At Lord’s

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, though my own red roses there may blow;

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron  folk, though the red roses crest the caps I know.”

The Idle Skiers have been back in old London town for nearly a week now.  The skiing goes on in Wengen, but it is good not to be flying anywhere for a while. Instead, I made an early visit to Lord’s, to the season’s first match there, Middlesex v. Lancashire

The opening lines for tonight’s post are by Francis Thompson, a poet born in Preston.  When invited to a match between those two counties, shortly before his death in1907, he stayed away and wrote instead At Lord’s.

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At Lord’s

The cricket was good, but it has been an odd day weather wise.  The sun shone at times, but it hailed for a while as well.  Despite photographic evidence to the contrary, the crowd was good for a match in April.  There were many there from Lancashire and they thought it a balmy day. The Idle Skiers are from that neck of the woods, but I think we have become soft Southerners over the years.

Two tube rides brought absolutely no vertical metres and about 14 kilometres travelled.

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