Fitful night’s sleep again.

Caught myself saying “goodness, gracious me” the other day. Ever since I keep dreaming about that interview Steve McClaren did when he was managing in Holland. The one with him speaking in a horrible fake accent.

Can only hope self-awareness will stop me becoming a monster.


May have to rethink policy of using early morning swimming as an aerobic workout.

I’ll miss the power surge of blowing my whistle from the lifeguard’s chair, but the sessions simply don’t work when the older players cut corners by doing widths rather than lengths. I expect that kind of laziness from them in the field, not when we’re getting down to the serious business of training.

How can Mukund and Raina experience the full cardiovascular benefit of practising their backstroke when Rahul’s doggy paddling backwards and forwards across the pool with absolutely no regard for lane discipline? Why would Ishant want to dispense with his water wings when he sees Sachin being gently towed up and down in an inflatable chair?

This isn’t a training session; it’s anarchy. The sort of anarchy an authority figure with a whistle can’t ignore.


Everybody out of the water.

Not you Sachin. Sreesanth and Manuf are getting a good workout pulling you around.


Sehwag returns with eight runs off thirty-two deliveries. Project Tavare is progressing nicely.

I’ll turn that lad into a proper test batsman if it’s the last thing I do as Indian coach.

Which indeed it may well be.