This is probably about as far north, and as high above sea-level, as we ever get – and, by golly, it feels like it! Despite the sub-Arctic conditions, most of the usual suspects are on board, though Skipper Harris, I am advised, has resigned and is not playing at all, whether through pique or fear of frostbite I cannot tell.. (He does make a cameo appearance later in this report, as you will read if you get that far…………)

When we arrive, the ground is deserted. Most of our team stands shivering in what passes for the shelter of the (locked) pavilion, while the 2 Sams and I cross the road to the welcoming-looking Barley Mow to see if any cricketers are holed up inside. They are not, but we are assured they are hardy enough to turn out in all weathers. Finally they arrive and New Skipper Sam J performs the usual ritual of losing the toss and telling us we are going to field. The ground is rustic and slopes fairly seriously from deep cover to deep mid-wicket. The view from the top side over the houses is grand, declares Andy Mac, though of course none of the rest of us can see it. There is evidence of fairly recent inhabitation by sheep. The wicket is not up to the high standards of our new ground, naturally.

Play commences. A rather grumpy-looking opener defends a ball from Micky, picks it up without asking and throws it at Keeper, who isn’t looking. "Don’t you wannit then?" grumbles the bat. Keeper makes a suitable response. Next ball, the opener goes neither forward nor back to a full delivery and plays the ball on or maybe just misses – either way, a wicket first over – unprecedented!!

The boundaries are on the short side, and New Skipper has 2 slips up, so Upper H push along, but Umer bowls very steadily and forces the no. 3 to try and go after Micky, with fatal consequences – a skied drive to Head at long-off. His expression as the ball descends is not encouraging, and Sam J’s description of it is not really printable, but the ball lodges safely – 21 for 2.

Somehow we fail to capitalize as the new partnership settles in. Micky suffers a bit. Umer has to be rested. Sam forces a stumping chance. Keeper gets cross with himself. Things start to look a bit grim. Enter Christian Drury in his first Sunday outing. A magic change of bowling by New Skip – no. 4 is beaten & bowled. Two overs later Christian does it again, with the aid of Andy Mac (thanks to the millions of you who e-mail me to confirm it was he – the scorers omit to note this vital detail) – but still the remaining opener trundles on, and the score climbs past 130. At this point New Skipper throws the ball to Head and in another inspired piece of captaincy positions himself at cover-point precisely where Head’s first ball is lashed – 135 for 5. Surely we are through to the tail? Huh. A particularly annoying stand now develops which even Adam & Macca fail to break until it raises 50. "You can still get a 5-fer" I remind Duds; he tears in with renewed oomph and clean bowls 1, 2, 3, 4 batsmen while Macca is keeping the survivors honest at the other end. Upper H end on 215, and we retire to a well-earned and very acceptable tea. Many of the team are heard to announce "it all counts towards the 5-veg-a-day quota" as they help themselves to yet another slice of carrot cake. It keeps out the cold.

I should mention here that New Skipper promotes a nice old-fashioned Sunday policy of asking players what they want to do. Naturally most people say "Whatever" or something equally helpful, but this policy does explain a slight, well, quirkiness about our batting order. JW opens, of course, but Head takes first strike. Smack – 4! Smack – 2! Smack – 2! Impressive. The smack he applies to the 5^th ball sends it probably higher than any ball hit in Oxfordshire today. Somehow only one of the 6 UH fielders circling around grabs it. 8 for 1. Gully is bowled shortly after; Hughes & Wilson stop the rot briefly and double the score – then Hughes misses a straight one ("it was cutting in" says Sam J kindly). Now Christian and JW begin a grim rearguard action and double the score again, John showing off a new pull-sweep en route, while the debutante shows admirable restraint under stern instruction from his senior. All seems to be going smoothly until……………

Regular readers of these reports may be aware that John does tend to specialize in unusual dismissals; a dazzling catch here, a bizarre run-out there – most of us are familiar with the pattern. This time it is an all-in-one freak ball – like the cleaning stuff you see advertized on the telly, it swings as it cuts as it skids as it ploughs into the stumps – 44 for 4. Christian evidently does not take kindly to losing his partner and does not outstay him long, another good ball ending a gritty innings. We are in trouble.

Gradually, Sam J and Dave K turn us round. The UH total is a long way off, and the stiff breeze doesn’t get any warmer, but they stick at it, and altogether add 64, more than doubling the score. There are few false strokes; Dave, who evidently enjoys running between the wickets more than anything else except possibly cross-country ski-ing, deals nearly exclusively in singles, while New Skipper goes in for some powerful shots including a towering 6 which seriously threatens the vintage collection of chrome and tin in the car park. It is at this point that our ex-Skipper, arriving unnoticed, suddenly emerges from his car to shout "Good shot!" Does he think he is safer out of his car than in it, I wonder, or maybe he feels he will protect his vehicle more effectively if he stands in front of it. S&D collect 12 from this over, and we start to do the "how many runs an over do we need?" calculations. Perhaps Sam is thinking the same, for he is looking to attack more and more until surprisingly deceived into giving a simple c&b 8 short of his 50. He returns to rapturous applause, hugs, etc. – after all, his innings gives us a ray of hope, and, of course, he is far and away the warmest member of our team…………

Macca and Adam are gung-ho for victory still, despite us needing more than a hundred. Macca replaces Sam and suddenly we are only 70 behind. 3 colossal sixes – 2 into the road – presumably relieve some of his self-confessed angst that is inevitable if you stand around in the cold long enough, and Adam is just as keen to exercize his numb hands with a couple of lusty shots after Macca is bowled bravely going for a fourth six. But an asking rate of 15 an over is only achieved in those public schoolboy adventures of the Golden Age, where the only coloured clothes cricketers wear are gay cravats. When you are new at the crease, half-dead with cold, and the fielders are all round the boundary, frankly, you may as well play for your average. Of course, our boys do nothing of the sort, and finish off with a few bold strokes to bring us within 50 of the UH total, as the sun finally appears to mock our shivering limbs. It’s b****y late, too late for our hosts to invite us to the pub in fact. We think it will probably be warmer in Eynsham anyway.