The Postman Delivers:
A renewal letter for Surrey Membership.
2018 Membership renewal from @surreycricket. Interesting that #t20 is being marketed as 'Classic t20' #saveourcounties @SurreyCCCSC
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) August 25, 2017
Crafty.
The ‘rrey are at home in the #t20Blast quarter-final later this evening. Dropping the annual renewal on the doormats of Surrey Members in the morning was a marketing masterstroke.
But wait! What’s this?
Many of those members won’t be at The Oval later. The club f-ed up by at first failing to honour the Membership T&C’s of ‘all t20 games.’
Of course I’ll renew. It ticks over, unless you state otherwise.
It was also odd that the t20 for next season has already been re-branded as ‘t20 Classic.’
The City franchise - which Surrey now seem to be a reluctant flag waver - can f-off.
My breaking point with Forest was reached round about this stage in the Corporate club Taking the Piss stakes.
But yeah - at least one more season on the piss in the Pavilion.
The early morning work shifts were uneventful.
I cycled off shortly after 11am for the mid-morning gym and swim trip.
I stopped off along the Trail to capture a random snap of some SHROOMS.
Some rather stuffy local types asked:
“Are you lost?”
I wish, Comrades.
The gym GRUNTING was brief.
Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl came on the gym PA playlist. I did the Uptown Girl foot shuffle from one machine to another. I almost fell over.
Time for a swim, Jase.
I only had time for thirty lengths. I still believe that a daily swim and a dozen intakes of strong tea will be our saviour.
Communication with Anna back at the flat continued throughout Friday.
She was on water metre and wormery duty.
Mr Water Metre Man can’t fit a water metre - which is a bit of an arse, seeing as though neither of us ever had a bloody shower there.
The delivery of the wormery was a complete f-up.
I suspect some S Ldn Yoof has nicked it from outside the flat.
IMAGINE THE DISAPPOINTMENT when S Ldn Yoof unpacks the box.
I pressed on with the afternoon work.
Dotty was a worry, returning with a closed eye.
It got slightly better an hour or so later.
A squeaking frog in the lounge led me to leave the office and see what Daisy was up to downstairs.
Cheers, Daisy.
I was on a bit of a mad, rushed one.
Work had to be finished, and I had to pack and bugger off on a holiday by mistake.
Le Tour de Norfolk was beckoning.
I threw my kit into a bag, boarded the roadie and rolled out to the train station.
Three hours later and I was on the North Norfolk coast, in time to see the Surrey quarter-final, sober, natch.
Hey hoe.
At least it will be a stress free Finals Day, Comrades.