The cricket season has returned to Blacbury and I was very excited about the first game of the year when I left work on Friday. The sound of leather on willow...you can keep all that, it's boring. But cricket does contain something that as a spectator I find particularly enthralling. Played in an English summer there is every chance that the on field inertia will be interrupted by rain. And there is no better sight, be it a sprinkling of old duffers on a village green or a huge crowd at a test match, than to see folks raising their umbrellas in unison. The sound of rain on silk. A packed house at Lords can produce the most fantastic water music, composed by George "umbrella" Handle (just my little joke) and be a most colourful display when the showers hit.
For this reason cricket is my favourite sport, especially now they have severely reduced brolly watching chances at Wimbledon with their bloody new roof.
The forecast for this weekend was shocking and I fully expected some well needed rain so I could give the umbrella a spin, and the chance to see what shiny new gamps the good folk of Blacbury were sporting for the new season.
As it turns out the forecasters were wrong (I have asked my legal team to send a stiff letter to the Met Office), the sun shone and I had to sit through an interminable game of cricket with not an umbrella in sight. Granted there were a couple of parasols (indeed somebody accused me of being one, obviously in jest. "Robin, you are a parasol" this chap shouted, at least I think those were his words) but you do not get the same buzz from a parasol in my estimation, worthy as protection from the sun is. So the whole thing turned out to be a bit of a washout, without being a washout if you see what I mean. Let's hope the forecast for rain this week is closer to the mark.