Saturday was a day of firsts for the girls. First train journey, first escalator glide, first tube ride and first live cricket match. Not just any cricket match and not just any venue. Only the Friends Provident trophy at Lord’s, the ‘Cathedral of Cricket’ (copyright for slogan, erm, me).
R and G acted like they had done it all a million times before. R even fell asleep on the tube on the way there. G had a competition with herself to see how many random people she could smile at and grab their attention. I lost count after the umpteenth person grinned and waved at her.
Not only is Lord’s the ‘Cathedral of Cricket’ (it’s going to catch on, trust me) it is also an extremely family friendly venue. We wondered up to one of the entrances and a steward magically appeared and ushered us through a gate. We were greeted by an incredibly friendly security guard who smiled and chatted with the girls while our bags were checked. We were shown to a lift to get to our seats in the grandstand and another steward found somewhere to store our buggies (we took a single buggy each) and escorted us to our seats, which were handily at the end of a row so we could escape easily if needed. We asked to use the baby changing facilities and they were basic but clean and perfectly adequate for our needs.
During the game, dh and I took it in turns to take one of the babies out for a wonder around the facilities in their slings. We were sitting with my parents so they helped with the babies and I got to spend some one-on-one time with R and G individually. One lap of the ground and R was snoozing peacefully. It was lovely to just potter about in extremely scenic surroundings. I reckon that even if you didn’t like cricket very much you would find enough about the place to have a pretty enjoyable day out.
To say that my dad is a passionate cricket fan is an understatement. He has been going to watch Kent since he was a mere lad and this is the first time for years that they have been truly competitive. He wasn’t so much watching the game as bowling every ball, playing every shot and taking every dismissal like a personal insult. I was on one of my sojourns with R so I didn’t actually witness it but I’m told that when one of the Kent players got an Essex player out, dad celebrated by running up and down the stand with G in his arms. I dread to think what would have happened if Kent had actually won. Several of us had visions of Sky Sports showing a baby flying through the air and on to the pitch!
One of the best things about going to a cricket match is people-watching. Groups of drunken men were reduced to gooey smiles at the sight of one of the babies slumped in a sling, snoozing away. They were chuckled under the chin about ten times on every lap of the ground. An elderly chap sitting near us leaned over, looked at the babies and said ‘Twins?’. We nodded, he said ‘I’m a twin’ and his (identical) twin brother appeared behind him. Florid-looking gents in MCC ties beamed at the girls and congratulated us on starting them so young.
On the way back, we happened to be in the same tube carriage as two extremely drunk Kent fans. Dh, who was also wearing his Kent shirt (the shame) was greeted with a ‘OOOAARGH KENT!’ and he reluctantly nodded back. Drunken man went back to bantering with his mate about getting a late pass out from the missus and going to a strip club. About five minutes later, one of the blokes turned back to dh, looked at me and said (to dh): ‘What are the chances of two identical buggies being in the same carriage?!’. For a moment I thought he was joking. His face said he was asking a serious question. Dh said, deadpan, ‘That would be because we’re together’. The man looked at all of us. The penny dropped. ‘Twins?’. We uh-huhed in reply. As we got off the tube, the same person said to dh. ‘Well done mate, well done!’ Silly me. I had forgotten that dh did so much work carrying them, giving birth to them and breastfeeding them. I played a mere supporting role in the whole twin production. The man must be congratulated on his superior sperm production skills. I sincerely hope that the stupid tosser got turned away from Stringfellows.
Aside from that (and I got a good anecdote out of it, so I shouldn’t complain too much), it was a fabulous day. As a Surrey fan, I didn’t give two hoots who won but suffice to say that dh and my dad were a little depressed at the end of the match. My sister, who had been sitting with her fellow Essex supporting cronies in the members’ section and had been supping Pimms and champagne all day was in a jubilant mood. I quite fancied some champagne so popped over to the champagne bar on the lawn to see how much a glass would set me back. The smallest quantity I could buy was half a bottle and that cost £35 (wtf?!) so I reluctantly declined and had a Pimms (ooh, very reasonable at £4.50 for a plastic beaker) instead. J must have some rich friends who don’t have children. Sigh.
Once again, surviving the day felt like such an achievement for us. It was really hard work but R and G were incredibly well-behaved and only got cranky when we got home and put them to bed, a good 3 hours past their normal bedtime. They managed to charm everyone and were quite fascinated by the whole spectacle. This time next year they may well be toddling about with mini cricket bats in their hands. It might be a while before they grow in to the England cricket shirts I bought them – age 3-4 years size, although the rate that they are growing at the moment, they might be wearing them by next week…
