Get a tickle on

And so began a weekend of alcohol free cricket. Long gone are the 18 pints of yesteryear. All I can do is bathe in past glories. So, armed with knee support and walking stick, I was ready for Nicktor and Frank at the appointed (half) hour.

I was a bit concerned when I found out that we were going in Frank’s work van until he pulled up and I realised it had a back section and I’d have the entire bench seat to rest my battle weary left leg. Probably roomier than Nicktor’s Jag.

Frank drives with a lot of consideration for everyone, except for Nicktor who seemed to want to get to Huddersfield in about 15 minutes. Still, we made reasonable time, stopping for a couple of wake up breaks, listening to some of the Damned’s greatest hits (a warm up for tomorrow night), before hitting Huddersfield and trying to find the hotel.

Frank doesn’t have satnav, depending on his phone which didn’t recognise the postcode. Once we hit the intertwining series of A roads which circle the town, we resorted to Nicktor’s tried and true method of navigation by the back of an old envelope.

Some people may scoff at this low tech solution but it worked perfectly and we were soon pulling into the Travelodge car park and checking in. Frank and I wanted an hour to get back to normal but Nicktor was all for heading (almost) straight into town to find a pub to watch the cricket. He was outvoted.

An hour later and we were off into Huddersfield, walking along the canal. Well, they were walking; I was sort of limping with my walking stick and knee support, slowing them up.

The walk along the canal was lovely. There’s something quite picturesque about a canal in the afternoon light when the sun is shining and the clouds are barely existent. We wondered whether we’d see any narrow boats and then, suddenly, as if answered by some unseen water nymph, we found a whole bunch of them.

It was like some big narrow boat convention, some pretty, some bland, all parked up. I particularly liked the one called Alice.

Having satisfied the little bit of the canal envy that resides in all of us, we wandered up into Huddersfield, in search of our favourite pub, the Head of Steam. Eventually we found it, forced our way through the hordes standing outside and settled into the dining only area out the back. The woman running the restaurant was about to turf us out but Nicktor explained about my war wound and she said we could stay unless they needed the table for someone eating. We stayed there for two hours.

And in that two hours, Frank had three pints, Nicktor had two and I had two fruit juices. It was difficult watching them knock back, what I knew were some mighty tasty ales. I knew because they kept telling me how good they tasted. But I was good.

We then had to find the Indian restaurant which Nicktor told us was the best in the world. Balooshai, it’s called and he was certainly right. But first we had to find it. Frank was all for taking a cab but when we asked a cabbie where it was, he pointed down the street and said turn left then right and it’s there. He was right. It took us about five minutes.

I had asked Mirinda the name of the Indian drink she normally has: Rose Lassi. I decided I’d have one of those while the others had beer. But they didn’t have any lassis. I had orange and mango juice and Nicktor had a coke. Frank settled with water.

This was seriously turning into a boys weekend away like never before. Having eaten and paid, we went and stood on a corner and chatted, wondering what to do. It wasn’t even 9pm yet. No-one wanted a drink so we decided a slow stroll back to the hotel would suffice.

Next to the Travelodge in Huddersfield, there’s a Costa’s. It’s open 24 hours for drive through coffee. I thought you only saw that sort of thing in America where they hate getting out of their cars but, apparently not. This one serves coffee and pastries through a little hatch where drivers wait impatiently for their too urgent sit down for, lattes. We sat and watched a lot of them do just that.

Anyway, eventually it became a bit much for us three old timers, discussing our various medical conditions (I figured this is because none of us served in a war so it’s what we have to talk about), and we wandered back to the hotel.

Nicktor needed his glasses out of the car so Frank went to his room to get his keys. He was gone ages. Eventually we saw him stop at the reception desk. He’d left them there when we arrived. Meanwhile, he’d completely turned his room upside down looking for them.

Eventually, sober, we said goodnight and fell into our respective beds. Real hard core.