In a devastating turn of events we woke up on Saturday morning to find the mountains obscured by low lying clouds and rain gently falling. Today was supposed to see a warm up game against a local team, a chance to blow out a few cobwebs and test the willow. Bummer said one.

 Within an hour the sun was shining brightly and the game was on, albeit with a delayed start. Bummer said the other.

While the team headed out to the grounds the rest of us strolled around the town, visiting the markets and admiring the produce. I made some interesting purchases to take home for my brothers to sample over a beer or ten while being regaled with fascinating cricket stories. That shouldn’t take long so I only bought small ones.

At an agreed time we piled into the van and drove out to the grounds where anticipation was building.

The groundsman had everything under control, as did his offsider. The overnight rain, in addition to the watering of the pitch the day before, had soaked away and the game was deemed to be a starter.

Unfortunately, before a ball was bowled, we left again and went for a scenic drive along the Drakenstein ridge that towers over the area, passing through towns, villages, orchards, vineyards and acres of farmland along the way.

On the way back we stopped for refreshments……

and met a couple of baboons.

A giant lagerphone.

Upon our return things were really heating up.

I walked around the grounds to check out the scenery.

What an amazing location. It didn’t matter from which angle I took a photo there was a towering mountain in the background.

The crowd was going wild.

Doesn’t matter where you go there are rules. Everywhere.

The team made 183 at first.

Then later it was discovered they’d really made 184.

The finally tally. A narrow loss.

As is tradition, the teams gather after the game to honour the pitch with beers and boerewors. This particular pitch is the oldest one in South Africa – the first turf wicket ever laid – and it’s still the original. Hallowed ground indeed.

Down but not out. Well actually, he did get out.

Walking back to the showers, Wayne and Gibbo dissected the game. What were you doing??? They were sitters…both of them….

We headed inside the clubhouse where more honouring of the field took place. Later, in another tradition, the captains handed out fines for on field indiscretions. Some players had to have two. “They were sitters”, someone yelled unkindly. Probably Wayne.

After more honouring we had a wonderful dinner then went home to bed. Some players had trouble walking up the two flights of stairs due to seized muscles and all that honouring.