Friday 7th - Sunday 9th July, Norwich. Scorecards can be found here, viewer discretion advised... www.pitchero.com/clubs/bodleiancc/teams/255079/fixtures-results Moderate to good, occasionally very poor... As the earth gently bakes through warming rays, and shadows start to lengthen in the twilight haze, and you’re on your third Tory Prime Minister in only a matter of days, it can but mean one thing: namely that an entire year has passed since the last Bodley Tour, and that yet again the evangelical impulse to spread the gift of genial social cricket to all corners of the non-First-Class cricketing nation has returned with a vengeance! This year the mysterious, all-powerful ‘Committee’ decided that sufficient time had now elapsed since Bodley had last ventured to Norfolk in 2013, and that a decade was surely long enough to heal the wounds of what was, by all accounts, a memorable last trip East. And so, like some Poundland regression therapy, it was agreed that a return to sunny Norwich would be the order of the day, and that any residual cricketing demons could be suitably banished in the process. Although hard to believe, there were in fact one or two Norwich virgins, so the prospect of a cricketing sojourn with opportunities to experience local crabs and Stiffkey cockles in the home of the Silver Knight that used to go round and round and round had much to appeal to the more cultured cricketing type, of which Bodley CC, naturally, abounds. Now all those uninitiated in the joys of cricket may well find themselves struggling to make sense of it all. What with batters going out when they’re in, and back in when they’re out, it is all rather befuddling. And that is before you add a whole load of fiendishly complex rules into the heady mix. Consequently, the expert practitioner needs to be tin-tack sharp if they are to succeed. And then there are the endless imponderables that also intrude on and influence the passage of play, such as rapidly scudding low cloud or the deep-set deluge which gave the eponymous Duckworth and Lewis cricketing immortality. And then there’s all the equipment to try and make sense of! Even with the humble ball do you choose the ‘Readers Rampant’, the ‘Duke Milner’, or the exciting new, pre-tampered ‘Kookaburra Kosher’? And surely a love of nature is important for this most quintessentially bucolic game, where cricketers share the field of play in close harmony with the dancing Dragonfly, balletic Bumblebee, and swooping Swift? So, I hear you ask, what would you do with a clueless shower who can’t tell a good ball from a bad, and frantically waft and swat at anything that comes near them? And whilst you’re holding onto that thought, lets introduce this year’s intrepid band of Bodley tourists. Leading the campaign, as always, were veterans Stuart Ackland and Dave Busby, with fellow stalwart Andrew Milner scheduled to join in the fun on Saturday when he returned from the annual inspection of his extensive Yorkshire Estates. Indeed, Bodley were eagerly anticipating his arrival as he was using the tour as an opportunity to unveil his very own bespoke Bodley kit that has been hand-crafted in Baronet Satin by his very own North Korean sportswear brand, with its unique sizing of ‘IXL’. Hot on the heels of this wealth of experience were the engine room of the team, with Matthew Neely, Gavin Robinson, Gareth Jones, James Shaw, Phil Burnett and Tim Philipson on hand to temper the diva-esque tendencies of the old guard. Completing the ensemble were the relative newbies Dom Hewitt and Dan Shaw, both products of Bodley’s world famous youth policy that has ensured that the median age of the team has resolutely remained satisfyingly just shy of the half-century. Of course Bodley were originally supposed to have also been able to call upon an occasional cameo from a certain David Shackleton but, alas, before Bodley had even hit the Great East Road they were dealt a blow by the sudden announcement that the rather volatile Shackleton would not be joining the tour after all. Apparently, he was up against a tight deadline to complete his latest sure-fire bestseller which documents an ill-fated and somewhat messianic inter-war literary belief that it was in fact possible to walk to France. So, if you are looking for a real ‘page-turner’ this summer, be sure to keep an eye out for ‘Virginia Woolf: Not Wading But Drowning’, available in all good bookshops soon. Despite this setback we really couldn’t ask for eleven more talented cricketers, and as such we would just have to try and make do with what we had. And so, with one last collective rummage through kit bags to check that Abdominal Guards and Deep Heat were all safely packed, and unspoken pacts with the cricketing Gods concluded, all strapped themselves in, set the radio to TMS on Longwave, and headed East towards that cricketing El-Dorado that lay just beyond the horizon. And with that you are heartily encouraged to grab yourself a drink, kick off those closed-toe shoes and immerse yourself in the sheer joy of Bodley attempting to bring its own rather idiosyncratic brand of cricket to yet another Minor County. Of course, if you find you have been affected by anything that is discussed in the following chronicle of events, please write to