Arundel, field of suspension of disbelief

The Arundel steward, resplendently rumpled in his hi-vis vest, seemed surprised by the question. "Whazzat? Do I have a hot drink?" It seemed only right to ask, considering he had explained that a hot drink could be found near the pavilion a hundred or so metres around a generous bend from the front gate where he was stationed.

"Dya know, I left home in my car this morning with a flask of hot water. It fell over on the way here and all the water leaked out. So now I've got a wet boot and no tea."

He said this with a relish peculiar to the English. They'll be devastated should they, by some rogue wrinkle in the national psyche, veer anywhere near happiness. Icarus would understand.

Tuesday was a day for hot drinks. "Feels Like: 6 degrees," the phone said. It was actually a reasonable 14 degrees Celsius, but a south-westerly wind of 35 kilometres-an-hour that pumped itself up to 60 km/h when it felt like testing the strength of umbrella ribs made that a fiction.

Umbrellas there duly were. A miserable little drizzle set in as the tardier breakfasters were finishing their eggs, and had shown no sign of abating before the scheduled 10.30am start. Welcome to the third day of the great British summer. To be fair, days one and two dazzled with sunshine in these parts.

Tuesday wasn't a day for cricket, but cricket is why we were here. Sirens rent Arundel's bleak skies at 9.12am, signalling the approaching end of the squads' 45-minute journey from their shared hotel in Portsmouth towards the most quintessentially English of grounds. In the southern, countrified sense, at least.

This is where South Africa's men's team will use a four-day match against Zimbabwe to complete their competitive preparation for the WTC final against Australia at Lord's, which starts next Wednesday. Arundel is about as far out of Africa as two teams from that continent could get. Still, there are worse places to find yourself up cricket's creek without the paddle of a ball bowled on a wet, wintry Tuesday.

A minimalism saves the leafy opulence from itself. All that's needed to play a game of cricket is here, as is a lot more. Tall, pleasantly plump trees wreath the ground, save for a fat gap on the eastern boundary that affords a glorious view of the fields of the Weald beyond. There is windsong and birdsong.

The field itself is an utterly English greensward. Around it is a naked rope denuded of anything so crass as a triangular cushion festooned with advertising. Behind that are gently undulating grass banks. There is not a boundary board to be seen, much less horizontal slabs of electronica that flit from one garish ad to the next. Out of sight to the southeast is Arundel Castle, which turns 958 years old this year. "How English," a visiting South African says. "They call it the Arundel Castle Cricket Club, but you can't see the castle from the ground."

A pair of sightscreens, a couple of scoreboards - their orange LEDs gleaming in the gloom incongruously - a relatively modest pavilion to the north west - its tiled roof hugging a small gable sheltering a clock - and a scattering of other buildings - one of them equipped with an indoor school boasting a bowling machine so advanced there are only five in the world - complete the scene.

Sixty-seven plastic folding chairs have been arranged behind 13 wooden benches atop the grass banks. Significantly fewer than 67 members of the club are huddled under a roofed deck nearby. They have hot drinks in hand, but their hopes of seeing any cricket are growing colder by the minute. If any of them are a day younger than 67, it doesn't show.

Each of them had shelled out GBP12 for a ticket to the day's play. Which looked like never happening. A South African living in London joined the club purely to attend on Wednesday. That cost him a membership fee of GBP110 and a once-off joining cost of GBP25. He was welcomed aboard the good ship ACCC, and politely but firmly told tickets for the match had been sold out.

Non-members are not allowed in unless they have been accredited by the ICC. This could be construed as an allergy to the rest of the human race. But the members and the staff are a delight in that clubbable way cricket holds dear. A man walks up to the food and drink kiosk and asks, "Do you have any sunshine?" The woman behind the counter replies, "No. But we do have sun-cream."

The current ACCC chair is Alistair Subba Row, son of Raman Subba Row, who earned 13 Test caps for England as an opening batter from July 1958 to August 1961. Subba Row senior was the son of an Indian barrister and an English mother. He played as a "gentleman" in the era of segregation between amateurs and professionals.

There's a whiff of that time in Arundel today. Much of the town, an almost too pretty collection of Tudor buildings, ancient pubs, at least one of them more than 500 years old, and quirky shops, none of them cheap, is owned by the Duke of Norfolk. The incumbent, the 18th in the line, is one Edward William Fitzalan-Howard, who has sat in the House of Lords as a crossbench peer since February 2003.

