In a world inundated with reminders and digital assistants, forgetting seems like a relic of the past, a quaint memory lost in the fog of our collective consciousness. Yet, despite our best efforts to corral our thoughts and belongings, forgetfulness persists, like a mischievous imp dancing on the fringes of our minds. It lurks in the shadows of our busy lives, waiting for the opportune moment to strike, leaving us scrambling to recall that elusive piece of information or the whereabouts of our misplaced keys.

But perhaps there’s a certain charm to forgetting, a whimsical dance with the absurdity of life. After all, in the chaos of forgetfulness lies the potential for discovery, a chance encounter with the unexpected.

It so happened, that this mischievous imp. (Let’s call him Tammy) struck this weekend.

With the illustrious Mustard away on ecumenical matters, the duty of Bayshill Quizmaster unexpectedly fell upon his unsuspecting brother, the esteemed Lord Tewksbury Mustard. Now, one might assume that the role of a Quizmaster is a laborious and thankless task. Yet, Bayshill’s Quizmaster, dear reader, is a creature of a different breed.

Instead of the meticulous artistry of crafting quizzes, balancing categories and difficulties like a virtuoso tightrope walker, Bayshill’s Quizmaster’s secret recipe is as mundane as a soggy biscuit. Picture this: a mere purchase of a lacklustre newspaper, a hasty snapshot of the quiz, complete with answers, and the covert dissemination via a top-secret WhatsApp group. And lo and behold, the pinnacle of recognition for the victors? Nothing more grandiose than the humble trophy emoji.

Yes, you read that correctly, dear reader. The mantle of Bayshill Quizmaster, entrusted to Lord Tewksbury (pronounced Chuks bree) was naught but a charade of significance, akin to tasking an assistant football manager with the solemn duty of guarding a corner flag. A preposterous endeavour where even the most befuddled of fools could emerge victorious. Oh, the absurdity of it all!

I think you can see where this is going.

A fortnight prior, in the cosy confines of a local watering hole, Mustard and Tewksbury indulged in the age-old tradition of quaffing Abbot Ales and DoomBars in copious amounts. (Rumour has it though that Mustard has been on the Pina colada recently). Amidst the frothy merriment, Mustard, ever the vigilant sage, imparted his wisdom upon his brother with solemn gravity.

“Now, listen here, dear Tewkers,” Mustard intoned, his voice carrying the weight of generations of Mustards before him. “There exist three immutable truths in the life of a Mustard. First, the sacred tasting spoon, for one never knows when a condiment might come a-knocking. Second, the timely posting of the weekly Bayshill quiz, a duty not to be trifled with. And third, the steadfast declaration of ‘it’s all Greek to me’ whenever Greek matters arise. These, my dear Tewksbury, are words to live by.”

“Ffffear not, br-br-brother,” Tewksbury retorted with his characteristic lisp, his words slightly muddled by the remnants of ale. “The chances of me fff-forgetting th-th-those are as slim as ol’ Pritchers fff-forgetting the scorebook.”

“Aha! Quite right you are,” chuckled Mustard, his laughter mingling with the scent of virtual pipe smoke. “I looked him square in the eye and extracted a solemn vow that he won’t forget. Rest assured, dear Tewkers, my delegation is as profound as the depths of the ale we imbibe. Both matters are in the safest of hands.”

……………………………………………………..

In the wake of a puzzling absence of the Bayshill quiz and the elusive scorebook, the valiant heroes of Bays village found themselves facing off against Bredon CC in a 35-over friendly match.

After a week-long hiatus courtesy of Mother Nature’s tears, the Bays brigade embarked on their journey to this novel fixture. Nestled in the bosom of picturesque landscapes,

with rolling countryside vistas casting shadows beneath the looming Bredon Hill, the scene was a quintessential English cricket tableau.

With a nod to tradition, a 35-over duel was declared, and Bredon, in a stroke of luck, won the toss and elected to bat. Skipper Pritchard, unperturbed by the outcome of the toss, welcomed the decision given the scarcity in the team’s batting line-up.

