“Good things come to those who wait” say the brewers of Guinness. And so it would be for those who made the journey down the A31 on this Coronation Sunday to be treated to an unlikely but excellent game of cricket. (via a delicious pint of the black stuff at Greasy landmark the Three Horseshoes in Bighton, just outside Alresford, book now – https://www.thethreehorseshoesbighton.co.uk/)

The wet weather that has marked our spring has done for pitches and matches across King Charles’ realm over the past few weeks - we Peckers awoke to discover Tichborne’s ground had fared no better and was out of action. But Greasy is not the man to take this kind of thing lying down and had already identified a hockey field with an artificial wicket in the middle of Winchester, most appropriately at King’s Comprehensive. He sent a video of the pitch.

POBsy was persuaded, Tichborne were persuaded, less so Traash, who is absolutely the man to take this kind of thing lying down, preferably in his pit, grumbling to anyone who will listen. Invigorated by a couple of pints from the Horseshoes, 11 Peckers eventually convened at 1:30 for a Thirty:30, expectations low.

Nonetheless the sun crept out and, as it began to burn off some of the standing water in the marshy outfield, a game of sorts began to emerge. Spinach and Greasy opened the bowling and Tichborne started confidently with some free hitting, particularly over Spinach’s head. A few weeks since a haircut, that’s no easy clearance, and they raced to 63-2 with Bristol scoring rapidly on his way to 42. This may have been fewer, had first slip Cat bagged a sharp chance off Greasy that ricocheted off his FUPA into the muddy turf. He redeemed himself soon after with a bullet from Deep Third Man for a brilliant run out.

On first change, Horse and Butternut expended a great deal of energy getting to the wicket, but ultimately bowled tightly and brought the batsman a little closer to par. Butternut had a couple pouched, and one dropped when a rearing ball floated into the leg side. An epic attempt from the deep included a guttural howl, followed by an acrobatic collapse next to the plugged ball… Net result: a ginger Cat hobbling back to the boundary, two runs.

There were no wickets for the luckless Horse: he managed to disrupt the flow of the intelligent and attractive play of Connell (37) who spooned one to Chef-Mannequin. His attempt at the catch came in 7 distinct positions but the ball came to rest on pasture. By the time Chef hit the BBQ, the floater had become “a fizzer”.

Chef’s redemption in the field was immediate. A sharp arm from the deep to remove their dangerous opening bat, literally seconds after he had been given the nickname Mannequin.

The disconsolate Horse was replaced by Chef who at first seemed to be serving up a tasting menu of light and airy delicacies to the batsmen. After being handed some punishment by Connell, he reverted though to a more Mannequin style: robotic, flightless, strangely sexy. Overall, he bowled with intellect and guile, unaided by a pitch as artificial as his dance moves, yielding 1-17.

At the other end, Butternut gave way to Kwakka, an over best passed over, before Traash came into the attack. With varying length and an assortment of lines, he would hoover up the tail with a sharp spell that offered something for everyone, including some generous half trackers and some devastating snorters. 4-23 was a handsome return from his 4.1 overs.

By the time the pizza arrived for tea, it had all added up to a healthy 161 off 27.1 overs.

Unlike Prince Andrew, the aftermath of the pizza was not going to be sweat-free.

from Back L-R GG, Horse, Chef, Greasy, Pob, Trash, Cat, Butters, Mole, Pippin, Spinach, Florentina, Kwakka, Savoy

The Peckers settled into their armchairs to watch Greasy and Kwakka head out to build our response. An animal known as “extremely friendly and approachable to tourists” was certainly true of this Kwakka, nudging to the keeper in the first over. Greasy would last a little longer but they gave way to the engine room of the Pecker stand – Moley and Pippin.

Now the party could start, with Pippin lavishing supporters with graceful hitting to all areas of the ground, and Moley’s extravagant footwork and clean striking creating wild cheers from the dugout and gasps from the Pecker support of GG, Florentina and Savoy. Moley was the more expressive of the pair, and he dispatched the soft underbelly of Tichborne to all areas on his way to a faultless 45, before gifting an uncharacteristic chance to the 12yo North who took a fine catch.

Having not scored a half century since he was little boy, Pippin of the Shire came into his own, his maiden Pecker 50 guiding us to a commanding position. Now a little man, he asserted his position as the pre-eminent Dabell in the Pecker line up, emerging from the slightly longer Merry-shaped shadow he’s been under since he was run out by his brother on debut. At 107-3 and plenty of overs remaining, the game looked all but finished. But the Peckers hadn’t accounted for young Connell.

Unfathomably brought in 3rd change with the game nearly gone, Connell bustled in with the pace and swing of a young Lillee. Traas was castled attempting a rather rash drive off his first ball against the paceman (second time in as many weeks), and Spinach likewise lost his stumps. Horse also out cheaply, Pippin was beginning to run out of partners, and with POB MIA seeking a disabled toilet, there was a sudden rush for padding.

Enter a limping Cat and surging Butternut to the fray. Despite Cat’s trademark pace between the wickets being undermined by his injured paw, he hemmed and hawed the opposition attack with sweeps and drives, whilst Butternut thrusted and parried Connell. The scoreboard resumed its upward trajectory. A chastened (but relieved) POBsy was not required: the Peckers had chased hard and won with 5 overs remaining.

Arguably the most important part of the day – the return to the Horseshoes for the promised BBQ, in a glorious spring evening in the Hampshire hills. The red wine flowed gracefully from a special magnum from the pub cellar, and the leftover roasties and yorkies from the pub’s lunch service served as canapes.

The full 12 back at the Horseshoes, and Hoover

Greasy produced a firepit and Chef set about his task, showing a ducking and weaving style at the BBQ. A pull here, a gentle tuck there, a solid push: his management of tender steaks shows an all-round skill set oddly absent from his batting.

The Mannequin Chef works his magic with the Bavette

After hours pondering over Pecker nicknames, Horse and GG took charge of preparing the “Woodpecker Salad”: one hopes this is the only time a lightly dressed Butternut has lain on a bed of Spinach with a crushed Avocado looking on. They also presented mashed avocado dip “Kwakka-Moley” – extremely well-seasoned yet a bit of a dishevelled mess.

As the sun set over rolling Hampshire fields, in company with this delightful ragtag of Peckers, it was hard not to reflect on a momentous week – a newly crowned monarch and a magical return to Woodpecker cricket in this glorious United Kingdom.

With particular thanks to POBs as ever, Greasy and the Horseshoes, and the Tichborne XI.