Something of a fallow field, it is time disturb the earth of the blog after a ‘healthy break’ and upset a few apple carts. Actually, I’ve been inspired to write by listening to a vicar on Radio 5 talking about requests for music at funerals he has conducted. He had to turn down one such request for a song entitled ‘I’m not half the man I used to be.’ Apparently, the deceased had been hit by a truck ... Unpleasant.

Inspired by those heroics at Boyne Hill, it's an unwelcome return for that whining voice from the wilderness. Shoveller's implement is firmly planted in the potting shed, his sporting career on hold as he battles injury, mental infirmity and his ongoing and one-sided struggle against mediocrity.

0700 Monday - up all night again - it's those two dropped catches at Thatcham on Saturday - been unable to sleep since. No, it's another overnight shift. It's been a busy one, but I tell you what, in those odd idle moments, when the guard drops and the mind wanders, there's nothing like a leisurely read of the Thames Valley League website. Good, mindless fun, seeing how Newbury II's got on in Div 5b, discovering if Kidmore End 3's finally got off the mark (they didn't). Felt sorry for that NPL Teddington bloke called Laghari on Saturday, scoring 158 in his side's 218 all out against North Maids in Div I. I know exactly how he feels.

0420 hours. Sunday July 8, 2007. It's been a long dark night of the soul ... dwelling on that preposterous dismissal against North Maids (rarely, I repeat, rarely have I been out ‘fair-and-square') ... or maybe it was that conversation with Tank (I never knew he keeps bees) that troubled my communion with Morpheus. Sadly, the real reason is much more mundane - my darling daughter having a little ‘accident'.

It’s your old mate 'Cuddles' here … no more the ‘Shoveller’ as my girth rapidly heads in the direction of Coyney/Wildthing-type proportions after a winter of sitting on my backside. Of wintering badly, Reaper.

Finish your breakfasts up boys and girls - sorry Mr.Dobson, there's a cornflake attached to your jowls; Qureshi, that is fried egg on your tie - here's your latest cartload of dross from Bray's twilight zone. That place stalked by the talented young, the talentless old .... cricketing life's hard luck stories.

They've been naïve enough, misguided enough, reckless enough to be beguiled by the literary twitchings of Bray's answer to Shane McGowan/Les Patterson/a sort of Luke Dobson with big words.

I must tender my apologies ahead of this Sunday. I am otherwise occupied, putting the finishing touches to ghostwriting "Me and other East Berkshire Cricketing Legends of the late 20th Century - The Lee Owens Story." It's a brief work. Should I dispose of that piece of detritus in good time, I've been booked to direct a fitness video featuring Geri Halliwell and our very own Dave Mason.