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County Championship Division One, Middlesex v Surrey at Lord’s, Surrey 338
Middlesex 166 & 283/2

I love getting roaring drunk and I love Lord’s. Combine the two, add in the heady concoction of cricket and I’m cooking.

Chin chin.

And so: To the Home of Cricket!

…on Saturday morning for Day 3 of Surrey Vs the ‘Sex. The last time I saw Surrey at Lord’s resulted in a botched blind man’s buff attempt to find my way back to Stratford after half a shandy too many. Surrey bagged the Pro 40 trophy and I somehow bodged it halfway around the underground.

Whoops.

But it was to be a more sober experience on Saturday morning for the prestige of the London derby.

That was the plan, anyway.

Blue sky and booze is always a brilliant way in which to start your Saturday morning at HQ. The online alcohol advice suggested a strict two pints per entry at the old North Gate. My mathematical calculations got a little confused. Eight cans of Fosters seemed the perfect fit. No bag search, either.

A fashionably later arrival in the Compton Stand meant that we missed the first (and last) wicket of the day. The fag end of the ‘Sex first innings was snuffed out, just as we were climbing the steps of the majestic meeja centre.

And so the ‘Sex were skittled out for 166, falling short of the 338 chase set by Surrey in the first innings. Cloud cover and an ‘optimistic’ weather forecast for the next few hours meant that the follow on was forced by Surrey.

Attack is the best form of defence. Especially so when you are in North London and flying the Transpontine flag that stands for the libertarian equalities of freedom, fair play and eight cans of Fosters.

And so the challenge was set by the boys from South of the river shortly after 11:15am. Which must mean that it was also an acceptable hour in which to crack open the first can.

The introduction of The Viscount Tim Linley into the attack coincided with the ring pull shooting its load. Linley appealed optimistically after his very first delivery, almost replicating the false promise of a can of a Fosters getting a little over-excited before hopefully settling down for the day.

The pattern of Linley appealing after every delivery - and the alcohol overspill - was to continue throughout the day at Lord’s.

The inauguration of some new Members at Middlesex is worth a mention. A guided tour of HQ was in place for the new North London card carriers. The inauguration of the new ‘Sex Members also coincided with the return of Jade Dernbach into the attack for the ‘rrey.

Short, short, long.

And that was just the ‘Sex inauguration.

Rain led to an early luncheon, and a sudden interest in the Lord’s shop. But at 500 notes for a top of the range bat, window shopping was as good as it got.

A trip to the audacious Art Deco toilets followed - or the ‘washroom’ as the P’s and Q’s etiquette of Lord’s dictates. No queues, but the pees were savoured in what is the most delightful of surrounds in which to syphon the python.

A strategic manoeuvre to the Grand Stand followed for the afternoon session. Blue skies beckoned, as did the sound of the first champagne cork popping for the afternoon. You say fizzy French wine, I say Fosters.

Dontcha just LOVE these North / South cultural misunderstandings, Comrades?

The ‘Sex made hay whilst the sun shined. 100 was soon clocked up on the scoreboard. Surrey puffed and panted with some pace bowling. It was fitting that 150 was achieved with four leg byes.

This was an innings in reverse. The ‘Sex went on the attack in the second innings, trying to forget the previous two days of cricket. It was a tactic that served the home team well at HQ.

Remind me - who is the Middlesex Batting Coach once again?

Grrrrr.

Another tactical necessity scene change for the post tea session. We returned to the Compton to catch the GLORIOUS sunrays that were shining down from across the river in South London.

This was the chatty chatty component to the day, aka alcohol comes close to stopping play. The patience being played out from Rogers and Robson at the crease was paying off. Both reached their centuries in the same over - a rare feat.

Remaining overs and remaining ring pulls dictated when it was time to leave. And so one wicket all day at Lord’s, and whaddya know - we chuffing missed it.

Whoops.

Which must mean that many more Lord’s memories are just waiting to be made / forgotten.

C’mon the ‘rrey!