-passage feel to it. Something previously impossible (or at least utterly irrelevant) – like buying a not-necessarily flattering coat because it keeps the rain off when your walking/working, being on tv, buying insurance, paying for software, not accompanying the breaking of wind with either a request to ‘pull my finger’ or a mime of revving a motorbike – has turned up. It’s all a bit grown up***.

I have no shortage of fruit to go in it. Redcurrant, blackcurrant and whitecurrant half-standards, a good half dozen varieties of blackberry, a couple of tayberries, some summer raspberries, sunberries, loganberries, strawberries, a cherry, a dwarf peach and nectarine, a couple of kiwis and a few grapevines. Anything, essentially, that I’ve grown tired of the birds getting more than I do of. Not sure that was a real sentence – do feel free to rearrange.

It’s quite large (8m x 10m) but still a little shy of the regulation length for a cricket pitch (22 yards). This is a shame as I have spent the last weeks absentmindedly bowling anything vaguely spherical around the fields. Small apples and apricots jettisoned by the tree to allow it to carry the rest of its load to ripeness have been picked up and delivered to one corner or another of the orchard. Usually in an impersonation of some famous bowler of yesteryear. Bob Willis (bowling wrist cocked for the length of his angled run in), Shane Warne and Max Walker (second ball in…judging from his run up I think he may have a wet medicine ball in his left pocket pulling him over, and only his right shoulder has a socket). All have graced the imaginary pitches of Otter Farm. I’ve even taken to bowling any wasp-attacked fruit into the pig pen for them to scoff on.

Why all this fruity cricketing wizardry? River Cottage played Gardeners World at cricket a weekend or two back and it’s been a while since I turned my arm over. And the last time I did (16 or so years ago) my last action was to take a marvelous, boundary-edge catch to win the game. Had slow-mo cameras been in operation they would’ve seen me scurrying around the rope into position admirably early, watching the ball without waver, hands cupped, fingertips up. The ball reaches them, I move my hands towards my body to cushion the blow which parts my wrists slightly, allowing the ball to roll down my forearms past me elbows hitting me squarely in the testicles before bouncing back past my elbows along my forearms into my hands. I raise my hand in the seconds between contact and the pain kicking in. Team jubilation follows, somewhat through gritted teeth by your correspondent on the boundary.

It was mostly about cream teas and cider to be honest but some cricket was played. 25 overs a side, and River Cottage romped home to a 45 run victory. Not before I was out for a duck. A golden duck. First ball. Out. As I walked in, the outgoing batsman said ‘watch out, he’s pretty fast’. In the 17.4m to the crease I had wiped that remark from my mind. I took aim, he bowled fast and straight, on a good length – all those thigns you could reasonably be forgiven for not expecting in a mtch of this kind. Accommodatingly I chose to keep my feet still and play around the line of the ball. My stumps did this. I walked off to a generous guard of honour from my teammates – who kindly formed an arch for me to walk through. Read about it here if you’ve nothing better to do.

Modesty prevents me from recounting how my gameturning spell of misery medium pace quietened the opposition when they were in danger of winning. Let’s just say that I bowled a gameturning spell of misery medium pace that quietened the opposition when they were in danger of winning and leave it at that. I’d also like to say I took a blistering catch in the covers****. There was a little mild sledging (conversations between fielders and batsman – such as this) – but nothing too strong. It’s usually done to put your opponent off a little but it can always backfire. Brilliant but often fiery Australian bowler Glenn McGrath was bowling to Zimbabwe’s last batsman Eddo Brandes – who refused to get out. McGrath, frustrated, asked Brandes ‘Hey Eddo, why are you so fat?’ to which he replied, ‘Because every time I shag your wife, she gives me a biscuit’.

Huge thanks to those who played and attended – £900 was raised for the chosen charity, Thrive.

Back to the fruit cage. Although it will happily protect the fruit that will become the next fruity cricket balls to be sprayed, in character, around the farm when the rematch nears, it clearly cannot double as a suitable cricketing net, generously sized though it is. But I’m determiend to find a dual sporting purpose for it now my mind has strayed across the idea. I’m not sure if the construction will happily stand the weight of a dartboard, but once it’s in place I’ll see how it feels. Perhaps an outdoor table tennis table, although that’d mean plenty of ground space being left plant-free, although after Alex Higgins***** sadly dying this week, a snooker table might be appropriate if a little exposed to the elements. Any other suggestions for suitable double uses for the fruit cage would be most appreciated. Perhaps redcurrant marbles.

* Harrod Horticultural
** I’m currently searching for others to blame
***Having written all this, I’ve just discovered that almost exactly a year ago I was pondering something similar. I must be running out of things to say
**** …but I can’t
***** Even completely plastered he was something else

  • I looked at your 'this time last year' post and it also contains references to laughing at farts and doing impressions of cricketers. Just saying.
    I like that Alex Higgins link, but I (rubbish at pool) have always played pretty well when slightly drunk, so maybe it's not so remarkable that he is very good indeed when completely pissed.

  • i'm completely jealous of all of your lovely currents. what a gorgeous variety of fruit you are growing.

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