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The Cricket Match
..... as the tabby from number 10 arched her back and raised
her tail high into the air, a large grin spread across the face of the Cat and the message "Tonight's the night! " emblazeoned
itself across his mind. With a shake of his nether regions and an extremely husky "Purrrr!" he advanced towards the waiting
tabby ........ only to be rudely awoken from his lustful meanderings by a prod with a large stubby toe and the cry of ...
"Wake up you lazy sod, today is the day of the annual Orcs v Trolls cricket match and we've got stacks to do if we want to
get there before the first ball is bowled!"
Opening one eye and shaking his head in complete disbelief, the
Cat squinted up at the large dark shape looming over him. To his immense disgust it was only the old Balrog and he quickly
closed his eye again in an attempt to get back to the waiting tabby. But Balrog was not to be denied and another 'gentle'
prod with a toe soon caused the Cat to stir himself ... it was either that or the fact that in his dream the tabby from number
10 had decided that the 'liberated female' of today was not one to wait for anybody and was now intent on arousing the interests
of that young ginger tom from number 23. Either way, Cat's 'Warren Beatty' impersonation had been brought to a sudden halt
and there was nothing he could do about it .... but just let that ginger tom come sniffing around HIS dustbin again and the
local refuse men would find more than left-over prawn balls in the garbage.
"First of all, " mumbled Balrog, "we will have to process all
these orders," pointing in the direction of the pile of letters lying on the kitchen table. With a flick of his tail
the Cat did just that and about half-a-dozen assorted envelopes quickly found their way behind the fridge. "Hmmm," he thought,
"they will keep until tomorrow or whenever Mrs Balrog next sweeps behind that." Just then Balrog turned around to pick
up the morning mail and with a puzzled look on his face said "I am sure there were more than this when the postie dropped
them off this morning." With that, he shuffled off upstairs.
As Balrog worked away upstairs, amidst the clanks and groans
of the duplicating machine, the Cat was hard at work supervising the poor old Cockroach, who had been co-erced into preparing
the picnic lunch the trio would take with them to the cricket match. Such great delicacies as 'pickled Dragon eggs', 'green-cheese
sandwiches' and 'rhubarb strudel' found their way into the hamper (actually a large plastic Safeway's carrier bag) and a steaming
thermos of dandelion coffee was quickly brewed and added to them. The Cat stretched himself and yelled "Come on Boss, I ain't
slaving away over a hot stove all morning for nothing and if we don't leave soon the damn game will be over before we get
there!"
Balrog ambled downstairs, picked up the 'hamper' carefully (for
Safeway's carrier bags are famous for having the handles snap off whenever you pick them up) and headed off in the direction
of the back door. Cat slid off the top of the fridge and with a sly kick in the direction of the Cockroach, strutted off behind
him. "What anybody sees in a poxy game where one player throws what looks like a Dragon's left testicle at his
opponent and the other player does his best to beat the sh*t out of it with a large lump of wood I will never know. Why they
don't take up some more intelligent pursuit like falconery or harvest-mouse baiting?" mumbled the Cockroach as he stopped
rubbing his sore left-leg and, with a sudden darting movement, nipped through the open door. Two large fleas,who had been
sat on the doormat, saw their chance to have a 'free' day out and deftly leapt on to Cat's passing tail. As the Cat absent-mindedly
swished his tail, the fleas snuggled down in comfort and the party of 'cricket-lovers' trudged off in the direction of
the village-green ...........
(Second Over)
With -the occasional 'thwack" of willow on leather resounding in his ears
and a large tankard of foaming 'Dragon's Breath' clutched tightly in his left paw, Balrog felt at peace with himself ....
and at one with his surroundings. Sat here with the warm afternoon sun reflecting off his bald spot and with the contented
smirk that only comes from one who has feasted well on devilled Orc's eyes smeared across his face, Balrog glanced around
him.
The right Reverend Inglis was at the crease, his ruddy complexion made even
redder by his recent exertions and, as Balrog reflected upon the fact that whilst Inglis made a very fine preacher but a damn
poor substitute for an opening bat, he stepped down the wicket and drove the ball in the direction of the extra-cover
boundary .... much to the surprise of the watching Balrog. Just then, young Miss Primbody, who happened to be passing, saw
the approaching ball and, with a shrill 'yelp!', leapt into the air to avoid it. Her lightweight summer dress blew around
her waist as she twisted to avoid the oncoming missile and afforded Balrog a sudden glimpse of pert young flesh, vivid scarlet
panties and the endearing sight of a taut black suspender strap stretched across a firm young thigh ..... instantly
his mind filled with more 'youthful' memories and the warm flush of recollection quickly coloured his cheeks. As Miss Primbody
adjusted her hemline and straightened her seams, Balrog turned his head and tried to concentrate on more mundane matters.
Suddenly there was a loud cry of "Owzat!" and the Reverend Inglis, who had also stopped to admire the view, turned his head
to see that he had been run-out between wickets.