The Harding’s, stalwarts of seasons past, made their triumphant return, accompanied by the fresh-faced debutant George Plumb. Stephen Liley found himself relegated in favor of his grandson Jamie, while AVD, Tom, Steve T, and Soggy held their positions, alongside Skipper Pritchard himself. AVD, now the “seasoned” gloveman, adorned his (no longer) new gloves, while Tom, grappling with an ongoing Achilles ailment, remembered to don his shiny new cricket boots, taking up the mantle of opening batsman for the day.

Enter Michael, the enigmatic Magic man, charging down the hill with all the gusto of a knight on a quest. His in-swinging deliveries causing early consternation for both batsmen and keeper alike, with a penchant for mischief as the ball decided to play hide-and-seek with the ground.

Meanwhile, his brother Alex, with a swagger all his own, took up the mantle at the other end. Swinging the ball away with might, he revelled in the contrasting bounce of the track, turning each delivery into a delightful surprise package.

The elder Harding struck first, unleashing a fiery inswinging yorker that sent F Emmanuel’s stumps cartwheeling for a mere 1 run. Not to be outdone, Alex followed suit, luring H Buckley into a false sense of security before snatching him away for a paltry 10 runs, thanks to a stellar catch by Steve T at mid-off. Bredon’s opener, L Plane, however, proved a thorn in the side of the brothers’ onslaught, weathering the storm and launching a ferocious counter-attack with a flurry of boundaries.

With ten overs under their belts, the youthful Harding’s handed over the reins to the more seasoned duo of Steve and Soggy. Steve, the current wicket-taking leading maestro, wasted no time in getting back into the groove, snagging his first scalp of the match with a caught-and-bowled effort.

As H Howard teamed up with the indomitable L Plane for the home team, a slow but steady rebuilding process commenced. The duo adeptly rotated the strike while capitalizing on the occasional loose delivery. Enter Jamie Liley, relieving Steve with a reputation for striking on his first ball, though it was his third that truly tested fate. Alas, his well-earned edge found itself hurtling toward first slip—except, in a curious twist of fate, first slip had decided to play hide-and-seek, strategically relocating himself to third. You know I can’t quite remember who that fielder was. (Sorry Jamie)

Undeterred by the village chaos unfolding on the field, the batting pair continued to pile on the runs, much to the dismay of the befuddled bowlers. Enter Colin, determined not to be outshone, as he unleashed his deceptive pies in all the right places, exploiting the quirky nature of the pitch to perfection. And lo and behold, a mighty hoik from Plane sent the ball soaring into the ether. Who should find himself under it but Skipper Pritchers himself?

Years of coaching juniors on the fine art of catching surely came flooding back to Pritchers in that moment. “Stay calm,” he whispered to himself, “don’t throw your hands up like a madman. Don’t sprint around like a crazed headless chicken. And for heaven’s sake, don’t overshoot your mark.” Yet, for some reason Pritchard did all of the above, and somehow – someone he managed to defy all logic. Clinging onto the ball for dear life and miraculously avoiding a tumble on his posterior. And thus, Plane departed the crease, his valiant innings cut short at a commendable 35 runs.

With the stage set for drama and delight, debutant George Plumb seized the moment with aplomb as he joined the attack. He found his line with lightning speed, first sending Howard’s stumps flying for a well-earned 39 runs, before swiftly dispatching L Jenkins with a duck to his name in the following over.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the pitch, the irrepressible Steve made his triumphant return, ready to wreak havoc once more. With precision and panache, he snatched up the wickets of M Nair, trapping him in front LBW for a rapid 17 runs, before sending D Gray packing for a duck, much to the chagrin of the hapless batsman.

As the dust settled and the innings drew to a close, Bredon found themselves at 140-8 off their allotted 35 overs, thanks in no small part to the heroics of Bays bowlers and fielders.