the Bodleian setting out your concerns, making sure to mark your envelope for the attention of the ‘Brand Management Team’. It began on a Friday... And so, with all Oxonian fugitives safely accounted for it was time to get the show on the road, and so in scenes reminiscent of ‘Convoy’ the class of ’23 buckled-up and made their way to Saxlingham to once more do battle with the eponymous Gents that had thwarted the ambitions of Bodley a decade previous. Now when the sun is warm, the sky azure blue and the promise of village cricket awaits you, the barometer of cosmic perfection starts to hit new heights. And to the lilting refrain of TMS, all immerse themselves in the joy of merely being, and succumb to the comforting thought that despite it all there really is much joy in this Sceptered Isle. And then, as the clock ticks ominously on, a sense of unease starts to chip away at the air of unbounded optimism in the vehicle piloted by Bodley’s very own king of the Map-Room Stuart Ackland, as his charge to North Norfolk appears to be at odds with the route now being suggested by James Shaw’s new-fangled online map gizmo, challenging the authority of decades of cartographical knowledge and surreptitious A3 printouts. After a brief roadside halt to try and work out why the Guru said North but the Google said South, it soon became apparent that Ackland’s proposed route was in fact near perfect – it was just a shame that it related to an entirely different Saxlingham. Still, what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger so they say, and so having now performed the obligatory 180-degree U-turn, and with a modicum of pedal now to the metal, it was with some relief that Bodley’s erstwhile Dr Livingstone finally arrived at Saxlingham Gents’ splendid ground and decanted a clutch of rather bemused Bodley cricketers, rather grateful that the match wasn’t being played in Boston as most hadn’t brought their passports with them. Having blotted his copybook perhaps just a trifle with the navigation, fate now presented Ackland with the perfect opportunity for redemption. Having assumed the role of captain during the traditional ‘bonfire of the vanities’ that characterises all Bodley tours, Ackland had repeatedly hinted of some great new ‘Plan’ – Bodley’s very own ‘Nivelle Offensive’ no-less that would carry all before it, delivering inevitable and resounding victory. Now, over the years Ackland has endeavoured to improve his technical, theoretical and philosophical approach to the game via a combination of training, visualisation and Export Strength Lager, so who were we mere mortals to doubt such a visionary? And so with the toss secured, and Bodley electing to bat, it was finally time for the big reveal, as the pencil was auspiciously sharpened and a batting order committed to paper. Now it was not immediately clear what the underlying logic of the ‘Plan’ was. For sure it looked vaguely familiar, but clearly there was a magic ingredient – an indiscernible ‘something’ – that pushed it beyond the limited intellectual cricketing horizons of the rest of team Bodley. Anyway, the big reveal would have to wait for the time being as Bodley’s tradition of eclectic opening partnerships continued as Ackland sauntered out to the middle with a somewhat bemused Burnett at his side. The former was wielding the now legendary ‘Biffa’ – believed by many to be fashioned from a fragment of the one true cross, and almost always eliciting reverential cries of ‘Jesus Christ!’ from all who cast their eyes upon its holy form. Burnett, on the other hand, wore the rather more conventional look of grave concern that is the norm when sharing the middle with Ackland. From the boundary a sense of curiosity predominated as Ackland adopted the guise of the time-served campaigner, casting judicious glances around the pitch to spot the gaps and mentally bank the scoring opportunities that were about to gift themselves to him. It was clear from his demeaner that he had been consulting the latest Best Seller from Bodley’s former Director of Fitness Stephen Arnold, ‘If the Cap Fits: A Dunces Guide to Captaincy’, and as Wenham marked his run-up, this had all the makings of a classic Bodley cricketing encounter. Now Ackland has a somewhat frenetic batting style – rather like being ravished by a nervous breakdown – so this was always going to be nothing if not memorable. And of course it was, though for entirely different reasons than Ackland had originally envisaged. For as Wenham ambled up to the cease to deliver a perfectly workmanlike delivery, Ackland found himself deceived by the line. For good measure he was also deceived by the length, the speed and the bounce, and retreated, cramped-up, back towards his stumps, where a desperate strangulated shot proved unable to connect or deflect the ball which rather ungallantly clattered into his stumps. And so, with his Mayfly moment of glory dashed on the rocks of destiny, Ackland dutifully tucked Biffa under his arm and shuffled back to the Pavilion, truly the Liz Truss of Bodley cricket. Meanwhile, on the boundary, the usual hubbub of activity sprang back to life as Busby rushed to pad up, some cast yet another curious eye over the batting order whilst rummaging for gloves and boxes, and