It has been icy in the streets around Fantasy Bob's abode in recent days. He has been slipping and sliding and has been lucky not to have measured his length. The doughty groundsmen of the council seem to have run out of the copius amounts of sawdust required to secure his footholds.
But Mrs FB has come to the rescue. After an encounter on the doorstep with an Amazonian, she came into the room where FB languished reviewing the scoresheets from some of his long forgotten bowling spells. Many would suggest they were justly forgotten.
She thrust a parcel in his direction, down the corridor of uncertainty.
'What's that?' FB gruffly inquired, for he had been disturbed in the middle of an over in which (on his recollection) a couple of simple catches had been grassed.
'Open it and find out,' she said seductively.
FB did as instructed and revealed the treasure within.
'Croutons!' he exclaimed.
Mrs FB sighed, either at his ignorance or his pathetic punning. Or quite possibly both.
'Crampons. They should help next time you go out for the milk,' she said, a hint of an instruction in her voice.
FB tried them out and was pleased to find that when it came to milk delivery, his stride was now secure. He acknowledged the wisdom of her investment to Mrs FB.
'Good', she said, 'I'm sure you'll get lots of use out of them.'
'I think you're right,' he said with a gleam in his eye.
As he returned to contemplate the scoresheets of games long ago, FB felt confident that could now avoid investment in new footwear for the coming cricket season.
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