The Cricker’s Arms


The Stray Hound just put paid to the initial ambitions of the late entries of Paddy’s VIII. Intermittent sunshine is being peppered with theological witterings of the stoned (apparently the god of cricket would be Thor, hammering runs with his Mjolnir) and the arrival of my godson Charlie. He has just demolished masses of strawberries and is not too upset by a breadstick replacement. Lllllanlllllogen bay, Wales’ everpresent representatives are up against the scarlet and yellow pyjamas of The Crown from Frampton Mansell, don’t know how they’re doing as I’m getting a load of shit for being on a computer. To The Cricketer’s Arms……

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