To be fair I didn't want to turn out. Even though the scorecard said 'M Parkinson (Barnsley and England)' and tickled my fancy, I still told my skipper I would umpire but not play. I didn't bring any gear which is how I came to take the field wearing borrowed cream flannels, such as were worn when Gilbert Jessop was a lad, and a pair of two-tone golf shoes. I was in the best of company.

The opposition included Mike Procter, Mike Denness, Collis King, Phil Edmonds. Our team had David Gower, Alvin Kallicharran, Courtney Walsh, Brian Close, Mike Brearley and Ian Chappell. This explains why I was standing at mid-on when Courtney Walsh took the new ball and ran in to bowl at Collis King. Mr King, who is renowned for not mucking about, hit the first ball he received very hard straight at me. Had I not got my hands to it I would have been amputated at the ankles. As it was, two of the fingers on my right hand turned purple and were swollen like pork sausages. Play was held up while I fought back the tears.

David Gower inspected the damage. ``That's all right,'' he said, in an offhand manner. I asked him to explain, though not as politely as that. ``That is blood showing, not bone,'' he said. Thanks David. Mike Procter, who was the batsman at the bowler's end, was much more sympathetic. He stood wide of the crease and told me to hide behind him, promising to prevent any further missiles coming my way. He wasn't put to the test because Mr King flashed at one outside the off stump which bounced off second slip's chest before he could move and was taken by Brian Close on the rebound.

Several onlookers were reminded of the number of catches taken on the bounce from Brian's body during his career as the shortest of short legs. Most were taken off his skull, including one which bounced so far from his head it was caught by extra cover.

My hand wringing and grimacing at the discomfort I was suffering brought little sympathy from Mr Close, who believes there is no such thing as pain and even injuries like broken legs will go away if you don't acknowledge them. He told us later that although he had taken several fearsome blows to the head when fielding, he had collapsed only once and that was when Richard Gilliat conked him when Yorkshire were playing Hampshire. ``Even then I only went down for two seconds,'' he said, proudly.

I managed to avoid any further disaster until a nick went between me and Ian Chappell. I was ambling in pursuit when Mr Chappell, who could turn a vicarage tea party into the Nuremberg Rally, offered to race me to the ball. Foolishly I set off only to pull up with an injured fetlock. In fact I pulled my hamstring. I was reassured by the fact I still had one to pull, but was, nonetheless, reduced to hobbling round the field like Long John Silver. Again this caused great amusement among my colleagues, particularly the aforesaid Ian Chappell who made several remarks which revealed his prejudice against Poms in general and Yorkshiremen in particular. It is the first time I have been sledged by a member of my own team.

I was thinking of hobbling off and getting stuck in to a pint or two (for medicinal purposes, you understand) when our skipper, Victor Blank, asked me to bowl a few overs. Mr Blank is a keen tactician and though incapacitated I was determined to prove his decision the turning point of the match. I was eager to repeat my feat of 25 years ago when, at Edgbaston, I achieved my greatest success by bowling Alvin Kallicharran.

In those days Mr Kallicharran was in his prime. Nonetheless the man who scored more than 4,000 runs in Test cricket was no match for my 'Dambusters' ball, so called because it bounced several times before hitting the target. It was significant he was standing at square leg on the very day I hobbled in to prove to the world that what happened all those years ago was no fluke. My opponent was Phil Edmonds, who, in common with Mr Chappell, does not believe in friendly cricket. He smote one ball to the boundary, and, perhaps giddy with success, came down the wicket to the next ball. Mr Edmonds had three swings but obviously had not encountered anything like it in a long career. He didn't know it was the dreaded 'Dambuster'. It pitched in my half of the wicket, and trundled down the pitch before hitting the middle stump. I celebrated with high fives from Mr Kallicharran who said had I been in the England team when he was playing for the West Indies he would certainly not have averaged 44.

The next day I could barely move. I was stiff as a stick with bruised and swollen fingers and a terrible limp. It was so bad I had to hire a buggy at the golf club. I told the pro I had been injured playing cricket. ``How did you get on?'' he said. ``Oh we won and I took two for 15. As a matter of fact I bowled out Phil Edmonds,'' I said, nonchalantly. He seemed impressed. He wasn't to know the ball bounced five times before hitting the stumps. Alvin Kallicharran is my bunny. In my dreams.