Not Cricket

Dragging the bat they left the field. It had been a good game though. Tim batted, Neil bowled. Neil and Sarah’s terrier, Lella, was the solitary but ever willing fielder.

The air was thick with pollen but the sun dipped quickly and a breeze raised goose-bumps. A reminder it was still spring, and the summery day just a false start. As they turned the corner Tim’s battered Landy came into view and the afternoon’s conversation resumed. So why is it people with such terrible taste in music insist on playing it so loud?

“Windows down, sat at the traffic lights” said Tim.

“When I was on my way back form Lancaster the other day” said Neil, “This kid sat behind me. Tone deaf and no idea about rhythm. Didn’t stop him whistling and tapping all the way from bleeding Crewe to bleeding Euston, did it?”