All around the village green various small stalls had been set up and a
number of tents erected. It was these that were now the focus of Balrog's attention and as he gazed in the direction of one
particular tent he could not help but wonder at the 'attraction' contained within. For there was a large orderly queue of
men gathered at its entrance. Balrog leaned forward and peered at the tent, though to be quite honest his attention was more
taken with the small red sign that hung over the doorway. As he adjusted his gaze and the words became clearer, Balrog began
to read out loud to himself ... "Sexy Sue, Spend Sixpence and Subject yourself to Sixty Seconds of Sexual Splendour". Just
beneath this somebody had scrawled ... "No refunds if you cannot last the full sixty seconds".
Supressing the giggle that threatened to erupt from within, Balrog turned
his attention to another of the various stalls that lined the boundary of the green and was most heartened to see that the
ladies of the 'W.I.' had turned out in full force and were doing a roaring trade in such delicacies as 'Pickled Dragon
Wings', 'Sauted Frog Tongue' and 'Devilled Orc Eyes' ... it was nice to see that these fine pillars of the community were
still doing their best to ensure that the good wholesome foods of 'yesteryear' were not forgotten. The new fad of 'fast-food'
was okay, in fact he was quite partial to the odd basket of 'Kentucky Fried Squirrel' but you could not beat the likes of
a good plate of 'Dragon giblets and baby turnips' or even plain old crusty bread and green cheese. The thought of such tasty
morsels caused a thickening of his throat and Balrog took a large swig of 'Dragon's Breath' in an effort to ease the situation.
Beneath the small trestle table that formed the 'W.I.' stall, a small cat
and an even smaller cockroach were hatching a plan to get their hands on the splendid chocolate cake that took pride of place
in the centre of the table and an afternoon's cricket was about to be brought to a sudden and untimely halt ........
(Third Over)
"Here, cop hold of this .... " whispered the Cat, sliding something long
and cylindrical towards the cockroach. "Now get your gob around the narrow end and put your tongue to work." As a cold bead
of sweat trickled down the roach's cheek, he glanced down and was greatly relieved to see that he was only clutching a rolled-up
copy of yesterday's 'GOBLIN GAZZETTE'. "If you widen out one end of it," continued the Cat, "Then you will find yourself with
a very useful megaphone. So nip over to that empty tent next to the pavillion and start shouting this." With that he handed
the roach a small piece of paper.
Some moments later, when the cockroach had made his way to the tent and
done the necessary with one end of the rolled-up copy of the 'GAZZETTE', all and sundry were surprised to hear his dulcet
tones reverberating around the village green. "Roll up, roll up, see the sensation of the nineties. Hot from her tour of the
working-men's clubs of the North-East, 'SCARLET COD' are proud to present ..... 'Magnificent Marion and her Mammoth Mammaries'.
She will swing them left and she will swing them right, throughout the land there is no finer sight!" For the next few moments
the cockroach used his makeshift megaphone to great effect, the sound of his voice echoing out to all but the farthest reaches
of the village green.
Old Bert, who had been busily engaged in looking after the tent in which
the 'Pet Show' was to take place later that afternoon, looked up from his slumbers and upon hearing the word 'mammaries' was
jerked into life by a long-forgotten memory. "This I must see," he mumbled and shuffled off in the direction of the pavillion.
Seeing his opportunity, the Cat quickly slunk into the 'Pet Show' tent and
began to rummage around amongst the numerous baskets, cages and cardboard boxes that had been left there by their various
owners. For the next few moments all hell was let loose in the 'Pet Show' tent as the Cat delved his paw into each and every
receptacle in search of the object of his desire. Hamsters, tortoises and rabbits dived for cover and one small gerbil came
within an inch of losing its life when in a moment of sheer stupidity, brought on by a bout of excessive bravado, it sank
its teeth into Cat's right paw. With a shriek of "Soddin' hell!" the Cat drew back its paw so rapidly that the attached gerbil
found himself unable to hold on any longer and flew towards the jaws of a dog that was tethered to the central tent-pole.
Just as it seemed that death was but an instant away, the dog lunged forward in its eagerness to grab the approaching 'snack'
and with a loud 'crack' snapped the tent-pole in half. As the tent collapsed around all concerned the gerbil landed with a
'plop' and quickly scampered away to the relative safety of a nearby pile of straw. In the ensuing chaos Cat located what
he had been searching for and quickly slid out from under the pile of fallen canvas. Making his way towards the 'W.I.' stall,
Cat looked down at the small white mouse clutched in his paw and thought to himself ... "Do your stuff pal and that chocolate
cake is mine!"
With that he sidled up to the edge of the 'W.I.' stall and surreptiously
dropped the mouse next to a 'stout' Welsh lady who had been looking after the loaves of sea-weed bread. For a second all was
still and quiet - then the mouse ran over her left foot. "Eeeeee, a mouse!!!" she shrieked, before leaping onto the edge of
the trestle-table that formed the major part of the stall, a remarkable feat considering her somewhat 'bulky' appearance.
With her skirt drawn up to her waist and the wind blowing through her red-satin bloomers (neatly embossed with a small green
Dragon), she stood there watching the small mouse dart for cover and for just a moment it seemed as though the crisis had
passed. However such tables are not designed to withstand being jumped upon by stout Welsh ladies and with a loud creak the
legs gave way and the contents of the table slid to one end ... along with the Welsh lady and the large chocolate cake. The
latter was gratefully accepted by the waiting Cat who picked it up and headed in the direction of the small copse of trees
to the north of the village green ..............
(To be continued ... )
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