It was rather a crappy day; memories of the glorious maiden forty-over victory over the Octopus tourists two days earlier began to fade into distant memory as, at around three O'clock, the dark rain-clouds gathered around Bristol. Urgent phone-calls and text messages bounded around the Old Boys as the rain began to pour, as the team - preparing to leave their various employments around the city, and fearing the worst - started on their disparate journeys to the Winford outpost.

The expected cancellation-call from Winford having not materialised, S J Smith and Davies arrived first at the quaint little ground. They were met by a spindly old man, named Hugh, who, when questioned about the likelihood of play, issued the stern retort "Of course we're bloody playing" and then muttered something about us not being in Henleaze now, in derogatory tones.

Mercifully, the weather was holding, even brightening on the horizon, in fact of more concern to the Old Boys was the presence of a number (multitude actually) of youngsters kitted out in cricket whites. Our worst fears were confirmed, as they were to form the basis of Winford's opposition. S J Smith was captaining the side for the second consecutive match due to a debilitating injury to J S Smith, and it was decided that HOBs would bowl first, as a number of the Winford players, despite giving the impression that they rarely left their little village, had failed to materialise on time.

On to the match itself - it tuned out to be something of a shambolic and surreal affair, and S J Smith duly set the tone with an atrocious first over. The Old Boys cause was not helped by the daunting sight of a tiny boundary and precisely positioned slopes to help speed the ball to the ropes. For a while, it was not pretty. The underage opener, who would struggle to get served for matches in a newsagent, laid into the flagging Old Boys attack. The captain was forced to remove himself after two overs - a most humbling experience - and only his brother, off a short run, was able to exert any real control in the opening exchanges. He was rewarded for some tight(ish) bowling with the wicket of the only batsman in the opposition team who could have been said to fall into the "adult" category. Bowled by a ball that barely left the ground after pitching. Davies and the skipper then combined for a nifty run-out, although the other opener kept chancing his young arms all the way to fifty, whereupon he rather humiliatingly retired. The Old Boys then dragged back a modicum of respectability, with Adams and Davies bowling tidily, and Huffy making a very promising debut with two tight overs and a wicket. Huffy's excellent spell also included the moment of the match, when, fuelled by a fury known only to him, he threw down the stumps at such velocity that, had he not hit, Rachael may have been cashing in the Fillingham's life insurance policy. As his team-mates rushed to congratulate him, they backed off in awe and wonder at the steam rising from his scarlet forehead and the glazed-crazed look in his eyes.

So the Old Boys were set the tricky target of 142 to win with the light gradually fading. As Adams and Clements strode out to open the batting to the guttural noise coming from the gallery of inbred spectators who had gathered to watch their sons/brothers/cousins/all of the above perform, the evening took a notch up in the realms of surrealism.

As it was, the Old Boys got off to a good start, a lovely clip off his legs for four by Clements being the particular highlight. When he fell it brought Lambshead to the wicket, and Adams started with his expansive game. Aided by some favourable bowing down the leg-side he clipped (and occasionally edged!) his way to a valuable half-century. With the fall of Lambshead, he was joined at the wicked by Fillingham, who contributed towards a handy partnership. Throughout all this, the nerves of the Old Boys still in the pavilion were not aided by the goading jeers of the locals, and it was perhaps this that contributed to the running out of Adams by Fillingham, where there was never a run. Fillingham, perhaps feeling that he owed the team something after that debacle, indulged in a few lusty blows off a ten-year old, while, S J Smith, replacing Adams, lasted only two balls before being bowled by a pea-roller.

When the ten year old then recovered from his mauling at the hands of Fillingham to bowl J S Smith, it was all starting to look a bit close, and when Pearce and Fillingham himself followed in quick succession, humiliation was on the cards. However, Sage and Davies showed their class and little mercy to their young opponents, and although the match went to its penultimate ball, Sage found the boundary - or tree, as it were - to seal the win.

The euphoria of victory was especially keenly felt, as the Old Boys had more that a passing suspicion that Winford had attempted to extract the piss a little by playing their youth-team. Perhaps they will think twice before attempting such shenanigans again against a clearly superior outfit. The chips and sausages were greatly appreciated in the pub afterwards; however, we can only hope that Winford will not expect reciprocation at the Kellaway next season.

Stu Adams was deservedly named man of the match for his excellent innings.