others continued to try and crack the enigma of the ‘Plan’ that was set out in confident pencil before them, whilst offering the obligatory reassurance to a dumbfounded Ackland that he had fallen victim to one of those ‘balls of the century’ that have inexplicably featured so heavily throughout Bodley’s 29 year history. Of course such fine, consoling words are mere fish and chip paper, and soon enough attention returned to the middle, where Busby and Burnett now gave the scorebook the appearance of a firm of Provincial Solicitors. And as the first runs of the tour were finally chalked up by Burnett, and Busby steamed down the other end to confidently take the strike, normal service appeared to have been resumed. Now it is a well-known fact by those who know it well that way before so-called ‘Bazball’ emerged, Bodley CC has long been one of the true pioneers of the ‘unorthodox’ approach to cricket, and this compulsion to cock-a-snook at mere convention has cultivated originality throughout the order, and in particular within the tail that is even more extravagant than a Peacock who’s discovered extensions. And due to the ‘Plan’, this meant that some of this tail-end spice was well up the order today, and despite a batting style that has all the ease of movement and natural elegant athleticism of Virgil Tracy with cramp, Busby was now answering the call to arms, letting fly, and threatening the boundary until, like the Master before him, he succumbed to a surfeit of ambition and found himself bowled, leaving Bodley two wickets down after the first over, and Wenham thinking that Christmas had indeed come early. And so as Busby retraced Ackland’s steps like an unrepentant sinner, Bodley eyes turned to Dom Hewitt to steady the ship, and with nineteen overs remaining there was more than a grain of truth in the refrain of ‘plenty of time’ as he made his way out to the middle, where Burnett gave a visible shrug and solemn shake of the head. Still, it was going to be alright now wasn’t it? And by a remarkable quirk of fate, or physics, or possibly just basic cricketing competence, Bodley had somehow contrived to place at the crease what many observers would have considered to finally resemble a pretty steady, conventional opening partnership, and so it proved to be, but as is the Bodley tradition, in ways that would have been almost unthinkable but a mere three Prime Ministers ago. Ever since his arrival at the club, ‘Bristol Hewitt’ has garnered somewhat of a reputation as the heir-apparent to the now legendary Mike Webb, Bodley’s top ever scorer and ‘nurdler’ extraordinaire. With his wristy Tendulkar flicks he has brought a calm, assured and, dare one say, intellectual presence to the crease at times when Bodley have seemed intent on yet another act of wilful, impulsive self-destruction. Having recently relocated to London due to his love of all things war-like Hewitt has, of late, been moonlighting with long-time Bodley buddies the Hendricks XI, so it would be something of a treat to sit back and reacquaint oneself with the more elegant, subtle approach that was about to unfold out in the middle. After the usual judicious start however it soon became clear that something had inexplicably changed in the Hewitt mindset, that his head had been turned by the need for excitement and danger, the finely poised angled bat cast aside for a devil-may care abandon that was less poke and more Stokes. And so it came to pass that the honour would fall to Hewitt to smite Bodley’s first boundary of the tour, as his companions beyond the rope tried to work out just what, exactly, was going on. Burnett on the other hand seemed somewhat re-assured that he finally now appeared to be partnered with a fellow stroke-player, and consequently it wasn’t long before Bodley were cantering along at a run-a-ball or more, and playing shots so exquisite that Thomas Bodley himself would have gladly surrendered his last Rolo to either of this new dynamic pairing. Order, so it appeared, had at last been restored. This was all the more remarkable as it was in the face of some pretty challenging bowling, with the traditional two-over limit meaning that regular, reliable line and length was supplemented by a cornucopia of unpredictable fare delivered with shameless abandon by a gamut of ‘occasional’ bowlers, with some veritable hand-grenades being lobbed down the strip that restricted expansive play to all except those willing to take on the ball. Fortunately for Bodley, Hewitt and Burnett seemed to have gauged exactly what was required, and more importantly, how to deliver it, and so began a passage of play that was a pleasing mix of scampered singles, tight twos, tortuous threes and brisk boundaries, and it wasn’t long before Hewitt chalked up another first of the tour when he reached the 25 run limit and retired from the crease to the hearty cheers of his now rather less concerned teammates on the boundary. Replacing Hewitt out in the middle was Jones, a player who had likewise experienced something of a damascene conversion to explosive expansive cricket over the last couple of seasons, and as such there was a heightened sense of anticipation as he adjusted his gloves, cast an assured eye over the field placings, and cocked his bat. Before