.. to the Middlesex Ladies Hockey Premier Division!
My marvellous hockey team (called Aces, made up of pretty much only over-40s) triumphed yesterday against Chiswick (ooooooooooonluckeeeeee!) with a corking 4-2 victory, taking us out of anyone's reach to second place in our League table.
So now no other team can catch us, or the top team, and its looking scarily like we will both be moving up into the Prem League next season. Which did almost make up for the fact that it HONKED with rain all game, the pitch was one giant puddle and even giving the ball a mighty smack meant it just drooled sadly from one very wet spot into another one, like an overtired sulky child. Couldn't get off that field fast enough… only to then be met by the amateur mistake of not having put my bag in a classy binliner, so everything else was equally soaked, quelle loser.
Next step: We play the No1. team, Harrow, at their place next Sat – will be a miracle if there's no blood spilled / green yellow or red cards given / scabby knuckles created in that top of the table clash! Place your bets now…
And – the nearing end of the season also heralds the very lovely annual re-knitting together of the 'Wimbledon Vets' team – most of whom do still actually play for Wimbledon plus a few of us old crusties that get snuck into the side for the social craic. Potentially 3 weekends of Vets hockey in March/April and here's hoping all my teeth are still intact at the end of it – I am starting to get a bit nervous of doing damage pre-wedding, but here's hoping… (famous last words or what…)
So – a bit of a soggy weekend all round. Am just off to collect a very wet and miserable Hawksey from the train station – he stayed down on the boat to watch the rugby yesterday while I came up to play hockey, managed to snag a rope around the boat propellor this morning (always a shag to sort out), then didn't spot the old 'Rail Replacement Bus Service' trick until he was wending his way homeward – add an extra hour to the already slow trip back with Sunday trains. Then throw in a dose of getting drowned in a shower (why don't men ever carry brollies?) and I suspect the future Mr Scott will be somewhat in need of a hug on his return to the Chateau Stroud… bless.
And bloody hell – March starts this week, where did that spring from?? Happy St Davids Day and all that welshie jazz… Sx