No cancellation of cricket yet, although dark clouds are gathering all around, so I won't believe The Great Interregnum is finally over until I actually feel the five-and-a-half ounces of Gunn and Moore leather in my hand tomorrow afternoon, or the umpire is giving me a leg-stump guard (minutes before sending me on my way after yet another predictable shuffle across the stumps to a straight ball).
Fortunately, we're away at Hoveringham, so it won't be a wasted journey either way, as the gravel pits there hold all sorts of birding goodies.
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