Priston away. The famous fixture. The “legendary tea” fixture. The fixture that Sloths eagerly await when the fixtures get announced. Although the fixtures don’t really get announced, they just kind of unravel themselves from their tightly woven spreadsheet, some Sloths read them, wince and then promptly lose the link / paper / Gregg’s paper bag they were written on.

2pm comes. 3 Sloths get lost down a country lane, one turns up with a friend to watch (who, turns out, is much better at cricket then all of us) and Ant turns up in a car designed by Homer Simpson. All is well.

Tom The Gas Man wins the toss. All is suddenly not well. We never win the toss, correction, Fresh never wins the toss. This coin-based victory sends the Captain Committee into panic. “What would Johnny do?” A just question but our regular captain never wins the toss so this question yielded no help. Nick HRP Lewis at this point leans over, elbow to elbow with this narrator and summises “Hang on, if we bat first, that means we all just sit here and wait until it’s our turn to bat?” His face then contorts, as anyone’s does, as he tries to comprehend the sport of cricket. Sensing this, Ant / Tom / Bonder / Stumpchat decide we should bat first because sitting down is the best bit.

Priston start a team warm up. 8 Sloths sit down. The Gas Man and Stumpchat pad up and vibes are strong as the sun comes out. It’s all classical style straight bat stuff, blocking out the offie and punishing the bad balls through the covers. An opening stand of 50 has Priston on the ropes but then the offie strikes and clean bowls The Gas Man for 26. Jimmy’s next in, relishing the moment, immediately survives a stumping and then plays-on attempting a booming drive. Riccay arrives and Priston can’t deal with the left handed sweeps and dabs to point. Another partnership blossoms as fielding chances go begging and strong running between the wickets. Rick is caught for a rambuckling 32 and brings Nick HRP (do we just all sit here) to the crease. No guard required, he tries to send his first ball to Cow Corner and is bowled. He goes back to sitting down. Bonder strolls in and is LBW in his first over. The game turns. Cricket at it’s best / worst. Drinks happen. Stumpchat enters his 40’s, he starts to sense this but wise Sensei Ant tells us all to lie to him and tell him he’s on 24. This doesn’t work, he gets nervous, starts scoring only in singles, calls for a run when finding the fielder at short extra-cover. We all get nervous. We know how upset he’ll be if h- he’s done it! A well struck four sees Stumpchat to fifty. Ant kicks off his season only using the middle of the bat and scores in all the areas Priston leave open. Stumpchat tactically gets himself out with a few overs to go so that he’s well positioned for tea. Lanky Boy Ben unfurls his limbs for some helpful lower order runs and Porridge helps himself to a wide and 2 cover swipes straight at fielders. Sloths set 205 to win. Ant strolls off smug about his 32 not out that he knows he will definitely fudge to a 42 when he does the website.

TEA THEN. I had heard the rumours. COVID had meant that my visits to Priston had been dry, hungry affairs and that I had truly missed out. Well my hungover 2 hour drive from a wedding away was proven worth it. 6 different fillings in sandwiches available in brown or white bread. Scones with cream and strawberries. Chocolate cake and coffee and walnut cake. Bucketloads of tea. Crisps. And that was just what Stumpchat had on his first visit. Priston, you know how to cricket. We thanked them like it was our first sip of water upon leaving the savannah.

Sloths, forgetting that we actually have to bowl now, took little notice of the padded up batters strolling past their bloated full bodies and considered a third helping. Dragged out on the field they then produced a clinical fielding performance for the ages. Gee’d up by cake and a defendable total they swept in to stop ones and hurled themselves to save fours. Porridge and Riccay opened and grew into their miserly spells. Priston waited for bad balls and found themselves, waiting. They were punished by a worm-shagging, daisy-cutting, grubber of a delivery from Porridge to clean bowl (dislodge one bail) an opener. Riccay’s opening spell of 5-1-11-0 seen off, they attacked Porridge and lofted a delivery up high into the air to be snaffled by Frank The Tank. Sloths had their tails up. The Gas Man comes in first change and off a one step run up demolishes the stumps with an absolute jaffa. Priston double down on their longevity plan and see off tidy spells from Gas Man and HRP. Bonder stopping all the short stuff at extra cover and the opener just repeatedly hitting straight at safe-hands Carlin wherever he stood. A bit of this and a bit of that from Ant has Priston unsure whether to attack or defend and he has the opener caught to signal a change in approach from Priston. They go on the attack and plunder runs off Jadeja (Ed) but beats the bat a few times with some rippers. Lanky Boy Ben and Frank The Tank come in for some punishment but both at some point throw themselves to stop straight drives (and protect their bowling stats). Sloth fielding is tested as bodies hurl themselves along the boundary, Ed uses his chest to stop a cruncher at midwicket, Nick takes a catch that came down with snow on and Ben patrols cat-like down the hill. All this fielding sounds like it couldn’t be improved I hear you say? WRONG. On comes our sub-fielder Ashu for Bonder. Ashu’s spent the day merrily bowling warm up leggies to waiting Sloth batters (he beat the bat constantly) and then watching as we field. Turns out he’s a gun fielder and his direct run out (think Ashes 2005 sub fielder running out Ponting) takes away any Priston momentum. Priston fall short by 21 runs but gave some Sloths some squeaky bum time (well only Bonder because he was the only one sitting down, but you get my point) The pub is opened (by the no. 3 batter) and pints are enjoyed in a quintessential Somerset village square. Priston away is completed for another year. It’s a famous fixture for a reason, you know.