Jones had a chance to get his eye in however Burnett had indulged in a late flurry of runs to chalk up an impressive 30, and retired with what appeared to be a flicker of satisfaction at a job well done just about discernible on that worldly-wise visage. Perhaps it was the novelty of what appeared to be a revolving door of retirements that distracted Jones, but it certainly came as something as a shock to those watching on the boundary when he was judged LBW when an aggressive swing failed to connect with the ball. And so as Jones departed with a disappointing and well under-par three, Bodley found themselves three wickets down and ninety-one runs on the board after the thirteenth over, which seemed to be a pretty comfortable position to be in all things considered. And with Neely and Robinson now at the crease there was certainly no cause for alarm, with the combination of consummate run accumulation from one end and a rather more smash-and-grab approach from the other giving the appearance of a face-off between Cliff Thorburn and Jimmy White to all those enjoying the spectacle unfold on the boundary, whilst always the score continued to climb. That is not to say that everything passed off without incident – this was a Bodley innings after all. When a particularly high ball was launched at Neely for instance an ambitious though missed attempt to smite the ball all the way to Cromer did see the ball brush the top of the stumps, but the height was judged to be excessive, even by Busby standards. So on this occasion Bodley could perhaps breathe a little sigh of relief that as Saxlingham had provided the umpires, the judgement of Solomon didn’t fall to a clearly frustrated Ackland, whose arms were a frustrated tic-tac blur beyond the jurisdiction of the boundary rope. In the case of Robinson, it was less a case of nuances, and rather more the Laws of Motion, as a thunderous thwack from that trunk of a bat simply refused to be smothered by mere mortal flesh, and so as Bodley entered the final over, both Robinson and Neely gallantly retired having reached impressive tallies of twenty-eight and twenty-five runs respectively. So once again, and for one final time, it was all-change out in the middle, with Philipson and Dan Shaw now tasked with topping-up what had already proved to be a pretty impressive run haul with the remaining three balls, and like a Greyhound from the traps, Shaw seized on a quick single first-ball leaving Philipson on strike. Now, with only two balls remaining, Philipson decided on a rather uncharacteristic approach to the situation in hand and just swung like a Matelot on shore leave, and through that go-to combination of brute force and a modicum of good fortune somehow managed to hit successive boundaries, and all without the now traditional pointless sacrifice of his wicket. And so as Philipson and Shaw retreated to the Pavilion, a glance to the scoreboard indicated that Bodley had chalked up an impressive 146 runs for the loss of only three wickets, with an equally impressive five retirements throughout the innings. It certainly felt like it was a target that could be defended, which was some comfort at least to those Bodley veterans who had flew too close to the sun on more than one or two occasions, and come crashing down to earth with a rather painful reality check. But for today at least, the spectre of ‘42’ had been comfortably banished to another time and place, and as Saxlingham began to pad up and prepare their response, Bodley could once more reflect on that ‘Plan’, and what it all meant. The big reveal was perhaps somewhat anticlimactic, which it was always going to be when it transpired that the ‘Plan’ was nothing more than alphabetical order. But could it really be thus? Surely not, for even ‘Bristol Hewett’ had not deciphered the fiendish logic that underpinned the batting order, and it was only when some rather uncharitably pointed out to Ackland that ‘P’ does in fact come before ‘R’ that the ‘Plan’ was revealed to be possessed of the intellectual rigour of a Kwasi Kwarteng ‘fiscal event’. Now was not the time to dwell on such matters however, for there was a match still needing to be won, and although 146 was a steep challenge to set, Bodley would, like the Gents before them, be resorting to one or two ‘very occasional’ bowlers ourselves, and as the experience of Newton Poppleford but a mere year ago had taught us, things always had the potential to go wrong really rather quickly. And so as Jenner and Wenhan took strike for the Gents, Ackland cemented his reputation as a cricketing visionary by merely reversing the batting order to generate his order of attack, despite the fixed two-over rule which seemed to have evaded the underlying logic of the ‘Plan’ yet again. Despite such quibbles it did mean that Bodley would be opening with the splendid sight of a Shaw-Shaw double header, with the vicious pace of youth from one end paired with guileful, precise, line and length from the other. It was soon clear that the home side were up for the challenge however, feeding on anything that looked to offer even a sniff of a run which, after the first two overs, had seen them gallop along to fifteen runs without loss. But as Bodley are all too well aware, Shaw will