Turning up at a ground north of the arse-end of North London, somewhere that was categorically not Pimlico, I was confronted with a bilious looking Si Carson, taking a moment to himself, sat in his car.

“These lot look a bit good. They warm up and everything.”

I decided to investigate. I grabbed my kit from Max’s car and walked round to the club house: a proper job with an electronic scoreboard and a bar doing Guinness. The club house sits on a hill, looking down over two pitches with outfields that look approximately flat (a nice change), and wickets that may actually have been rolled (an even nicer change). The opposition has rolled out a net into the middle and their bowlers are warming up. Yanni and Mo Khan are watching. They look pale. Cold beads of sweat drop from Yanni’s brow. He doesn’t even say hello, he just jumps in with

“Mate, have you seen the left-armer in the shorts? What the hell has Leon organised for us? What kind of opposition is this?”

I watch said left-armer glide in and slam a ball halfway down the track, the ball flying through and bulging the net around head height. I understand immediately: Yanni is down to open. I’m down for number 3. This could be quite the Sunday I’ve signed up for here. I say nothing, wishing to maintain my sang-froid, and walk into the club house, where I bump into an old fella vaping.

“You Ploughmans?”

“Yeah, that’s right”.

“Cool, the lads aren’t here yet, but we’ll be playing on the far pitch”.

That isn’t the opposition! Thank Christ for that. My ribs are safe. I’m saved the ignominy of desperately asking around for an arm guard. I head back out and find Si sat at a picnic table and immediately tell him the news.

“Are you serious?! You’re not joking, are you?”

I confirm the news and he grabs my hand and shakes it, beaming at me with a smile I didn’t know the man was capable of. As the news spreads the smiles return to the lads. Laughter can be heard once again. Yanni now asks me how I’m doing. And we all pick up our kit and walk over to the far pitch, the safe pitch, to play Pimlico Strollers.

The opposition are late, but Si Carson, being the gent that he sometimes can be, allows them the toss anyway, which they then win, depriving us of our bat. So we head out into the field, opening the bowling with the metronomic James Barron and the mercurial Azharul Haque, and it’s everything you’d imagine it would be, except for the fact that Az doesn’t take a wicket with his first ball, or even in his first spell for that matter! Something you’d have had long odds on.

But the two openers keep things tight, both bowlers dealing in maidens. Barron tucks into the old wickets column with some spectacular support from the fielders. The first catch, a fast slash towards backward point, where Vikki jumps and grabs it two-handed. The second, a looping, dipping drive out towards cover, where Oli Lonsdale sprints in and dives, clutching the little red thing inches from the ground. He enjoyed that one, I can tell you.

As a reward for the two catchers, both came onto bowl next. Vikki bowling some beautiful out-swingers, and Lonsdale some vicious ins. And Vikki’s line and length was duly rewarded. In just 3 overs, he had one nicked behind (caught Yanni), another caught at short cover (thanks Umar) – with another edge agonisingly splitting keeper and slip. Well bowled mate.

As the reader can imagine, all of this carnage had the Plough well and truly on top, with the opposition’s misery made ever more painful with Lonsdale finishing off his spell by rattling the timbers.

Then we had skip and Mo bowling in partnership: the spiders, spinning their webs. Si bowled with beautiful control, beating the bat on numerous occasions, and removing a dangerous looking bat with a tidy c&b; and Mo bowled with flight and guile, creating numerous chances, also finishing with a wicket to his name.

Which leaves us with Umar. Brought on to bowl a very tidy over, a wicket maiden in fact. However, the skip was not satisfied with this performance, he had other plans in mind. There was talk of ending his spell there. After some negotiation, Umar earned his second over. He was hit for two fours and that was the end of the spell. Never question the captain.

And so, Az came back on. Wicket, dot, wicket. Innings over, the opposition ended on 138, which is only marginally more than 50, the number of wickets Az now has for the season. 50! Well bowled mate, and here’s to many more to come.

As we trundled back to the club house, Yanni tapped me on the shoulder and whispered

“That bloke in the shorts – that’s Mohammed Amir.”

I turn and look. That IS Mohammed Amir! I tell James Barron the news and he doesn’t know who that is. I ask him how old he is and am disgusted to hear the answer. But I turn back to my thoughts and imagine myself playing him out on the middle, stepping inside that very same bouncer I saw earlier in the day, extending the arms, cracking one out the screws and sending it over the hedge. I’m now certain I could have destroyed his bowling and I’m filled with regret.

But my spirits are immediately revived as I find myself confronted with a pool table covered with pasta, cocktail sausages, samosas, fish fingers, salad that actually looks good, grapes, creamy cakes… you name it. For me, hands down the best tea I’ve had all year - so a whole-hearted thank you to Pimlico Strollers for the spread.

After a rejigging of the order, we open the batting with Umar and Mickey, who shows promise with a languid back foot drive through extra cover, but who unfortunately copped a lowie shortly after, bringing Y. Baveas to the crease.

Both batsmen shaped up nicely, and serenely chipped away at the total for the Plough, Iqbal in particular playing some classy drives through the off side. A miscue from Yanni led to his downfall, bringing yours truly in at number 4.

After a few more overs of watching Umar stroke it around, soon raising his bat for a classy, controlled fifty, I also joined the party, hacking it into the bushes, losing a few balls in the process, and then forcing us to use one of those horrible, cheap concrete balls that breaks bats. Punishment for not being more sensible.

The Plough won by 7 wickets. We strolled back to the club house for a beer and a debrief, watching the other game as the sun set, whilst Az had his 50-wicket ball signed by Mohammed Amir. This is what Sundays are for. Plough on.

Match report from George Stanley