Great venues for a game of cricket - the Oval, Trent Bridge and...the Ghetto

Since I became a member of 'The Ghetto', we've witnessed a few memorable household activities...

First, we had 'Table Olympics' in January, the most memorable event being Zhao's five minute long arm-wrestle battle with George's cousin, Alex... which Zhao, smoker, drinker, all, managed to somehow win (Alex is a master cyclist, but he lacked explosive power).

Then table tennis, table football (to which we were addicted through Febuary and March) and even plastic duck shooting followed, all enlightening our evenings (and general time-wasting skills).

Then there were our weekly 'Ghettrio Film Club' nights, which screened classics such as Zulu (played on jerky VCD, we had to give up watching near the end), Ed Wood (everyone nearly fell asleep) and finally, Nick's cameo appearance one week, when he turned being 'five minutes away' into a two hour real-life art installation which involved him walking through Regents Park estate and continually, repetitively taking the wrong turns.

Nick's getting lost was more entertaining than Beijing Bicycle, the film that followed, and indeed he earned the seismic cheer we gave him from my bedroom window when he finally walked by, beer in tow, heavily traumatised.

Then, last week there was cricket.













A few of Zhao's old cigarette boxes, a plastic gun and a table-tennis ball all combined to produce possibly the most bizarre yet finest game of cricket ever seen, certainly ever played on the estate.

The games did not pass without controversy, however. They began with the obligatory 'sledging', which is abuse handed out from bowler to batsman, and included such gems as -

"Your mother's rather unattractive, old bean"

"You don't have the first clue how to hold your gun... I mean bat... old chap!"

and the classic -

"You're simply not very good, are you?!"

Zhao batted most of the insults skyward, earning sixes, although a couple of inferences about his Chinese heritage did result in a few beamers hitting his stumps. George's experience at the crease (cultivated in the Charlbury countryside) seemed to evaporate meanwhile, as he struggled to cope with the unpredictable non-bounce of the table tennis ball hitting carpet...














I'd like to say I was the most naturally talented player there, but that would be an inaccuaracy. Rather, I was simply a 'plodder', effective in the bowl, effective at the crease, no more, no less.

Even on a spectacular wicket such as this, I could do no more than play my natural game, frustrating even the most skillful of bowler, annoying even myself, and eventually resulted in a short walk back to the pavillion (ie- my room) with my tail between my legs, having been caught by the solitary fielder.

Has there ever been a game of cricket played such as this? In such brutal, yet majestic settings? With the game forcibly ended, it was time to retire to the kitchen for a good old cuppa, to calm our collective competitive feuds.

After damage to the wicket, we haven't played since, but we are sure that with careful watering, and a shorter fibre length, our carpet will soon be playable again.