Pain stopped play

With the fiasco of Sir Viv over with and play set to resume on the Sunday at the Rec another day off loomed. Timing wise it couldn't have worked out any better. My cousin, Ruth and her boyfriend were due to fly back to the UK and now we were all free we could see them off; so the family Norman all trooped along to St.Johns. It was a blazing hot start to the day as we relaxed over lunch and made plans to set sail on my uncle's boat as soon as Ruth departed and at around 2pm we left bound for Dickenson Bay.

Back in England I'd spent many an hour day dreaming about a family day playing cricket on golden sand and under near perfect blue skies . While memories of beach cricket in Western Australia are still just about fresh in my mind it had been the best part of twenty years since we'd played as a family.

So while we were walking through town I made it my mission to find a cricket set that we could use. And after countless dead ends and fruitless enquiries I finally secured one for the princely sum of $60 (£40) which probably makes it the most expensive set in world cricket.

It was the first time on the boat for the other guys and the wind was whipping up nicely, the boat teetering on its side for much of the journey. At one point it was at such an angle that my dad literally dropped from his seat. The weather was beginning to change for the worse and by the time we sailed into Dickenson Bay it was pelting down. We sought refuge away from the top deck for half an hour but the rocking and rolling of the boat made several of us feel a little queasy. So at the first sign that the weather was set to improve we jumped into the dinghy and made for the beach.

After finally persuading Dave that we could find a better stretch of beach than the one we had just landed on (yards from a beach-front restaurant) we trooped up and down Dickenson Bay before finally settling on a nice patch. Looking at the looming clouds we figured we'd have about 30 minutes of play before rain returned and so we set about the match.

I batted first and made a challenging target of 30, although my dad complained I'd run at least three runs short. He was just annoyed with me for expertly running him out after he tried to steal a quick second. Something I repeated later in the over when Dave foolishly gambled that I couldn't do it again before watching his stump cartwheel out of the sand. I'd like to say that my celebrations were restrained and humble but thery were nothing of the sort.

My dad however was the pick of the bowlers - although Stuart pulled his first ball for four.

Which just meant there was a hold up in play as he was forced to swim out and retrieve it.

One of the key battles of the day took place between my cousin George and my uncle Jon. It was father versus son and it was the son who emerged triumphant. He came closest to my innings winning score seeing off the bowling attack and notching an impressive 20 before being bowled by yours truly.

The weather wasn't pretty but it really didn't matter as we threw ourselves around in the sea, ran quick singles and tried to put the pressure on whoever was batting. It was a great laugh and I was congratulating myself on my single-minded approach to making this happen when for the third time on this trip disaster struck.

I again batted first and hit a six miles into the sea and as Stuart once again was forced to swim out and get it I gave myself out. My dad walked into bat and was looking ominously comfortable as he closed in on my score of 12.

We'd changed the game to tip and run in a bid to speed it up a bit and dad was having trouble laying bat on George's deliveries. Finally though he got an outside edge that flew all of a couple of feet and he raced off. I darted out from behind the wicket keen to grab the ball and throw it to the other end where he would be run out - scores tied. But as I threw it dad fell to the ground clutching the back of his foot.

Immediately we knew something was wrong and my initial thought was that he'd done broken his leg. We all ran over to him where he was in a lot of pain although we were all relieved to see no apparent break.

We helped him to his feet and grimacing he made it to the side where a derelict beach house stood and in the pouring rain we surrounded him as he felt the back of his ankle. Clearly in shock he told us he thought he may have snapped his achilles. You could see in his face the vision of spending the week in an Antiguan hospital loomed large. It was an unpleasant few minutes in all our lives.

Dave and I raced along the beach to a bar to get some ice and by the time we got back dad was looking a little more in control of the situation although he couldn't stand. We applied the ice and waited for the heavy rain to abate before helping him back to the nearest hotel where we took a cab straight back home.

It was a subdued evening as we realised there was no chance dad could make it to the cricket the next day. We all feared that he might not make it at all as the ankle started to swell up. And to be honest I felt responsible. Maybe it's the oldest kid syndrome where you feel that pretty much anything bad that happens is your fault but I couldn't help shake the feeling that it was me goading dad from the behind the wicket that had led to him darting along the sand. Also it had been my idea to play the damn game in the first place. And now it seemed as though an a whole new problem was going to get in the way of him watching the cricket. And a lot more painful reason to boot......

.........Fast forward to today (Wednesday) it's just past half past eleven, Owais Shah has just lost his middle stump and I'm in the press box watching England bat themselves into what should be a winning position. It's the fourth day of what has been a pretty decent Test match. And it's one that my dad has enjoyed too. After resting on the Sunday he hobbled along to a clinic on the morning of Monday only to find nobody was there. He was informed by one member of staff that all the nurses were at the opening of the new hospital. So he hobbled out, took a cab to the cricket, and has been here ever since. Getting around hasn't been easy. We've had to hire a golf buggy to get around the complex we're staying at. While the cabs to and from the ground are a lot more expensive than the buses. But as dad keeps saying. "It's all part of the rich tapestry of life!" The berk.