On a sun-soaked Sunday in the heart of London, where the lush greens of Kew Gardens meet the grit of Brentford football fans, the Woodpeckers descended for a clash against Kew that promised to be as civilized as an afternoon tea, yet as chaotic as the local pub on match day. The scene, usually one of quaint tranquillity, was curiously altered by the throngs of the Brentford fans, aka the "Bumble Bees," whose boisterous presence turned this gentlemanly sport into a curious blend of cricketing tradition and footballing fervour.

As the Peckers set up their fielding positions, picnic blankets unfurled nearby, bringing a touch of civility back to the scene. Avocado and Swedie took their spots next to the ever-poised Myrtle, whose presence offered a rare refuge of refinement amidst the football-fuelled revelry.

The match was a 40-over affair, with the Peckers opting to field first. Beetle took the new ball, whose express pace and tidy lines were more lethal than a bullet ant. However, luck evaded him as Kew’s openers, like bees to nectar, had an extraordinary knack of finding airborne gaps and thus survived his best deliveries with a mixture of luck and ineptitude. On the other end, Spinach delivered a diet of miserly overs that Kew’s batsmen could barely digest. Yet, despite all the leafy greens, no wickets were to be had.

It was the early arrival of Chef "Chefry" Epstein that finally broke the deadlock. His crafty spin confounded the batsman and to the relief of all the Peckers, clipped the top of the stumps. This wicket, like a cool breeze on a hot day, reinvigorated the Peckers. What followed was classic cricket villagary at its best. A recipe of slips, dropped catches, and general chaos. Trash, living up to his name, ran in, slipped under the ball and dropped the catch, only for Pobs to swoop in like a seagull on a discarded chip, seizing the ball and rocketing it back to the keeper for a comical run-out. Kew’s batsmen, on that occasion more fluent in miscommunication than cricket, paid the price.

With his mother cheering on from the boundary, Trash bowled as economically as a Yorkshireman on a budget, yet fortune remained distant and after 20 overs, and just two wickets in the bag, the Peckers reassessed their strategy and our focus shifted from hunting wickets to containing runs. That is, until Groundskeeper Smeagol, was handed the ball.

Pobsy will take over here as modesty forbids GK…It was 169-2 and looking dire,as our Medium Pacers continued luckless. I wanted a change and got the Cat to loosen up for his feline spinners, but we agreed that GK was bowling well so gave him the ‘one more’ signal. This often seems to galvanise the bowler and suddenly he was on a hat-trick, helped with catches from Merry and Spinach. We missed the hat-trick but he did snaffle another clean bowled so 3 wickets in the over. I told him this was his chance for a Peckers 5-for but had a ‘wafer-thin’ Chefrey Interlude to allow GK Smeagol to gird his loins for a final push.

Chef and Twinkle teamed up for a wicket so ambiguous that even TMO would’ve struggled to make the call. With Chef whipping up some magic and Twinkle adding that final touch of sparkle, was it a catch or a umping or both? A Twinkling Chef combination whatever

GK came back for his last two overs and quickly bowled Reed for 2. Then young Oscar hit one towards to mid on where Novichok made ground hastily, threw himself full length on the baked earth grasping the ball an inch off it. He was bundled by the entire team ecstatic that such a wonderful guy had taken his first ‘Michelle Five-for’ for the club. There is additional irony as GK is going out with Novichok’s little sister Freya aka Crystal Tipps. In his own words ‘ this is yet another thing GK Smeagol needs to thank Novichock for’

The lovely Crystal Tipps pictured at Ham and Petersham last year behind a prostrate Pirrate - Novichok with his GF the gorgeous Irish Doctor Victoria. Kingpin edging in ...

The wickets began to tumble like autumn leaves; Pobs capitalising on yet another bout of indecisive running with a second run-out. In the meantime,

We were finally coming to the end of the innings and during the final over, Trash’s fatigue came through as he chased a ball towards the deep mid-wicket boundary, only for his hamstring to give. His teammates, naturally sympathetic, left him to the tender mercies of his mother while they wrapped things up. Kew concluded their innings on 225 for 9, a total that certainly seemed steep given our batting line up.

Tea was welcomed with kindly enthusiasm as delicious sandwiches, hot pizza and cookies were washed down with a mixture of tea and Atlantic Pale Ale. The crowd had swelled with more of the Peckers’ faithful: Henners accompanied by Sam, Sid and Ottilie; Michele aka Sue Chef with Tash and friend Jordana; Trash’s lovely mother Kirsty and friend Tallulah; Horse trotting alongside GG; Pirate and Becky; Macca and Macarena; and Tiddles all came with some casting a wary eye over Trash’s batting spot.

