Friday, January 11, 2008


Now where were we? Contemplating the staging of an auction, the proceeds of which will be forwarded to the most poignant subject of comrade Roebuck's Epistle to the Barbarians (aka, the Tuesday Tirade), namely the "irritating" Young Mr Singh (aka, the "Intemperate Sikh warrior")... Oh Rowboat, Rowboat, you tugged my heart strings (almost said hugged my tart strings, whatever that means)... "head of a family and responsible for raising NINE people..." Oh, Lordy, Lordy... I mean, what could we do? We gotta do something... Evidently the Maharajahs havent been pulling their weight... Nine people... Well, there's my collection of rare pith helmets (or did I already hock them for the divine Pedro Ximenez Sherry?)... Excuse me, excuse moi, MOI! Bottles, bottles everywhere... might be worth a bob or two... lovely labels... Otter Bright (Henry Williamson eat your heart out)... Ripon Jewel, Old Speckled Hen, Badger Champion, Marston's Owd Rodger... What am I bid? Come on, what'll we open with? Gawd elp us... I dunno... Gently up the stream, merrily, merrily, life is... Life is what? He knows about dogs though, I'll give him that...wont PAY him that, every cent towards the Fund remember... I'll GIVE him that..."a pack of wild dogs"... He's travelled... That dog in Panama City in 1969 smelt me out... that mongrel knew I wasnt a local... Smelt the white in me, you bet he did... mongrel... As my old mum would say, He knows, he KNOWS...Backrow that is, he knows, he knows where it's at, he knows... keen as any Panama City mongrel, he can smell a wrong'un, oh yes... Pater Buckroar... and then he lets fly... bellows he does, sack em all he says, now, this minute, yesterday, 2005, twenty years ago, sack em all, in perpetuity... How dare they claim to have won the Sydney Test Match let alone the last sixteen... Gor blimey... Well, it's getting late, the heat's still on us, next door's bloody air con sounds like the Great Southern Stand growling in unison as Dennis & Jeff rev up... But what else could I offer to this auction then? My first edition Fowler's Modern English Usage? My cricketing memoirs? But they arent written yet missus, oh some, yes, bits & pieces, dribs & drabs... I'll sleep on it... metaphorically! No sleeping tonight mates, not a bloody wink (AND THAT'S AN ORDER)!
Ever yours, The Armchair Cricket

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