'Well well well, my dear old thing...'

Friday to Sunday 4- 6 August

My thanks to impeccable hosts WB and the Dunnes. Invited to stray from his habitual southern hunting grounds your intrepid blogger ventured into the arcadian shangri-la of the Yorkshire Dales, and the saxon halls of these northern bretwaldas. Friday night fleshpots of Skipton were justly rewarded with an easy Saturday of nordic axeplay. With the anticipation of Sunday Test cricket your ever-effavescent author rose early for breakfast to witness our host (above) up and wrapped in pristine deep-pile bathrobe dispensing grannie's vintage claret down the drain at 8.15 in the morning. Somewhat unerved at this unaccostomed eccentricity Il Surfero pushed on through with trademark nonchalance and cool. Any enduring trepidation was swiftly allayed. Subsequently ushered into the VIP suites of Headingley cricket ground, and treated with true northern hospitality we savoured the finest of cricketing days gilded by an unexpected visitation from the great Henry Blofeld to boot. What more can be added - the very best of days.