Picture the scene: late afternoon, in the back garden of the staff house. The sun is shining, and the boys are playing cricket (slightly modified to fit the tiny proportions of the garden), while the one girl present reads and suns herself. When you aren’t playing, you sit out on the patio, sipping a cold beer and letting the sun warm you. When you are, you head up to bat and an enthusiastic bowler gives your abs a workout by throwing the tennis ball straight into your stomach. The game becomes a mixture of skill, slapstick and sheer dumb luck, depending on who’s playing and how much they actually know about cricket. This is how you relax after work. You play on, drink beer, crack jokes, throw balls around. You wouldn’t change any of it for the world.