The scene: A former cow field in Trengilly (nowhere near Newquay).

The dampness of the Dyer/Pordes hotel room was affecting their joints. I was feeling stiff, not able to move with customary fluidity, but at 20 for 2 this was no time to think about personal sacrifice, the All Stars were in trouble.

Dyer and Clements united with the score on 0 for 2, had fought of a ferocious barrage of dibbly, dobbly non-spinners from the Public House End with tremendous bravery and no lack of panache. A bowling change was forced on the opposition skipper. He turned to his player of the year, an athletic looking , short-sighted chap. What mysteries were to follow?

A run up was patiently marked out, the keeper did not stand back so I deduced that flight, guile and vicious spin would form the assault that the next six deliveries would represent. The bowler approached, over came the arm - a Chinaman. Quickly the mind flashed back to the last left arm leggy I had faced, I was 14 at the time, fleet of foot and no fear. The 7 runs I made that day are etched in the memory.

I watched the ball from the hand as it commenced its loopy journey toward me. The ball was delivered at a cunningly slow pace. What should I do? I could advance down the wicket and clip the ball to a deepish mid-on for a comfortable single. I could get to the pitch and aggressively, playing with the spin, find the boundary at mid-wicket. The ball was short and slow enough to go back to and pull through square leg. The delivery pitched a foot wide of the leg stump, I watched it go into the keepers gloves....and repeat.