It was the weekend of the finals of the World Cricket Cup and my family were making our pilgrimage to Cricket Island to watch our team, The West Indies in their struggle against New Zealand.
On the Island behind the cover of the perimeter tree line my brothers and uncles had set up the satellite dishes necessary to beam the game onto our home made screen.
Our family was big and the passion for cricket amongst us had never waned.
It was a complete weekend away. Camp sites were allocated and everyone brought food to share and we knew it would be a great time, a lot of fun, our own cricket matches played both on the sandy beach and on the flat ground in the middle of the camp.
We all had our favourite players both present and past and so often we played believing we were that player who ruled over either batsmen or bowler.
On Saturday evening when the game begun the excitement among us could be felt. We all wanted our boys to do well but we also knew our opponents were an excellent team.
Our fortunes rose and fell as the evening went on. At one point we would be up at another defeat stared us in the face.
A six-hour cricket match with so much riding on it is an exhausting business. We knew whatever the result we would sleep well that night.
(Tomorrow Saturday the West Indies play New Zealand in the quarter-final of the Cricket World Cup)