the complete kit of hand tools

Artisans,

At the Sydney Test match this year, they had a few Indian Chappies out of the back of The Members near the nets, making cricket bats.
The full workshop inside a small tent.
All the motors and lathes and grinders, and the complete kit of hand tools, planes, fine shavers, little chisels, frightening swords, Ghurka knives, that sort of thing.
Channel Nine filmed MJ Clarke down there at what looked like a bit of a distance with poor sound; don't know if it was a hastily cobbled together ruse, or if it was something in passing and he really didn't know the camera was there.
Probably the former.
In any case, Pup, dressed in an immaculately cut blue suit and tie that looked Italian, so fitted him like a glove, was chatting to one of the bat makers and doing this machine gun rapid stream of conciousness thing while gesticulating:
"Now look, see here? This is what I want. [points out with thumb and forefinger that the bat can't be anymore than four-and-a-quarter inches wide]. That's all good up and down there, but I like the shoulders a bit lower than that, and they have to be shaved off there, curved off a longer than usual bat handle, you know what I mean? and here, I'm a right hander, so I need the right hand edge here to be shaved in a little in comparison to the left edge, and here, see on the spine of the bat [turns the bat over and turns it upside down], what I need is all the weight of the bat, right here, just get it all up in here".
From time to time the Indian Chappie would interject with "no Sir! yes Sir! three bags full Sir!"
Clarkey, as always, was looking for the "sweet spot".
Later in the match, after Warner had lent one of his favourite bats to Harris to go the tonk, all the old blokes in the telly commentary said "why on earth would you lend your favourite bat to someone else?".
Obviously Pup knew different "Davey couldn't care. He always has two or three on the go, because he doesn't want to get too comfortable with one, or have a favourite bat, in case it breaks"
Smiffy must be thinking the fairytale honeymoon can't be true.
He would've never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would score four first innings tons on the trot batting at four or five, let alone three of them as a new skipper, to stand alone as the first and only to do so.
Never mind the six-lane highways they were scored on, lovingly prepared, as they were, by friendly curators.
Not his fault - thanks for coming!
Some might quibble with the inexperienced tactics and field placings on the last day in Sydney, but hey, the bloke's young and new to the leadership caper.
2-0 will do.
He can only go on what he's been shown and told.
All the while the fielding coach - surely they'd have one - would've be driven mad by the number of dropped catches.
He's probably in the lunatic asylum drugged out of his mind dreaming that if only they'd just held them all, they would have gone 4-0 up, easy.
You know what they say about catches and winning matches.
As always, what could of have been, and all bets off.
The Stats Guru has had the abacus whirring for a while now, and even he can't keep up with the records, so much so he slumped exhausted in his beanbag and sighed "Oh, Joisus! A lot of blokes went large"
Wandered into the Front Bar at The Local on Saturday afternoon and found the Brown Bros carrying on in a grand fashion; some of them were even barracking for the Strayans.
Most unusual.
Asked them why?
They pointed out their mob of Kiwis had just beaten Ceylon 2-0 while no one was noticing, and all the bats went large..."see you next year, eh? bru!"
Couldn't refuse a middie out of their jugs of beer; and they know their cricket.
Everyone's a winner, baby...