End of inning and Bredon got to 140-8 off 35

Steve Twine: 7 overs 1 maiden 20 runs 3 wickets.

But amidst the excitement, a somber note descended upon the Bays camp as in the shadow of Bredon Hill news of Bernard Hill’s passing reached their ears. In a touching tribute to one of Alex and Toms favourite actor, the haunting strains of “The Ride of Rohirrim” echoed through the air, a poignant prelude to the impending battle on the field.

With determination in their eyes, Steve and Tom strode out to the crease, ready to lay the foundation for a triumphant chase. Gregory, the wily opener for Bredon, proved a formidable adversary, charging in with precision and purpose, never straying too far from off stump. And lo and behold, Harding A (no, not our beloved Alex) at the other end completed the quartet of players vying for early dominance.

As Pritch and Tom sought to rotate the strike and set the scoreboard alight, both found themselves striking a boundary each on their ninth delivery, with Pritch even managing an encore on his tenth. After eight riveting overs, the score stood at a promising 41-0, the opening pair having achieved their initial goal of getting the required runs to below the daunting triple digits.

But then, like a bolt from the blue, Gregory unleashed the delivery of the day—a brilliant ball pitching on middle stump. It lured Pritch forward, only to send his off stump cartwheeling into oblivion. A bittersweet taste of dismissal, where even the departing batsman can’t help but appreciate the sheer brilliance of the delivery. And so, with Steve departing for a modest 9, the stage was set for AVD to join Tom in the fray, the duo ready to continue the chase.

In a display of sheer audacity, Tom unleashed a flurry of boundaries in the preceding over, including a trifecta of fours and a towering six. But alas, the Gregory onslaught proved too much to handle, as both Tom and AVD found themselves bowled out by yet another cunning Gregory bowler. Tom, on the cusp of glory, departed for an impressive 44 (or perhaps 48, depending on whose scorebook you trust), while AVD added a modest 7 to the tally before his untimely demise. Both being bowled to deliveries they’d like to forget as both should have been punished.

The score now 84-3 off 17.

With Michael and George now at the crease, anticipation grew as the dynamic duo unleashed an onslaught of attacking cricket, much to the delight of the hundred (-90) spectators in attendance. George, with his eye firmly set on the prize, blazed a trail with three fiery fours before fate intervened, nicking one to the keeper after a solid 16-run contribution.

But it was Michael who truly stole the show, eschewing the mundane fours in favour of towering sixes that soared high and mighty, disappearing over the hedge with reckless abandon. With two massive blows to his name, he soon found himself caught in the clutches of fate, departing the crease with a respectable 30 runs off as many balls.

As Bays edged closer to their target score, Jamie, in at number six, batted with the calmness of a seasoned sailor, guiding the ship alongside Michael (prior dismissal) towards the coveted victory. With deft strokes and astute shot selection, the pair rotated the strike with finesse, until alas, a valiant attempt to send the ball into orbit saw Jamie’s departure for a modest 5 runs, leaving Bays a tantalizing six runs shy of victory with Soggy and Alex Harding at the helm.

But fear not, dear reader, for victory was within grasp as Soggy flicked a delightful four down to fine leg, followed by a brisk two and the winning runs from the blade of Alex. And thus, with a triumphant flourish, the Mighty Bays clinched their first victory of the season, hopefully signaling the dawn of many more glorious triumphs to come.

Ah, but let us not forget the true essence of the game—the camaraderie, the banter, and the sheer joy that is playing cricket. With each player contributing their unique flair to the proceedings.

A refreshing libation at the clubhouse, followed by another round in Lord Tewksbury’s backyard at the Hop Pole, brought forth a chorus of laughter and merriment. Truly, the season had well and truly begun.

And what adventures await in the weeks to come! Next on the agenda: a showdown with Kingswood Village, where legend has it that last year the indomitable Pritchard almost soiled himself.

Come on the Bays.

Tom 48 off 41 balls. 6 fours 1 six

Michael 30 off 30 balls. 2 sixes.