never let you down, and a quick application of that fine-tuned cricketing literacy saw the run-fest curtailed almost as soon as it had begun, and the final two overs conceding a miserly five runs to the Gent’s total. The logic of the ‘Plan’ dictated that it was now the turn of Philipson and Robinson – though not necessarily in that order. Now Robinson has proved to be a past-master of the flighted delivery that has befuddled and dispatched many a seasoned batter. Philipson on the other hand could only bowl line and length – and even then not generally in the same delivery – but to the amazement of some perhaps more than others, the following spell of four overs remained generally tight. Even so, with the Gents dispatching anything that was remotely in their arc of fire they were managing to maintain a strike rate that would position them ideally for a bit of late-innings slogging to take them over the line should the need arise. The next pairing to face the Gents was one rarely witnessed even by genuine Bodley aficionados, with Neely in a sort of self-imposed bowling exile due to the demands placed on him behind the stumps, and Jones who, Druid-like, emerges but twice a year with a ball clutched in this hand. Fortunately for Bodley, the annual Tour has always been a canvas where Jones seems uncharacteristically eager to demonstrate his art, a perfect crystallisation of economy of effort in action. Moreover, this has proved to be surprisingly effective over the years, with batters seemingly unable to work out the actual intent of each delivery, giving much credence to the old axiom of failing to prepare and preparing to fail. Neely too has eschewed the Highland Charge to the crease that used to be such an arresting feature of his delivery style, and instead replaced it with a rather more leisurely and measured technique that asks challenging questions of the unwary batter. Despite the veritable smorgasbord of technique and execution that characterised the Bodley attack, the Gents remained steadfast to the cause, and with Jenner and Wenham both reaching their retirements, the baton now passed to Woodruff and Pearson to continue the chase. With the score just shy of eighty after the twelfth over, and scrutinising glances cast ever-more readily towards the scoreboard from Bodley fielders, things were beginning to be just a tad uncomfortable for some who had experienced such situations all too often before, and more often than not without the much-vaunted happy ending. What was needed was a ‘game-changer’ in every sense of the word, and needless to say the next change of bowling which brought Hewett and Busby into the attack had all the ingredients for a bit of classic Bodley disruption. And the change was not long in coming, for on only his second ball, the languid cartwheel action of Hewett broke through Woodruffs defences and clattered into the stumps, leaving him to depart after a quickfire five, and Hewett chalking up yet another ‘first’ for the Tour. With Busby attempting to fell passing birds like a demented Ack-Ack gunner during the war from the other end this was textbook attrition bowling, and as the boundaries dried up, and the margins of error narrowed for the Gents, there was a perceptible attempt to shift up the gears to try and get the chase back on course. Now as Bodley can well attest, such situations often lead to caution being thrown to the wind. Busby in particular has feasted on the carrion of the injudicious shot for many a year, and today would be no exception, with a looping ball yet again finding a top edge as the batter attempted to launch the ball into the next County, the ball spiralling skywards and into the assured hands of Philipson waiting at square. Well, almost. Now dropping catches is pretty ordinary fare of course; combining the drop with a spirited juggle and sprawl on the floor is much more in keeping with the Bodleian tradition these days however – something that Busby seemed to entirely understand between discretely muttered expletives. With Ackland absenting himself from bowling duties on account of his decision to keep wicket for some unfathomable reason – no doubt also covered in the ‘Plan’ – the crucial remaining overs would be divvied up between Burnett, Jones and Shaw senior, and the final passage of play proved to be equally eventful, though for entirely different reasons. With the pressing need to prevent boundaries the more ‘youthful’ elements of team Bodley were dispatched to roving positions in the deep, and it was when trying to cut off a ball in the somewhat athletic style that appears to be all the rage these days that Hewett jammed his left hand into the turf and dislocated his little finger, thereby notching up yet another ‘first’ for the Tour. And so as Hewett stoically retired from the field of play to have his finger manually wrenched back into place by a ‘Gent’ who somewhat fortuitously also happened to be a physiotherapist in the real world, Bodley resumed with a substitute fielder generously provided by the opposition. The dismissal of Spookman for a crunching twenty-five by Burnett – steaming in with his trademark pent-up volitivity like a cricketing Krakatoa – and Pearson by Shaw senior after a hard run twelve, finally brought the game to