Its just not cricket

After a long hard days work, I decided to go for a stroll along the beach front. Imagine my surprise when I was met, not by an Ill-mannered gypsy walking his bunch of semi-wild dogs and children, but instead by a man who introduced himself as a "purveyor of finery." Such as silks from Tibet and gems from the African rift valley.

He was joined by his freindly but expendable servant Jenkins.

I asked him for the provenace and also the value of his wares. He explained to me that he was dis-pleased that I had interrupted his game of backgammon and that the goods where not for sale, but that they could be won in a test of cricketing prowess.

Not one to back down from a test of althelic ability, I challenged him to a match.

I took up the batting first, swiftly followed by the merchant himself.

Our freindly game had become a battle to claim the fruits of several years of finery collecting labour.

However when the turn of Jenkins came around, we ran into spot of bother.

His batting skill were second to none, however with one almighty swing of his bat he knocked the ball for six, and unfortuantly for him it landed straght in a very deep bog, which was overgrown with weeds and plants of several varieties.

This is when we explained to him that if the ball could not be found then according to the rules of beach cricket for English gentry his life was forfieght.

Obviously this put Jenkins in some distress and a search to find the ball and ergo save poor Jenkins' life commenced.

We first sat down for some tea, to discuss how best to use the local colonials to find the ball for us. However to our dismay we learnt that there were none to be found. So we had to do the unthinkable and look for it ourselves.

After 45 seconds we decided that the search had proved fruitless.

We consulted the great double-decker oracle to provide us with wisdom of what to do with poor Jenkins.

He first suggested that simply letting poor Jenkins off with a slapped wrist and letting him have something that he called "The benefit of the doubt", was a good plan. However this "Benefit of the doubt" sounded an awful alot like "Mercy" which we all know if only for Europeans.

His second suggestion proved to be more fitting to our tastes.

He suggested......

That we cut him up into very small strips and eat him.

This left us with the difficult problem of finding another person with which to play cricket. A quick phone call to "rent a disposable servant" and all was well however.

His cricketing skills were also extremely good and they led to my inevitable defeat.

Having lost the game and any chance of obtaining any of the finery dealers goods, I beseached him to come and enjoy tea in my official residents. I had just sent the gardener home and was not due for slave whipping duty for a least another twenty minutes. We discussed the state of the empire and problems with the rules of Croquet.

The finery purveyors new servant who for now we shall call "The claw" kept our attention with a display of juggling with sticks.

But alas too soon the time for the master and his servant to abscond came.

I was thrilled to see that even his mode of transportation was of antique persuasion. The caligraphy on the back of his wagon told me that it was at least 950 years old.