With Easter behind us and the cleansing invigoration of Lent coursing through our veins, we can now look forward to the sunny uplands of summer. Brave dips into cold breakers, ice cream, brisk walks to the headland; a time of re-invention, of battery-charging and the casting off of winter’s frosty mantle.
Personally, I shall look forward to watching a bit of cricket. Whether it be local teams with their blacksmiths as demon fast bowlers, or our plucky national squad locking horns with the Australians, it’s a wonderful game. The adrenalin rush as a quickie gets the ball to rise and the batsman fends it off to gulley; the cunning spin bowler probing front foot weaknesses, and the glorious exhilaration of a lusty straight six, all leavened by the mysteries of the LBW rule.
I often wonder what Jesus would have thought of it.
Mind you, I tend to watch cricket on my own as my lady wife thinks it’s a load of bollocks. She far prefers Rugby League. Something to do with the tight shorts, apparently.
However, cricket will have to take its place in my busy schedule. I shall be out and about blessing things hither and yon and preaching in my cathedral – by popular demand, incidentally, in my rather OTT official regalia. My PR lady says that people like all the religious garb, so I go along with it but can’t help thinking what Jesus might have thought.
Then in early June, Gwendoline and I will take our usual week’s break in the tranquil calm of the Peak District. Sadly I’m prevented by the *Special Branch chappie who is watching me type this, and has by law to follow me everywhere these days from telling you exactly where our cottage is. Suffice to say, if you stand on the piano, you can see the old gasworks in Glossop.
Yours in hope rather than expectation,
*PS Gwendoline thinks ****y [I can’t tell you his name] carries a gun and has suggested on several occasions that she should give him a quick pat down, whatever that means.