Howzat

A busy day today, culminating in a trip down the motorway to Chester, in readiness for a meeting with mum at her bank tomorrow morning. The camcorder I blipped about yesterday sold almost immediately on eBay - so much for mister second hand shop telling me there was no demand for that sort of thing! My fathers old camera also sold pretty quickly, so that’s more of his possessions I’ve let go. Mixed feelings about it - on the one hand, they’ve gone to be enjoyed by someone else (I would never use them), but on the other hand it’s another weakening of links to the past. However, I do have all the films and pictures taken by those cameras, so the memories are still accessible - the cameras are just inanimate objects at the end of the day, it’s what the user captures on them that counts.
There are a few things of dads that I won’t be selling or disposing of, and this misshapen object is one of them. At one time in its life it was a brand new cricket ball, but it shows all the signs of having been well and truly used. I have no idea if it was significant to my father. As long as I can remember it sat in a dish in the hall, until last year when I rescued it when the house was sold. Dad was passionate about cricket and played regularly in his youth. I well remember spending interminable Sunday afternoons as a young child, at the side of the pitch as his team played. I know he was captain for several years and was a bowler above all else. Sadly, my total lack of interest in - and aptitude for - his beloved game, meant that we never enjoyed any “father/son bonding over sport” moments.
Not that it was an issue - a shared sense of humour and a love of quizzing was more than enough in the familial bonding stakes.
So this may have been the ball he took his first wicket with. Or perhaps a hat trick. Or maybe he caught it in the stands at a test match when a renowned batsman hit it for six. Or maybe it was just one he had in his bag when he stopped playing and just couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. And nor can I.