It's just not cricket

Memorandum to house-mate:

If you don't turn down the thermostat before going to bed, willow will whack each of your leathery balls, in turn, clear past the boundary and out of the stadium, securing an unambiguous score of six. Twice. Twelve in total. One short of a baker's dozen. Two short of an active sex life.

And they call me passive-aggressive.

Howzat?