It all looked so good. The Willows’ selectors had assembled a mixture of grizzled experience that would lunch well and youthful exuberance that would play well. The outfield looked unusually green and so did the opposition. The only clouds on the horizon were the clouds on the horizon.

King’s High won the toss and impertinently chose to bat. The innings began amid showers that were rarely strong enough to force us from the field but were often strong enough to evoke comments from Paul Rutledge, presumably worried that his Jonty Rhodesian brilliance at cover point would be compromised by the damp.

At lunch KHS were 101 for 5, their scoring having been restricted by ten wily overs on the trot from grizzled Vince Barry. Over ham off the bone, The Willows’ captain was heard to remark that he hoped KHS would score enough runs to make a game of it.

They already had enough runs to make a game of it. But after lunch they chose to add another hundred, helped by a wet ball, bad bowling and vigorous hitting from S Jones.

Nevertheless The Willows oozed confidence that verged on arrogance. Openers Matt Fielding and Michael Johns encouraged that confidence by striking the ball repeatedly and with vigour straight to fielders. It seemed only a matter of time before the runs flowed. As it turned out it was only a matter of time before wickets fell. KHS bowled well and fielded with the cruel litheness of youth. Grizzled Willowers and exuberant Willowers alike offered little more resistance to the attack than blades of grass to Vince Cusack’s lawnmower. Paul Rutledge was the last man to fall, claiming that he succumbed only because he could smell in the air that the sausages were in danger of overcooking.

The Willows, to put the matter simply, were thrashed in every facet of the game except lunch.