an end, with the Gents falling a little way short of the required total with 121 runs for the loss of three wickets. And so as the realisation of a genuine first match Tour victory – possibly the first since 2015 in Hampshire no less – finally began to dawn on a Bodley team somewhat more familiar with the death-knell of crushing defeat, the feeling of a job well done was heightened immeasurably by the scamp-like Hewett greeting the team as they retired from the field of dreams, his finger somewhat rakishly swathed in a tea towel that will, no doubt, be the next must-have fashion accessory in deepest darkest Norfolk. And with the shadows starting to lengthen, the end of an almost perfect day was rounded off in fantastic style when Saxlingham – Gents in both name and nature – served up a stupendous BBQ, washed down by glorious local Wherry Ale. Of course libation inevitably leads to reflection, and that could only ever mean the ‘Plan’. Ackland seemed curiously serene as he munched on his bap, as if the refrain of John "Hannibal" Smith loving it ‘when a plan comes together’ was running on a perpetual loop through that mercurial cricketing brain. Perhaps there really was a wealth of unrecognised and untapped cricketing genius sat before us? Then again, it was equally plausible to put the victory down to Ackland’s ‘lucky Greggs pants’ so, on the balance of probability, possibly not. What was unquestionably true however was that victories as assured as this are as rare as Hen-Party weekends in Brigadoon, and perhaps that is where reflection must give way to the ultimate demands of posterity. Afterall, all had contributed, in true Bodley fashion, to a deserved victory, and that was something to be more than a little cheered by. And even, perhaps, Ackland had learned that batting is not just about being a ‘disrupter’, but rather more about the laws of physics. And so as the temporally and spiritually satiated Bodley contingent eased back into their designated chargers and headed back to Norwich via an assuredly ‘un-scenic’ route this time, all were content with a job well done, and with a refreshing sense of optimism for the coming challenges over the next two days. All that remained was to round the evening off with a few fine ales at The Eagle, whilst Ackland logged into SOLO and ordered up ‘Mark Thatcher’s Navigation Masterclass’, and the rather cryptic sounding ‘Geoff Boycott: A Complete & Utter A…B…C…’ which, one assumes, must surely be some sort of basic guide to literacy… Saturday was damn near perfect... The morning after the night before. As we get back from Saxlingham (the right one) quite late there isn’t time for too heavy a session on the Friday, plus the pub, the Eagle, isn’t exactly that appealing. Enough time though for a few pints and some relief to realise that even though Dom’s finger may well stop him playing any more games it doesn’t stop him doing the important stuff, like holding a pint glass. So bodies, both spiritual and physical, not too bad for the Saturday breakfast. Full English, both meat and non, while those with a more refined palate can and do opt for scrambled egg with smoked salmon. Plans discussed but the keen bird-spotters had heard that the wonderfully named and rare Bee Eater was to be seen in a quarry not too far from Saturday’s game so with cars loaded some of the team headed north, with the test match on the radio. Those not twittering pottered round Norwich. With not the best road network in the country it took a while to reach the location, and with no guarantee of seeing them even then there was a bit of trepidation at missing out on the chance to see such a beautifully rare bird but a reasonable crowd all looking in the same direction as we pulled into the car park gave hope, and sure enough, through the friendliness of those already there we were able to look through telescopes and binoculars and see what we’d come for. Birds of such colour and vibrancy were a joy to behold, even for the non-twitchers amongst us. From the quarry to the game, played against Stiffkey (pronounced Stuckley apparently, but no-one seemed to be sure) , a journey that took us through the seaside resort of Cromer and occasional views of the sea. A quick stop at a service station for lunch and then onto the game, which others will describe better than me. Thank you Stu, but that's just not true. Nevertheless, so far as I can remember it went a little something like this... skipper for the day, and Bodley's trump card, Young Dan Shaw, emphatically won the toss and opted to bat us into a winning position. Matthew and Phil opened the batting, Phil in destructive form lately, and Matthew having taken out a mortgage on the crease. As is now tradition, Phil was promptly run out, leaving Matthew to weigh anchor and steady what would prove to be a heavily listing ship (I knew that model of the Titanic at the B&B was prophetic). Shaw the Elder, Tim, and Gav all fell in fairly quick succession as the pitch did everything except propel the ball on it's way to the batter. The skipper threatened to go big but was prematurely undone by the pitch, Matthew fell just short of a half century, whilst Gareth set a record for a top edge reaching the boundary. At the innings end, Gareth had been joined by