18th October 2009
Bagborough’s cricket ground, half way up the Quantock hills, is a beautiful and welcoming place. But global warming, wet summers, and years of wear and tear mean that the wicket has become lower, slower and skiddier. The artificial all-weather pitch is also untrustworthy and, like this cricketer, showing its age. Something needs to be done! This will cost money.
So various doughty cricketers, including my good self, cycled about 23 miles along the canal, from Firepool in Taunton to the Boat and Anchor in Bridgwater, and back, on Sunday 18th October to raise funds for wicket repairs.
Various cynical souls have suggested that the event did not take place and I am claiming money from my many generous sponsors under false pretences. So here is documentary proof of the event. All photos were taken by my domestique and are unretouched, apart from the necessary resizing and the removal of various unsightly blemishes and carbuncles.
Health and safety is a priority for Bagborough Cricket Club. Here a rider carefully checks his equipment. And then checks his bicycle...
Sensibly, the rider checks that suitable safety equipment has been provided by the relevant authorities under appropriate legislation.
Flexing for the camera may have seemed clever at the time, but in the light of subsequent events may have been a foolish expenditure of energy.
Club Vice-Chair Mr Martin “Kinger” King and Fly the dog, one of the club mascots. Or have I got that the wrong way round?
The Bagborough peloton. From left: Julie, friend of Keith Martin and cyclist; James Brigers, first XI captain; Keith Martin, organic farmer, guitar hero and my adopted son; Martin Minchin, musician and polymath; John Bishop (who, lacking a bicycle, ran to Bridgwater); Andrew Mortimore, non-cycling captain and provider of moral support; Martin King (the Legend of the Quantocks); my good self.
The trip to the Boat and Anchor was pleasant enough, although clearly further than the 10 miles initially advertised.
Photographic proof that the expedition did indeed reach the Boat and Anchor.
John Bishop and Fly the dog ran the distance, which made any complaints I may have had seem feeble, albeit that once they got to Bridgwater they secured a lift back to civilisation.
One strange feature of the Taunton-Bridgwater canal are the huge number of WWII pillboxes which are packed along it, some only a few hundred yards from each other. During one of our many stops for rest we pondered these. “The Boche may have captured our towns, cities, railways and trunk roads but we shall fight to the last drop of blood to ensure that they shall never, NEVER, cruise our inland waterways”?
After out stop for rest and refreshment at the Boat and Anchor we commenced the return trip. Sadly the enthusiasm of the morning was insufficient to counter the effects of the trip. Kindly Martin Minchin cycled with me, chattering away to keep up my spirits. Over time my responses moved from the normal, to the curt, to the muffled grunt.
With back aching, knees complaining, and a growing feeling of numbness in the nether regions, I slogged along the towpath. At last Taunton came into view. My domestique was on hand to provide photographic proof of the event, although, sadly, failing to provide the massage which is such a feature of the professional circuit.
The return of the peloton. All except your correspondent were in good fettle, the first XI Captain setting a fine example by smoking yet another of his elegantly hand-rolled cigarettes – sadly, nothing stronger than tobacco, he assures me.
“It’s alright, don’t worry about me, I should be able to walk again in a few days”.