A scorching day at Radlett which is, as you might expect, one of those grounds where the posh people (not the 'little bit posh' who look down on you, but the 'fully posh' who see nobody as any kind of threat to them) make it a village event for the year.
![[Image: oOE1uBEI_o.jpg]](https://images2.imgbox.com/63/3d/oOE1uBEI_o.jpg)
A charming, white picket fence, of a ground, then. Middlesex batted, and started well, Stirling eventually working his way into three figures. Once the second wicket had gone down, things slowed up a fair bit and while Captain Morgan got a fifty (including some monster sixes) there wasn't a huge amount to shout about. The guys next to me, at 40 overs, were predicting 350, after 45, 300. They ended with 313. Chaseable on a small square.
![[Image: 71i4badk_o.jpg]](https://images2.imgbox.com/6b/18/71i4badk_o.jpg)
Bell-Drummond and Crawley started well, Kent were 60 odd off six. Once Crawley was out, it was all downhill. Bell-Drummond is like blossom. While in bloom he is everything, vibrant, colourful and wild, and then a change of the wind he is gone, taking all that with him, and with no warning and no goodbye. Of the many things I've come to love about Kent, it is his brittle perfection I cherish the most.
First published poem covers the end of the Kent story
Heino Kuhn did the South African thing, and was all stubborn for ages, but it wasn't enough, Kent are dreck and I got burnt to the neck.
A charming, white picket fence, of a ground, then. Middlesex batted, and started well, Stirling eventually working his way into three figures. Once the second wicket had gone down, things slowed up a fair bit and while Captain Morgan got a fifty (including some monster sixes) there wasn't a huge amount to shout about. The guys next to me, at 40 overs, were predicting 350, after 45, 300. They ended with 313. Chaseable on a small square.
Bell-Drummond and Crawley started well, Kent were 60 odd off six. Once Crawley was out, it was all downhill. Bell-Drummond is like blossom. While in bloom he is everything, vibrant, colourful and wild, and then a change of the wind he is gone, taking all that with him, and with no warning and no goodbye. Of the many things I've come to love about Kent, it is his brittle perfection I cherish the most.
First published poem covers the end of the Kent story
Heino Kuhn did the South African thing, and was all stubborn for ages, but it wasn't enough, Kent are dreck and I got burnt to the neck.