Like any well-trained provincial journo I always look for the local angle while writing about cricket, indeed many would say that if readers live out with the old 15-mile Lancashire League residential qualification radius, I might just as well be writing using a Cyrillic alphabet for all 'foreigners' are likely to comprehend.
But forgive me this week if I stray a little from purely parochial themes. I've been just about as far as you can get from the North West of England without crossing a sea.
Not that I'm out of touch with goings-on close to home, I kept in touch with Cherry Tree's game on Saturday from atop a precipitous cliff top in Wick looking out for seals and dolphins and while Accrington were toppling old foes Church on Sunday I was checking PlayCricket Live while umpiring a game on what is believed to be mainland Britain's northernmost cricket ground , a game which became part of a far bigger and more worthy story.
To rewind a week first, Mrs Wilky (Lesley) and I set out Northwards on a voyage of re-discovery for my wife whose late mum was born at Dunnet Head, close to John O'Groats. Christine, of the Sutherland Clan, died aged 48 when Lesley was half her age and she knew little about the early school years her mum spent up there before being moved to Rishton to live with grandparents.
I was delighted to find our first stop was at a Lochside village named St Filan close to a hotel The Beatles stayed at after a Dundee gig in October 1964 when Lesley was two months old. We watched the 100 on the iPad in our digs.
There was a little cricket ground nearby in a tiny village named Comrie, much lovelier than its bigger neighbour Crieff, a place for which writer Keith Waterhouse's phrase 'it looked like a town helping police with their enquiries' might have been conjured up.
We had a day out in Stirling but with the weather far too hot to climb to the Wallace Monument or Castle, rode out to the cricket ground solely for the purpose of taking a few snaps before heading back to base.
But cricket tends to find me even at the most unexpected moments.
Before I'd even realised there were two distinct Ovals, a little like Longridge or Vernon Carus have twin pitches, a chap came along and told me an international T20 game would shortly begin on the main pitch which revealed itself around the dressing rooms and pavilion building - gloriously beneath a backdrop of aforesaid Wallace Tower, Castle and Ochills.
Scotland A had beaten Denmark the day before in an ODI but in the second fixture on the morning before I arrived, the Scandinavian men had bowled a much-changed host side out for 65 and knocked them of in no time.
Sure enough, red Danish tops and gear were spread on the grass drying.
Rather than waste a glorious day they'd decided to take lunch then play an afternoon T20 and it turned out a cracker. I was only able to watch the Danes bat but they made around 182 for 7 - I say 'around' as the grumpy and frankly rather rude Scotland scorer told me to "go away, I need to get this to balance" when I asked him a perfectly polite question as to where I could wait till he discovers scoring with Apps!) - and I believe the Scots knocked them off.
Everyone else was delightfully friendly and hospitable. A chap named Jon Taylor said he'd played at Blackpool and knew my buddy Peter Gardener, ex Ossy Immanuel pro who pro'd at Stenhousemuir before that and will return to help celebrate their 150th anniversary in 2026.
An Australian spectator was dad to one of at least three Scotland lads from Ayr CC who will go to the World Under-19 Cup in Namibia and Zimbabwe early next year. I told him we had a Scotland U-19 at Accrington too, Darcey Carter.
He was very nice but I'm sure he'd agree not as utterly charming as the actress Holly Woodhouse, who'll be following her son Jake and another Ayr teammate Olly Jones under those African skies.
Holly formerly worked as a lawyer with management agency IMG so she knows her way around elite sport. Chatting with her and Jake's uncle Ken, the only spectators braving the heat out in the open, was well worth me and Rollo doing a solitary lap around the baking hot Stirling County Cricket Club ground.
It was at Stirling I also became aware of another lady on the Scottish cricket scene, former Worcestershire player Olivia Robinson, who had passed through during a walk from Lands End to John O'Groats (also one of our destinations) raising money for the Chance to Shine cricketing charity and burying the spectre of her own anorexia problems which blighted her career before she moved to Australia and became an artist.
As someone who had my own mental health troubles over a tough decade or more before I met my wife I can relate to the terrible feeling of not wanting to leave the house or see anyone and it was nice that Olivia and I would cross paths later in the week.
