Catsfield, home, match drawn.

A man in search of an egg and tomato sandwich. G heads off for  tea.

"What'd'ya think it's going to do?"
"Bugger all when you're batting, plenty when I'm in."

You can't smoke a pipe while standing as umpire. Roll ups are, apparently, acceptable. The lovely Mr Naughton pronounced me run out. Narrowly. Rightly so. 

No Neal, not your soul, just a photo. He don't look so sure. 

Rich, fielding pad (left leg), no fielding pad (right leg).  Ready to stand at half-silly short leg.

G tests a hamstring. Still there, we think. Young Mark's and my bag in the foreground.

A rare sighting: AD's wallet sees the light of day. Watch the press for news of unicorns, complete eclipses of the universe, and the Loch Ness monster swimming down the Thames. 

B O'S scrutinises the scorers, Luke does the Park Bench Shuffle, Rich looks for a dropped contact lens.

B O'S warms up Charlie for his innings.