I was injured while playing a cup game on 147F at Sheddocksley.
Umpteen stitches, but ankle ligaments was the real problem.
I had stayed to watch the final 15 minutes.
Whistle goes and everyone heads for the pavilion.
The b’astards all disappeared into the gloom as the light quickly faded.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank Spike ( Murdo) McDonald RIP for being the only one to lend a shoulder to allow me to hop the four and a half miles back.
By the time we got there most of the aforementioned b’astards were already back at the Malt Mill.