A twitter enquiry and some helpful replies revealed to me that Dornoch was probably the most northerly cricket ground on the mainland and as luck would have it, we were to stay there from Sunday for a few days.
Furthermore, they had a game on Sunday.
We had a bit of sightseeing and family history to research in the gloriously elemental summer surrounds of the very far north before that but we had begun our passage back south by Saturday when I was able to 'enjoy' following both Cherry Tree and Rovers defeats to Barnoldswick and Birmingham City respectively.
As Ewood sighed with late disappointment, so too a couple of miles away as Cherry were bowled out 57 short of the border team's 164, at least taking two points which is two more than our footballing neighbours have thus far accrued.
It seems now Cherry Tree will remain in the mainly old Ribblesdale League-team-populated Championship Division of the NWCL unless any strange points deductions ensue, reported or otherwise. While we all want success, minimising the trips to the old Bolton League venues doesn't break my heart, a purely personal view.
We do need more teams however. With the old Ribblesdale Leagues and Bolton Leagues merging out of a state of flux in their respective set-ups, losing Settle and Whalley already to their chosen pastures new suggests that movement may not be at an end.
The revamped Lancashire League which has lost only Milnrow, who choose the GMCL after a solitary season well before Covid, was on my mind as I journeyed down to Dornoch via a stop at Helmsdale, home to Orange Juice dandy and songwriter par excellence Edwyn Collins, surely the greatest living Scotsman.
I had been in contact with the cricket club and as they hinted their league fixture against Ross County had to be scrapped due to the Dingwall-based side's inability to raise a travelling XI. Dornoch were awarded the points and could seal their league title with another win from their remaining two games.
The few available Ross players gamely did travel up though to take part in a friendly game made up mostly of Dornoch players, a few youngsters and, wonderfully, Olivia Robinson whose island-long sojourn included stops at more than 60 cricket grounds along the way.
They were underway when I arrived there and Accrington had reduced Church to 28 for five as I constantly refreshed my app.
I ended up umpiring the last 12 or so overs of the first team to bat's 30 overs and the whole of the second innings while keen photographer Lesley checked in at the comically inept caravan site (think Maplins in HI-De-Hi in the internet age) after taking some photos, her first venture into sports snapping which has yielded some impressive results.
Before, I had listened to a few tales of how the club, once defunct from what I gather, had reformed and got things moving with the ground - would you believe named The Meadows (my East Lancs heritage made that detail alone special) - and recruiting a team.
As well as several native Scots there were English (a couple of Yorkies - you hear Northern English voices relocated everywhere up here) London, Home Counties and American and Aussie accents.
I heard one gentleman tell how he'd become obsessed with cricket while confined to the house in 1981 watching the epic Botham's Ashes series. He'd worked at stately homes in Derbyshire with cricket fields (I'm guessing Chatsworth which I've visited) and yearned to get involved but been told 'there are no beginners' paths for adults."
Hard enough to start at that age at a club, never mind with the Duke of Devonshire's XI but at Dornoch they had relaunched with an 'everyone welcome to have a go' attitude.
A chap named David Smith offered to look after Rollo while I umpired. Pretty much a standard cricket Sunday for our family.
The Church score had edged to 50 for five as I glanced at my phone occasionally and I predicted to my pal Eddie who was at the iMEP by text that despite Church being weakened by losing Mo Bhada to the pro ranks with Immanuel, in-form Kelan Florentine and Andy Bentley would post a record 10th wicket stand - currently now held by Jurie Snyman and Damien Clarke if you discount daft 1800s games - whatever happened.
Accrington did turn the screw however and I hope the Church skipper and his many twitter advisors won't bombard me with censorious messages for 'commenting on a game I wasn't even there watching" when I say that this 44-year Church man metaphorically fist-pumped on learning he and the rest were bowled out for 73 (far from the most spectacular collapse in the division, Rawtenstall's 64 without loss, 66 all out v Nelson trumps all, spectacular and surely historic even by recent Lancs Lge Division two standards. I was chuffed that Kes got a red ink 0* to add to his collection).
