The season is the reason the cricketers wear white, and take long rests inbetween runs, because it is a summer game. A gentle delight in the summer, watching as the ball flies here and there, sipping lemonade and watching men sweating at each run. This is from when I was teaching in Pakistan, where they had a huge cricket field at Aitchison College, in Lahore. Much of old India still remains, though much has been destroyed, and some is falling into disrepair now as we speak. I used to get into a panic about it, and would dash to see my friend Head of English at Punjab Uni and urge him, ......but the doors are beautifully hand carved, you must do something about it. He would tell me gently, it doesn't matter, we have to be ourselves now. I absolutely disagreed as I think all beautiful things are worth hanging onto and as a teacher at my University in East Germany said to me: why should we pull that statue down, wasn't the Red Soldier here in our history? which made me think again. The old India, now Pakistan, was wonderful and I treasure those few bits which I experienced though it was not so long ago for me, silver tea pots on silver platters for tea, white gloved waiters, chips sprinkled with chilli on lacy paper doileys, under a spreading tree casting shadows for white covered tea tables under the hot sun. I saw some amazing sights which I will always remember, but the young Pakistanis seem unaware and are not even interested and when I wrote long letters describing the spirit of their land to an intelligent university girl, she didn't even answer!