(Sung to the tune of ‘My Favourite Things)
Unplayable croquet lawns drenched through and sodden
Covered in worm casts, remaining untrodden
Kirby and Wood both have a mallet that pings
These are a few of my least favourite things
Arriving at rollup, finding cake plates deserted
“Where are the flapjacks?” most players have blurted
Chris says “play’s not on – to the balls, that mud clings”
These are a few of my least favourite things
When John Guy bites
When Dave Holt sings
When I’m feeling sad
I simply remember my least favourite things
And then I don’t feel so bad
Someone clears you from far – you feel anger flashes
Till you remember it’s Cooke, with one of his smashes
You forgive him his skill but still how it stings
These are a few of my least favourite things
Fran Wall aims his mallet like swinging a sporran
Four players deserted us for somewhere foreign
Who knows what the Met Office every day brings
These are a few of my least favourite things
When your index drops
And your approach flops
And you’re feeling bad
I simply remember my least favourite things
And then I don’t feel so sad
(A Steely breakfast at The Bell helps)
Paul Felton