As I've said before you can't score for a team and not want them to do well and, yes, I admit I was rooting for Accrington to win this one.
My own game was just as keenly contested if not quite as deadly serious. When the 'home' side lost 10 wickets with several of their 30 overs remaining the early batters were allowed back in. It would have been a shame, as they reckoned earlier in Stirling, not to use a glorious afternoon to the full.
It did turn colder later on. You soon learn that the weather can change very quickly up here and I asked Lesley to head back with extra layers.
Some clearly were learning the game but some old heads with plenty of experience took part also. A lad from Ross, Alan, no spring chicken but the first man I've had burp loudly on his short run-up while officiating, landed a few overs right on the spot at a couple of paces. He'd obviously played before and at a good standard.
A couple of the more senior lads cajoled, encouraged and schooled the rawer local recruits - I was delighted that at least one youthful Angus was participating - on their fielding positions and an Indian guy named Vish, a true competitor he, followed his impressive innings by bowling skilfully on the artificial wicket and taking a couple of outstanding catches in the deep.
Olivia opened for the 'visitors' and retired 22 not out without being unduly troubled by Vish and fellow opener Vince, a burly Bradfordian who had been scoring when I arrived. All the while I was furtively glancing at the derby score excitedly keeping her abreast of Alice Clarke's innings in the Accrington reply.
What a shame Alice didn't get to hit the winning run, out with scores level but I know Andy Bentley's late dad Fred would have had no truck with handing out any sentimental free gifts with Lancashire League wickets and bowling bonus points to strive for.
It's a momentous win and great that even though the target was low, the amateurs made the bulk of the runs. Rawtenstall's collapse mean they are within sight if 'we' - yeah, you heard right - can follow up with a couple more wins.
Back in Scotland a lad named Cal, a real trier, playing in black shorts, took a couple of well-deserved wickets reminding me somewhat of myself cursing his one long hop per over, and also took a smart catch to get one of the very young kids bowling a victim then the Chatsworth man bowled the last couple from one end with a wonderfully idiosyncratic action, picking up a wicket and looking like he would have made a tricky customer if he'd been encouraged earlier.
I turned down a couple of stumping shouts. I think I was right on both and Alan the burper who had turned up from Ross deserved the benefit of the doubt and a couple of lives for his effort anyways.
The home XI won but the 'away' team of Olivia, Ross lads and guests could claim to have morally run them close or even won having allowed them 13 or 14 batsmen.
It was a delightful event, some nice speeches followed and Olivia was presented with £100 by Dornoch and taken back north to Wick where she had the luxury of a bed rather than as oftentimes on her journey, a tent awaiting her before her very final few miles on Monday to the furthermost point of the mainland.
For me, after a few more days in Dornoch without internet in the caravan but fully restored if you walk onto the beach 200 yards away (it's worked everywhere else in Northern Scotland without fail) as if you had crossed the Korean border southwards, it's back home for weekend and away games at Brinscall, a favourite club of mine, with Cherry Tree and Colne, where I haven't been since a young Levi Wolfenden scored a 100 (I'd look it up if Parkdene sorted our Wi-Fi out) with Accy on Sunday.
I may check out the two grounds in Inverness en route or even the location of Jurie's now-defunct old club Poloc when we stop overnight in Glasgow before the final leg of our long trail home.
It's been a special, magical 11 days up here. Haste we back, I hope.
Last week's quiz answer - Ryan and Sherwin Campbell the two pros with the Scottish-sounding surname.
This week - It was sad to hear that Aussie legend Bobby Simpson, record-breaking Accrington pro in 1959 and one-time Lancs coach had passed away last week. I'm sure the appropriate minute's silence and wearing of black armbands will/has marked the respects his death merits.
I was born just a few months before Bob's Thorneyholme Rd season commenced.
In the newspapers the day I was born a formidable opponent of Bob's, the England captain, was reported to have been refused entry to his Sydney hotel dining room on account of not sporting the required jacket and tie. Who was he and in which famous soccer city was he born?
