James, Deane, Mary and I walked down to West Meon in the overcast light of Sunday afternoon, ostensibly to watch Stanley’s last game of cricket for West Meon Thomas Lord team. None of us were interested in cricket but it was something to aim for in a walk. Stanley is front row, second from right. An Indian in a small Hampshire village. Judging by his bowling the team will miss him next year.
A strong sense of the odd ‘Sunday afternoon feeling’ I’ve often felt, around 1600. It’s a curious sensation of time slowing down, nothing happening in the world, everything as it should be, and slightly eery. Impossible to describe apart from that. Happened watching the cricket.
I kept missing the ‘action’. I found myself watching the villagers and their ways.