I seem recently to have been rather preoccupied with the subject of trees and, in particular, how they enhance the appearance of any cricket ground. I don’t say that they essential, exactly (I accept that the conditions don’t always permit) but my basic feeling is rather like Belloc’s about inns – “When you have lost your cricket ground trees, drown your empty selves, for you will have lost the last of England”.
So what to do if climactic conditions make life difficult for trees? (There were very few of them on the Fylde coast, for example, and then only the hardiest). Perhaps commercial considerations have meant that you’ve had to cut them down to build a conference centre? Perhaps the man from the Council has chopped some of them down for reasons of health and safety?
I think I might have the answer. Here is a street entertainer (dread words!) I encountered yesterday on a lunch time stroll through the busy shopping centre that now makes up the heart of historic Cambridge. I think she is a wood nymph, or possibly sprite, a version – I suppose – of Raggety in the Rupert stories, but benign and in full bloom.
I’m sure she could be persuaded (for a small fee) to fill in any gaps you might happen to have in the ring of trees around your ground. Or, if you have no trees, she could perhaps bring a whole battalion of her fellow nymphs to stand around the boundary, shimmying and rustling as if caressed by a gentle Zephyr.
An idea to forward to the relevant authorities, I think.
“You’re straying into the realms of fantasy now, man. Get a grip! What’s the solution to James Taylor’s alarming slump in form? That’s what we want to know, not this nonsense”. – The Plain People of Leicestershire.