the spirit of cricket himself, Andrew Milner, to fall just short of pushing the score into three figures to leave Bodley on 98 from 30 overs. Exciting stuff. Never mind all that arsing around though, there was tea to be eaten and pubs to discuss. Eventually it was accepted by all that we'd have to field, trying to defend our middling score. Would 98 actually be a decent score here? The wicket was certainly challenging, but then the wicket is always challenging when we bat on it, regardless of where we are playing. Stiffkey set off carefully, but assuredly, with one opener especially comfortable, and the other soon out for only a few as Stuart auditioned for Most Ridiculous Thing We've Ever Seen On a Cricket Pitch - a tragi-comedy called 'Not Like That'. It's a tale of sporting prowess undone by a brainfart, but is now banned by the BBFC as it upsets grown men. Ask Stu down the pub if you want to know more. Anyway, it was out, so back to the action. Phil, bowling like a dream all season, got a nick to the keeper to get his first of the day, and then James found the edge to send the ball flying to slip, where it threatened to bang into the turf in front of a lurking Gav, only to be somehow pouched in those bucket hands as if consumed. Good catch that, might even make the highlights reel. Annoyingly, as we felt we might be getting on top of things at this point, the runs built, boundaries were hit, and the remaining opener serenely reached 50 and retired. Amongst all this Gav picked up two excellent wickets, only being denied a third as our slip cordon had momentarily forgotten what they were doing, who they were, and why they had left the house that morning. Stiffkey reached their target in the twenty second over for the loss of five wickets, a good effort by Bodley all told. Big thank you to our hosts for a great game in a beautiful part of the county. We hope to return! After the match there was time for a quick pint at the lovely Red Lion pub. Those from the opposition who turned up were as friendly off the pitch as on but it was sad to hear the same story as the night before, that of villages being taken over by second-homes or people with no interest in community, and the struggles that entailed trying to keep a cricket team going. Seems that incorporating youth into the set up in some way is the answer but how does that work for a team like the Gents? Goodbyes and handshakes, promises to come back in a few year’s time then back to the B+B. Gav leaves after us but gets home before, how does that work? Quick wash and then out again, to what was for me the highlight of the weekend, a visit to the famed Fat Cat pub. We came to the Fat Cat on our previous tour but sat outside on crappy pub tables on a concrete floor, this time we were in a corner inside all to ourselves and were able to go to the bar whenever a glass was empty and try out drinks from quite frankly ridiculous amount of choice. At least 40 different beers, over 10 different ciders all served in my idea of the perfect pub, loads of nooks and crannies, beer posters on the walls and plenty of things to see. I personally had a stout, an orange flavoured wheat beer, a kriek, a peach flavoured beer and a normal beer before moving onto some gorgeous rhubarb cider, heaven. On top of that they had a liberal approach to food so fish and chips and stuff from a local burger joint were ordered and brought back in. It’ll be no surprise to read that a number of us stayed as late as possible. Sunday was a fitting, bruising, glorious end.... Sunday morning saw the same crew at the breakfast table, with the welcome addition of Mr Milner, a bit bleary-eyed but not too bad considering. Rain around this morning so a walk into central Norwich. Memories of our last tour to the city ten years ago were of an ugly centre, with busy roads difficult to cross and no decent pubs. How wrong we were, once we got into the heart of the old part there was delight at every turn, nice little lanes full of interesting shops, pubs which looked like they would be worth a visit that evening and stalls set out selling wonderfully aromatic food and local produce. An early start to Sunday’s game meant we couldn’t hang around too long and by the time we were back at base the rain had turned steady, so a brief break to listen to what was beginning to sound like an exciting end to the third test and then off, to Marlingford, and the last game of the tour. We last played Marlingford a decade ago on the 2013 Norfolk tour. 2013’s match was a high scoring affair and memories soon resurfaced of the short boundary. Sunday’s tour match is always a challenge and Bodley’s players limbered up fresh from the previous evening’s exploits at the Fat Cat where Bodley legend Milner had been elected (or perhaps conscripted) to serve as Sunday’s captain. With the entire team desperately hoping to bat fast, Captain Milner promptly lost the toss and Bodley were asked to bowl. 40 overs on a sweaty Sunday afternoon beckoned. Dan Shaw and Phil Burnett were tossed the new ball by Milner and what followed has to be ranked as one of the best opening displays of bowling in the fabled history of Bodleian CC. Finding pace, bounce and swing, Dan was first to strike removing one of the openers lbw before Phil