GG, Horse, Tiddles, Beetle, Pob, Spin, Pensive Merry, Tash and Michele from the Chefrey clan

The Peckers’ batting, however, began with a degree of promise. Cat and Butternut took to the crease, scratching away at Kew’s total. Butternut, nutted out a decent 19 in his new role as opener before being bowled, leaving the scene for a Beetling Cat cousins partnership that got the scoreboard racing. Beetle, who may have had a plane to catch smashed 18 runs off nine balls, including a towering six that nearly decapitated a group of children playing football in the distance -a near metaphorical collision of cricket and football on this most unusual of days.

Cat, meanwhile, purred along to a useful 35, highlighted by his own towering six that cleared the clubhouse, much to the delight of the swarm of Bumble Bees, who serenaded him with chants more suited to their old Griffin Park than Kew Green. The middle order proved to be as fragile as a Pecker’s resolve after a late-night pub session. Novichock and GK contributed a dismal four runs between them, hardly worth mentioning, yet impossible to ignore.

Then, when all seemed lost, hope arrived in the unlikeliest of pairs: Merry and Spinach. Merry had scored 47 runs in his last 7 innings and was looking the leading contender to retain his ‘Ducky; batting trophy. Pob allowed him to choose his batting slot (desperately hoping for a return to form) and the quick early rate allowed the young hobbit to take his time and regain touch and confidence. He suddenly found it, scampering between the wickets as if he was running away from Farmer Maggot himself In a twist worthy of a hobbit’s tale, this dynamic duo turned the game around. Spinach added his own leafy strength, and the pair battled through the overs with a blend of hobbit cunning and green-thumbed resilience. Merry, on 49, was on the cusp of his moment in the sun when the umpire, Twinkle no less, raised the finger for LBW, snuffing out the dream and cruelly cutting his innings short. (i believe it was plumb tbf)Nevertheless, Merry’s contribution had turned the tide and given the Peckers a fighting chance.

Well batted Merry -for once he had the bragging rights on Traash

Pobs took the reins, his mind set on chasing down the target. With Spinach still at the crease, the pair ran as if their lives depended on it. Spinach, however, met his fate on 21, also getting triggered for LBW (this time by Chefry) leaving the field for Trass, who, hamstrung but determined, took to the crease.A brave and hobbling Trash got 7 before his runner Spinach was unlucily sent home by an incredible pickup and direct hit by Kew skipper Steve. Pobs edge us closer but soon departed for a bystling 17,and with that, the Peckers’ hopes seemed to be packed away with the picnic blankets.

But Twinkle and Chef, the final pair, had other ideas. With 19 runs needed from the last seven overs, they inched the Peckers closer to the target. A boundary here, a well-run two there, and suddenly the impossible seemed within reach.

With the tension mounting to unbearable levels, the game reached a fever in the penultimate over. Five runs were required for a miraculous victory, and the atmosphere was electric. Twinkle stepped up, his eyes locking on the bowler, and with a deft stroke, he launched the ball towards the boundary in front of the baying Pecker fans. We screamed it home and scores were level.

One run. No wickets remaining. The suspense was almost palpable.

Twinkle squared up for the final delivery, every muscle tensed, every eye on him. He made contact, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch as the ball floated in the air. It glided and glided, moving as if in slow motion, the hopes of victory hanging by a thread. The fielders held their breath, the crowd was silent, and the game teetered on the brink…..here it is

Then, like a cruel twist of fate, the ball drifted right into the hands of point.The final catch was made, and the dream of victory slipped away in that last, agonizing moment.

Yet, despite the nail-biting finish, the game ended in a thrilling tie. A result that, while short of glory, was a testament to the spirit and drama of cricket. The Peckers had fallen agonizingly short, yet the draw was greeted with cheers, laughter, and no small amount of relief. Even the Bumble Bees, now at their rowdiest, joined in the celebration, serenading the departing batsmen with an impromptu rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle "

As the sun dipped below the horizon, and the cold ales flowed freely, the Peckers reflected on a match that epitomised the quirks of cricket and the joys of the game. The result might have been a tie, but the day, with all its highs and lows, was nothing short of a win for everyone involved - except, perhaps, Trash’s hamstring.