A few turbulent weeks have delayed the next instalment of this blog, so I can’t imagine how you have managed to cope without it. There is enough trauma in this world without me adding to it by withdrawing my carefully chosen words that undoubtedly light up your life. For this I offer my sincere apologies, and I can say with some certainty that it will probably happen again when circumstances swamp me once more.

After a run of home games, we negotiated the painful three hour drive to South Wales to take on Glamorgan at Panteg. We found ourselves lodged in a hotel on the outskirts of Newport, only recently made famous by a collaboration in song by Jay-Z and Alicia Keys (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dx8CZyFM4b4). Who would have thought a sleepy town in the Welsh countryside meant so much to two of the world’s biggest urban music stars? If Newport is sleepy, then Panteg is in a coma. As we arrived at the ground, all eight spectators were fast asleep, a state they managed to remain in for the entire four days.

Somehow on the flattest wicket in world cricket both teams managed to get bowled out, with an incredulous Steven Cheetham castled first ball after a solid 45 minutes of batting work in the nets with our visiting Australian coach. The game was heading for an astonishingly dull conclusion when the Gods of the Valleys summoned a rainstorm to ensure an early finish and that we smashed straight into Friday night rush hour on the M6. Sitting in the front seat of my car was an irate Nicky Caunce, screaming at roadworks and accidents that were making him late for the date that he had lined up in a haystack in Ormskirk.

The weekend only brought more farcical situations. In what I assumed was a meaningless club game, every move I made seemed destined to spark a riot. Each song selection on the dressing room iPod brought howls of anger from an oddly large crowd, and their wrath was released on me as I patrolled the boundary during the home side’s innings. After a sizeable contribution when we batted, some members of the crowd felt that I had not given enough respect to the crowd on my way back to the pavilion, and in some hilariously tragic scenes, shoving and pushing of fierce proportions took place between my team mates and members of the home crowd. When the lipstick and mascara had been placed back in the handbags, we reached a comfortable victory, and both teams were sanctioned by the league. Although the real winner of the day was me – I managed to leave the ground with both my face and my car intact, something that looked very unlikely at one stage.

On a spinner’s paradise at Old Trafford, we entertained Durham in a crucial Championship match. It was the home crowd’s first viewing of West Indian legend Shivnarine Chanderpaul, who has joined as our overseas player until the end of the season. It also prevented Shiv with an opportunity to rip out the rotator cuff in my shoulder as he settled in for a marathon innings against my throw downs in the nets. He played each ball with such disdain and lack of effort that it was a genuine concern that he might fall asleep while resting on his bat at any moment.

Batsmen on both sides struggled to deal with the turning ball, until Ian Blackwell strode out, Mongoose in hand, and pounded a slog sweep straight into the away dressing room. The Lancashire lads noticed that the ball seemed to be coming off his Mongoose a lot harder than it ever comes off mine, which must be because Marcus gives him better bats than me. That can be the only logical explanation.

Until next time

Adrian

Picture One - a familiar sight in the treatment room - fast bowler Gary Montgomery getting treatment while listening to ageless stories from backroom staff Alex Horn and Will Appleton

Picture Two - during the lunch break, myself and Simon Kerrigan take the chance to grab some much needed sleep

Picture Three - Jimmy pops in between Test matches and gives the mirror some attention while he styles his locks

Picture Four - Nicky Caunce showing off the physique that sends the girls of Preston wild