followed up with a terrific caught and bowled. Dan then claimed another with a sharp catch from Robinson. Dan claimed another bowled. Fantastic opening spell with Bodley seemingly on top. Robinson was then up first change and took another Marlingford wicket courtesy of Dan’s catch. However, Marlingford’s middle order rallied and fought back to wrestle back control. The Marlingford captain hitting 70 before being bowled by Dan. Further wickets fell for Burnet, Ackland Robinson and Busby. Marlingford closed on 230. Special mention must be go to Ackland for a fielding highlight. As a Marlingford batter drove a high shot down the ground, Ackland’s eye’s lit up. In his mind he pictured himself charging in from the boundary, diving Ben Stokesesque to claim a stunning catch. Unfortunately, what the rest of us saw was a man slowly falling to the ground, one hand outstretched as if we was trying to catch an apple falling off a table. At tea both teams gathered to enjoy the final moments of England’s run chase in the second Ashes test. Tea was a sumptuous affair of sandwiches and beer shandy with a birthday cake for one of the Marlingford team. With players suitably refreshed, thoughts turned to Marlingford’s total. A big chase but could Bodley do it? In a word, no. Neely and Robinson strode out to open. Robinson was soon back having played on which brought Jones to the crease. Neely fell caught behind and Jones soon fell suit before James Shaw was bowled. Burnet then bagged his third run out of the same before Philipson was caught on 5. Bodley were now 20 something for 5. An historic low score was beginning to become a feared reality. However, Dan Shaw entered and brought some resistance and with the aid of Milner and then Busby steered us past 42 (our lowest score) to huge cheers from the boundary. A highlight was a Busby pull shot for four which had the opposition wondering if Ricky Ponting was at the crease. Ponting can only dream of such a shot. With Milner and Dan departed, Ackland bookended the tour as it had begun being the final wicket to fall. Bodley were all out for 57. Positives were examined: a terrific fielding performance and superb bowling from Dan and Phil, and also relief that Friday night’s injured hero Dom had only needed to score for a short while. Some of the Marlingford lads gave us some recommendations for the Sunday night, a good curry house which was also close by what sounded like an fascinating pub (better than the Cat according to some). First though to the Belgian Monk, and an intriguing dip into the world of Belgian beer. You need a good while in a Belgian bar as all the beers are different and it’s hard to find a comparison between what you’d usually drink and what is on offer under a foreign name but I think we all had something tasty. Gavin was awarded the Andy MacKinnon Catch of the Tour for his grab the day before against Stiffkey, the first in what will be an annual award in memory of our dear friend. Then onto the curry. Usually with the curry the anticipation is whether Gareth will order anything other than a Butter Chicken. Now it seems we have to add to this whether he’ll order a proper drink or something that will embarrass the rest of the team. Anyway, butter chicken aside a few branched out, Gavin ordering his usual firey dish, Lamb Naga this time, your humble scribe had a veggie Madras but all attention was on Dave, who when he ordered his prawn dish was asked if he was sure by the concerned waiter. Dave of course is made of stern stuff, this is a man after-all who often uses his bollocks to field the ball, and brushed off all concerns, but surely even he was worried when he was screened off from everyone else and buckets of sand and fire extinguishers were placed next to him? All passed off ok, even though he did admit to a light sweat at some point. All in all an excellent meal, everyone happy and content with their lot, we fall out of the curry house and pretty much cross the road to the King’s Head. If this isn’t the second-best pub in Norwich after the Cat then Norwich must have some seriously good pubs, which means we definitely need to go back. The Head takes the Spartan approach to pub interior, and all the better for it I say. No music, tv, soft furnishings or frippery of any sort, plenty of corners and a front and back bar with interesting beers and a landlord happy to tell you about them, plus a list of about 20 or so Belgian beers, all interesting. While some got stuck into the musically named beers on tap (Two-tone stout seemed a popular choice) others made their way through as many of the Belgian beers as possible, which we managed with some success. Eventually all good things must come to an end, and with a severally hammered beer kitty finally empty we made our way back through the now fairly deserted streets of Norwich. Another poor night’s sleep, another breakfast and then home. An excellent tour – well done Gareth! – and thoughts turn to our 30th season and Cambridge in 2024. But Norwich, and the Cat and the Head, will call us back. Report by TP, MN, SA, GJ. If you've made it this far, dear reader, well done, very well done. I dare say it took longer than any of our innings on this tour!
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