HELLO darling ones! Saturday’s game was Gentlemen v Players, and as we Wags say, OHMYGOD it was simply FABULOUS, schweetie!
Being a lady (yes Jon Kitteridge, I can hear you guffawing from here) Mrs Wag decided to wear a fascinator (thank you Alexandra Bailey) and act in a manner befitting the Wag of a gentlemen player.
Unfortunately a rather large vat of white and Rose wine (not at the same time, one hastens to add) accidentally fell down Mrs Wag’s throat at some point and the fascinator, together with the ladylike-ness, slipped somewhat towards the end.
As the final innings came to a gripping end Mrs Wag was overheard (by Baron Toby Joseph) saying to Cap’n Lady Lorna Wilson: “I’m not sure I can be arsed to watch my husband batting.”
Which was a shame, as apparently Mr Wag did rather well and hit a four.
Top totty of the match was undoubtedly the Honourable Tree God.
His insouciance on the pitch – a kind of Mick Jagger-esque swagger as he fielded – was mesmerising – or at least until he fell over in agony having torn a hamstring.
Off the pitch highlights included the joyous hilarity of watching top physicist David “Baghdad” Berman grapple with a roll of cling film as he attempted to cover a plate of sandwiches, on Wag orders.
String theory may be all well and good for the universe and Stephen Hawking, Baggers, but it clearly doesn’t work when it comes to cheap food wrap.
Mr Mark Hughes was overheard saying: “I spent five hours on her yesterday; I feel like I’ve neglected her over the last few months”, prompting much excited comment among the Wags over which of the former future Mrs Hughes may be about to make a reappearance, but it turned out he was talking about his motorbike.
Proof of the sheer poshness of the event though, was during tea when a very-well spoken woman was exclaimed: “Oh, lovely – quails eggs! Who keeps quails?”. Typically, Mr Wag ruined the moment by responding: “Waitrose.”
Given this was an all-club affair, the tables simply groaned with sandwiches and sweet treats this week.
Burkitt Junior’s inclusion in the team (and I think we can all guess which side he played for) meant his clan was back in contention in the cake stakes – and they more than lived up to their previous offerings with a delectably moist banana bread.
But they were pipped to the post by a true expert. Professor Sue Bailey of the University of Barton made the loveliest, lightest, daintiest little fairy cakes, complete with buttercream icing and little sprinkles.
Grown men (well, Mr Wag) swooned; small children went berserk and we Wags simply looked on in the way we admire other beautiful things such as Elle McPherson, Angelina Jolie or Waitrose’s 4.99 wine selection display.
So Prof Bailey – step forward! Your prize is your own dedicated VIP seat at the Blue Ball.
The Stool of Prestige is conveniently situated right next to the bar, against a wall for vital back support. It’s close to the fireplace for those cold winter evenings but also perfectly-placed for people watching, chatting and drinking in the summer as well as for the odd nap if the mood takes you.
Yes, Prof Bailey, you are hereby awarded permanent tenancy of Bailey’s seat of choice!
He’s going to be FAR too busy maintaining his new gentlemanly look (see below) now anyway to spend much time there…
Mrs Wag never thought she’d say this of the GCC crew, but the best-dressed prize contained a crowded field this time.
Multiple former winner Mr Mark Hughes was not only soberly dressed (BORING!) but practically teetotal too (he even donated his champers to the Wags) and came nowhere in the running.
So who to choose, who to choose…? Dapper George Hill was a strong contender with his old Etonian top hat (an uncle’s apparently – George himself went to “the other place”) and won extra points for keeping it on while fielding and batting with some prowess.
Mr Wag looked raffish in his MCC tie but lost vital points for forgetting it in the first place and making Mrs Wag go back to the house to fetch it.
All of which segues nicely into the vexed issue of His Honour Judge John Bailey.
Now, as readers of this blog will know, the name of Mr B is not normally associated with the best-dressed accolade.
In fact he is as strange to this award as John Roos is to customer service training, but we have to admit he went all out this week (Mr B, not Roos, obvs).
Stripy, raffish blazer? Check! Clean trousers (done up and shirt tucked in) ? Check! Elegant cravat? Um, sort of.
Prof Sue Bailey and Mrs Wag bonded over the joint inability of their husbands to ACTUALLY REMEMBER ONE ITEM OF CLOTHING and the subsequent demands of said husbands that said wives should go back home and get said items.
If Prof Bailey and Mrs W had been two divas singing the flower duet in the opera Lakme they could not have been more in synch with their thoughts on this issue, which mainly consisted of driving home muttering (OK, shouting): “Chet tiet ngu’oi dan ong khong du nang lu’c mgu ngoc!” (These imprecations have been translated into Google Vietnamese to spare the blushes of everyone except Mr Mark Hughes, who, we suspect, has no blushes left.)
But we have to admit the silk cravat did add a certain panache and Mr B’s eventual ensemble was fetching in the extreme (pics will be on the Facebook page shortly).
So, onto this week’s winner: step forward and receive your garland, Mr Jerry Graggain!
Displaying what Vogue will no doubt be calling “Oklahoma chic” in next month’s magazine, Mr G was the star of the players’ team with a perfectly put-together outfit including braces, checkered necktie and flat cap.
Lady Chatterley (and possibly Lady Mary Archer, if she’d been there) would have been in her element.
Cap’n Stephen Wilson will no doubt accuse Mrs Wag of displaying (not for the first time) filthy socialist tendencies but she stands firm in her decision. The Players win again!
Mwah mwah until next time, sweeties! Xx