There is a knock on the door!!!

It is Mrs. Short Tony, breathless with excitement.

“OMGOMGdidyouhearsmashingcrashbashtractorallovertheroadhayhayhay,” she gibbers, hopping from foot to foot like a frog connected to the electricity and badly in need of a wee. “Policepolicehayroadbashsmash.”

I follow her down the path to see what all the fuss is about. A tractor has brushed the wall on its way round the corner, causing its trailer load of hay to topple over. There are countless bales of hay strewn across the road, along the verge and in Big Andy’s hedge; some have broken open and blown about in the wind. Traffic is blocked, and there is a heavy police presence (3 policemen). Meanwhile, people are running out of their houses with bags and stuffing them with hay as fast as they can.

Free hay! It is an amazing scene. It is like Whisky Galore, but with hay. I run for some bin bags.

“Never get a pie lorry, do we?” comments one of the policemen as I trot past him. Poor bloke – he is presumably not allowed to take any himself. I give him a sympathetic smile, leaving him to think wistfully about pies.

The tractor driver has returned with a big prongy fork-lift thing, and is trying to pick up the bales one by one. People point at him and take photographs with their cameras. I am not much of a body language expert, but he doesn’t look in the best of moods. I start shovelling hay into my first bag. He hoots furiously, narrowly missing me with his prong.

“This is great,” says Big Andy, returning to the scene with fresh sacks. “I must have got at least three pounds 50 worth of hay. Although there was a snake in one of the bales, which was a bit alarming.”

The tractor/prong driver is gesturing to us to get out of the way. We take a step back, let him turn, then start grabbing more hay. Within a short time, I am laden down with the stuff – enough for the chickens for weeks to come.

“I’ve got a couple more bags if you want them,” calls Wallace from across the road.

But I am laden down. The road is almost clear, and the traffic (a lorry) can get through. I walk slowly back to the Cottage, bearing my load of arable gold.

“We don’t get much entertainment round here,” I explain to the policeman as I pass.

“I can see that,” he replies.

It is a beautiful, sunny day, and we have arranged a Village outing to one of the nicest venues in test cricket.

“Booooo!” somebody cries.

“What’s happening?” asks John Twonil, joining in the crowd’s confusion.

It appears that cricketer Ian Bell has been unfairly run out for not knowing the rules. People look at each other, not knowing what is going on. “Booooo!” somebody else shouts as the players leave the field. It is clear that the crowd might be difficult to disperse.

“There will now be a tea break for twenty minutes,” intones the announcer.

There is a mad rush as the crowd disperses for the bar and toilets.

“I am a bit torn,” I tell Big Andy, as we see the queue for Guinness. “I don’t want to be late back and miss my chance to have another good boo.”

We hesitate, before agreeing that I will queue for the bar whilst he goes to the toilet, meaning that we will save time and hopefully be back to our seats for the resumption of the boo. A few minutes later, I hand him the tray of drinks and rush to the urinals. As I relieve myself, a man sprints in and stands beside me.

“Hurry up,” he says to himself. “Must get back to boo.”

I am a little late returning to the stand, but fortunately the game has been held up on some technicality. There is excitement in the crowd as the opportunity to boo grows nearer.

“Here they come!” somebody exclaims, as the door opens and the umpires and Indian team walk out.

“Booooo!” I shout.

“Booooooooo!” shouts Big Andy.

“Booo! Booooo boooooooo!” shouts Mrs Big Andy, John Twonil and the Village Doctor. “Boooooo!”

Cricketer Ian Bell emerges from the pavilion. “Boooo!” we shout. Oh. “Hoooooray! Hooray!” We cheer cricketer Ian Bell, although to be quite honest we are a little disappointed as we feel like we have been booing unjustifiably. “It is like our boo has been taken away from us,” I tell the Village Doctor, who nods sadly.

Later on, the announcer bursts into action again. “Here is an announcement. At teatime, the Indian captain MS Dhoni withdrew his appeal against cricketer Ian Bell,” he informs us.

“Hooooray!” Hooray for the Indians and their captain MS Dhoni. We get to our feet and clap and cheer for this very sporting gesture.

“Please get to your feet and clap and cheer for this very sporting gesture,” the announcer adds, somewhat tarnishing our impromptu appreciation, as earlier on we had been denied the justice of the boo.

The serious business of cricket continues in an entertaining fashion, helped along by a man dressed as a giant fish being repeatedly ejected from the stand. Big Andy accidentally drops his Guinness on the man sitting in front of us.

Later on and back home, I send him a text. “Your big booing face is on Sky TV,” I tell him.