He has yet to ask a spoken or written question there, but he has voted in favour of a hunting bill five times and against twice. He has approved of measures on sexual equality, assisted dying and civil partnerships, but opposed an Economic Crime and Corporate Transparency Bill.

Dear Fitzy is of the double-hyphenated classes; his mother's surname was Constable-Maxwell. According to the UK parliament's list of registered interests, he is a director of 11 companies and a shareholder in 24, and he owns property in Sussex, Norfolk, North Yorkshire, South Yorkshire, Sheffield and London.

One of the Arundel members is holding an MCC umbrella. Good thing it's furled, because a week ago high winds ripped one of the meatier boughs off a horse-chestnut tree that has stood on the western boundary for, it is thought, 175 years. The branch crashed into a nearby marquee, destroying one of its segments. The marquee was efficiently and seamlessly repaired, but the tree and the ground where its severed limb fell are significantly scarred.

Tuesday's weather isn't as theatrical, but it does get in the way of the cricket. The game has always been a collection of cameos, and some of the lesser-spotted among them play out in Arundel's wings while the drizzle sizzles down.

Marco Jansen finds a quiet corner behind the pavilion to have a cigarette and a chat with a steward who wears his optimism on his head: a straw fedora. Aiden Markram avails himself of the indoor nets for a throwdown session, and confirms that the hamstring he tweaked at the IPL is "fine, thank you". Jansen ducks into the indoor nets to have a warm conversation with Justin Sammons, Zimbabwe's current head coach and formerly South Africa's batting consultant. Rivash Gobind, now Zimbabwe's analyst, a position he previously held with South Africa, is outside doing the same with Ryan Rickelton.

"The sun's been shining since we got here, and now this," Charl Langeveldt says as he sidles past, hands firmly in pockets. Langeveldt should know. He used to be South Africa's bowling coach. Now he's Zimbabwe's and has been in this country since the second week of May.

The cross-pollination is not lost on Shukri Conrad: "We're neighbours, and a lot of their support staff have been part of the Proteas set-up. So we've got a really good relationship. They played [a Test at Trent Bridge last month] and they were very happy to stay on and give us this game. We tour Zimbabwe in a few weeks' time, and we're looking forward to that; we haven't toured there in a very long time."

The South Africans will play two Tests in Bulawayo from June 28 to July 10 before travelling to Harare for an T20 triseries, also featuring New Zealand, from July 14 to 26. You have to go back to September 2014 to find the last time South Africa ventured across the Limpopo River to play neighbours who are getting noisier, in Test terms anyway.

After the WTC final South Africa won't play Tests until their two matches in India in November. New Zealand will be in Bulawayo in July and August for two Tests, and Afghanistan are due to visit Zimbabwe to play two more before the end of the year. In all the Zimbabweans will play 11 Tests this year - three more than South Africa and more than any team except Australia, who also have 11 on their fixture list.

And that even though Zimbabwe are not part of the WTC. So why bother with all those Tests? Because they want to improve and prove themselves worthy of a place at the top table, which they shouldn't have to do considering they are full members of the ICC. Maybe their intent has been recognised - CSA were going to pick up the tab for Zimbabwe's trip to Arundel. Now the ICC will.

The rain teases, disappearing long enough for the first of the covers to be removed at 11.57am. It helps that there is mainly chalk under the outfield's turf, which drains well. By 12.23pm the square is bare and the pitch is revealed in all its straw-coloured splendour. The sun looms behind the cloud curtain, waiting for its audience to believe it is going to appear.

We are told play will start at 1.40pm, then at 2pm. We are given session times. The players appear to warm up, albeit gingerly. They shriek into the frigid air with forced enthusiasm, willing themselves to make sense of the nonsense that they will soon be out there without their tracksuits, gloves and beanies. But they are reprieved - just when the prospect of cricket seems unavoidable a downpour has everyone scurrying for cover. The relief is palpable.

Play is abandoned for the day at 3pm. By 5pm the sun is blazing through the windows of Arundel's pubs, some of them more than 500 years old.

Wednesday dawns golden, though not warm. At 10.30am sharp Tanaka Chivanga chugs in to bowl the first ball of the match to Markram, whose stout forward defence thwoks into the brightness. There is no run. But there is cricket. Here's hoping there is also a hot cuppa for the steward on the gate.