With clouds above and plenty of green stuff underneath, coupled with the potential threat of rain, AJ won the toss and put the opposition into bat. And unlike Ben Stokes at Lord’s, it proved to be a clever decision. Opening bowlers Greg Willis and Itesham Aslam zipped the ball past the openers on multiple occasions, ripping snorters through their chest while others skidded dangerously low, putting both openers on edge. Itesham claimed two well-deserved wickets, leaving London Theatres 53-2 at drinks.

Prassad then summoned his spinners, George Tunnacliffe and Tom Elmslie, the two of them fundamentally altering the game and reducing London Theatres to 98-7. Tunnacliffe, probably bored of taking wickets following his heroics for the twos on Saturday, took just one, but his control was arguably more important; it put the batters in a nervous condition, which is hardly what you want when going up against the guy at the other end: Elmo.

After his TFC the day before, this bespectacled Aussie-Anglo hybrid stamped his authority on the affair. This was to become the Elmo innings. The Hollies was Sesame Street, for a time. He affected a run out and took four wickets, ripping the ball through the air with flight and guile and just enough temptation for the batters to play dumb shots, which they did, regularly. Even in his second spell, during which Elmo seemingly forgot how to bowl, he took the wicket of their No.5, who looked well set.

After that it was all about Carl Viberg, the big gorgeous Scandinavian dad, taking an astonishing 2-3 off 3 overs with some excellent controlled bowling. His newborn baby was watching from the sidelines — her first game of live cricket, and where better to do it — and started crying as Carl ran in to bowl. Thankfully Carl quickly took a wicket, his good line and length appearing to sufficiently calm and placate the infant. The man actually complained, once the innings was done, about having nobody left to dismantle. It’s hard being good, isn’t it, Carl. Or so I hear.

Another thing to note: no dropped catches all innings. Bucket hands all day. Take note, Bairstow. Benny Cobbett will work with you on that if you pop down on Thursday.

London Theatres were bowled out for 135 in 33.3 overs, which was perfect timing, as it turned out, because it meant we got to return to the clubhouse to watch England knock off the final 20 or so runs against the Australians. It was wonderful scenes. Mark Wood’s six over fine leg and crunching cover drive for four sent the clubhouse into raptures, and Woakes hitting the winning runs made me briefly consider getting naked, but I decided against it, because as an opener I had a job to do in about 10 minutes and had to remain vaguely concentrated.

Suri and Nieboer strolled out to begin a very doable chase: just 135 to get. Suri smashed one beautiful four and then smashed another beautiful shot straight down the throat of the only man out on cow corner — a quintessentially Suri dismissal, and one he doesn’t beat himself up over. He plays the way he plays, and if it doesn’t work out, so be it. Very Bazball, in a way. This guy was doing Bazball before it was cool.

His dismissal brought out the dazzling spectacle that is James Barron, who looked calm and composed from the start. He and Nieboer carefully compiled a 50 partnership to bring the score to 61-1 on the stroke of drinks, and looked well set to kill the game off, but Nieboer decided to well and truly f&@k himself, running himself out for no good reason at all and getting cramp in the process, finishing his anchoring innings on 9 (43), splayed on the floor in a dusty sad sweaty heap.

A brief collapse ensued, with Plough sinking to 95-5 at one point, but with Barron at the crease, the game was always ours. He kept out the good balls and punished the bad ones with brute force, pinching off eight glorious fours and a first six for the Plough that smashed into the tree and worked me at the non-striker’s end into a state of considerable arousal.

Thankfully Willis, that imperious Yorkshireman, stuck around with Barron to all but get Plough Gold over the line, scoring a fluent 20*, while Barron finished on 62 off 104 balls, holing out to long on. And it was fitting that Elmo, whose long furry red fingers were all over this game from ball one, turned out to be the guy who hit the winning runs in the 39th over.

A good game, a commanding win, another success for Skipper Prassad — now with five wins from six as a captain — and all completed in time to wander over to the Nursery ground to watch the magnificent Max Gumpert and Jon Ryves compile a 100-run partnership that secured a rare victory over friendly rivals Southbank, with many Plough cheering on from the touchline. The game was so exciting that many people, McGurn and myself included, threatened on several occasions to get naked — a two-team shower was even mooted at one point — but these hopes were sensibly mollified by Grayzer and Puff, because nobody needs to see multiple naked Plough tearing across the DSG.

Something we do like to see, however, is four wins out of five for the weekend — and a phenomenal Sunday at the DSG, where the sun shone as the Plough, as it likes to do, marched the f&@k on.

Match report produced by Leo Nieboer