Warfield’s ground has a lych-gate far beyond and up on the right of its non-pavilion side. It’s a lovely setting and most of us turned up on time. Slightly remiss and extremely finable was Edgar, two kids in tow and already on a court hiding after losing a coffee shop freeze-out with the missus earlier. Some time before this Hansie had managed to maximise the suppositories and took to the field four overs into the Warfield innings.

It should be stated with equanimity that hand-in-glove with the shambolic scenario outlined above, we’d not even managed to field more than nine at the best count, and had fortuitously been subbed the captain of their Saturday team, Stano, and Big Jim (who with his other half Clare, make this fixture amongst the most esteemed in the Pilgrims’ calendar).

The Pilgrims had also forgotten their score book, leaving that duty and record in the hands of the more competent and organised Clare.

To the match. Warfield got off to a reasonably brisk start despite both Boris and Sven tonking them down the track with aplomb – Boris bowling medium with a kick thanks to the uphill track – but lost their first wicket on 24 off one of Sven’s wily arrows, the catch sticking with regulation relief to Jimbo at first slip.

Progress continued until Sparrow (Sven + pastry + arrow) took a fine catch at long on, Wargrim Owen (AKA Stano) flighting them down the flatter track nicely from a height of nine feet or so (ie his height plus the length of his bowling arm).

With Warfield now past the 50 post and lulled into a false sense of security – for despite the bowling being of calibre we were still only ten men in the field for extended periods of time thanks to the ongoing rivalry between Edgar’s kids – the change of bowling occurred. Hansie was scooped the wicket of Moss by virtue of an incredibly fortuitous catch by the Kommander, who momentarily and spuriously took on his brother’s persona, juggling the ball all over the place as if it were a fish before securing the thing in his hands.

Hansie’s brace followed shortly after, Gussie taking the dolly at short mid-wicket.

With pound signs lighting up the left eye, and wicket signs illuminating the right, a vicious topspin ball saw Moggie put one down leg side while getting crippled on the knee, before Jimbo (AKA the Ice Man) showed everyone how it should be done a couple of balls later with a fine ‘diving’ catch – much assisted by gravity – to his right. The score having now stuttered to around the 70 mark, the other opener now thankfully departed.

Considering the amount of time Hansie’s devoted recently to match rigging – calls to South Africa don’t come cheap and the business has been somewhat sidelined of late – all this was exceedingly rough justice for new ’Grim Olly, who took like a duck to water on the uphill track, with a medium action of such purity that this alone could earn him negative equity in the showboating stakes at future court sessions.

Warfield were truly pegged back when Boris threw down the stumps at the bowler’s end from wide mid-on, the one stump he had to shy at costing Warfield dearly.

Seeing the possibility of another fifer for Hansie, the Kommander took the pragmatic decision of replacing him with Jimbo, who was also rewarded when the Ice Man cometh yet again, his compatriot Stano taking the dolly, with Olly’s Rolls Royce action providing admirable contrast from the other end all the while, and being rewarded with a diamond clean bowled into the bargain.

Warfield managed to rally towards the end, despite having to face the Pilgrims’ comedy Punch and Judy bowling duo of Kommander and Edgar.

This had the batsmen in stitches to such a degree that verticality was hard to sustain as they rolled around on the floor after every other ball, the remaining two wickets going very cheaply despite the bowlers not charging for entry, one being spooned back to and gratefully taken off an abysmal delivery by the Kommander, with the Fork replicating the first bit while taking a classy caught-and-bowled in a totally horizontal position inches off of the deck, not even having had the chance to resort to his usual parabolic cabaret.

Warfield having capitulated on 113, we took to the pavilion for tea.

After a fairly despondent start to the cricket tea season we were in for a treat at the change around. Sandwiches were mixed and plentiful, with the obligatory egg mayo well catered for. Doritos, mini Scotch eggs and Cornish pasties, sausage rolls and pizza bits made up the fare, complimented by Jaffa cakes (which I hate), chocolate mini rolls (which I like), and other sweet things (which I’m all for). So an eight out of ten, the only notable omissions being the stuff that’s good for you that Jamie Oliver keeps plugging, ie “a really nice, fresh bit of fruit and veg.” (say it how Jamie does and it becomes quite funny, and even funnier if you repeat ‘nice and fresh’ within the same sentence).

Onto the Pilgrims innings. No need to elaborate here – that’s amply catered for by the headline – so suffice to say Boris and Edgar competed with one another all afternoon to hog the strike, and when I came back from the Plough And Harrow – sited over the road from the lych-gate – they were still there boring the pants off everyone. So much so that if the Constitutionalist had been there they surely would have been fined for smugness.

Finally Edgar did the decent thing and spooned one to cover, Gussie replacing him with under 30 to get and quite uncharacteristically looking like he was stuck on a video replay of how not to play the cut stroke.

So to recap. Some of us managed to turn up. We nabbed two of their key players, who took or contributed to half the wickets needed and taken. Then we batted like a proper side – very un-Pilrimesque indeed ‐ producing the biggest win – or largest margin – in Pilgrims history, Boris ending on 60 not out, though if anyone mentions this in front of the Aussie Brians at Aldworth, it’s an automatic maximum in court afterwards.