Jim had worked as a groundsman for nearly 40 years in all, but nothing diminished for him the feeling of easing the stumps into position in the Springtime, topping and tailing the pristine and adored rectangle of bothered grass. Today was no different. He placed the bails with spirit-level fingers and stepped back in pride, rubbing the base of his grumbling spine with calloused but caring hands.
His quiet satisfaction was brought abruptly to a halt by a presence at his shoulder. Jim spun round sharply and saw before him an immense character, his face and body obscured by a dark, flowing cape. In his pale and flesh-less hand he held a farming instrument that was almost as tall as he. Jim believed it was a scythe.
"Excuse me…" a soft but resonant voice began from deep within the endless hood. "You haven't seen Football have you…?"
"I think it went that way" Jim answered calmly, pointing vaguely in the direction of a nearby gutter.
"Much obliged" replied the stranger doffing the top of his hood slightly and gliding into the near distance.
"You're welcome squire" replied Jim the groundsman absently, before stepping lightly forward to brush a daisy petal off a good length.
It was nearly time.
