Had the dream again last night. That dream. The reoccurring one.

The one with a scantily clad Ravi Shastri prancing around on stage to a bhangra beat. Gyrating round a metal pole. Stopping only to let IPL franchise owners stuff banknotes down his BCCI employee of the month posing pouch.

Shilpa Shetty and Preity Zinta shielding their eyes. Lalit Modi licking his lips. Liz Hurley up to her wrists in leather undercrackers as she rifles around trying to “break up a 50”.

It’s to be thankful I woke up while Sunil Gavaskar was still backstage warming up his snake…

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Apparently press criticism in India is intensifying.

Please, if I was interested in what the Indian press thinks, I’d learn to read Indian.

As far as I’m concerned, they can moan all they like about lack of preparation. The BCCI knew my philosophy when I was hired: it’s better to be underprepared than overcooked.

Give me warm bread rather than burnt toast. Give me salmonella rather than a hardboiled egg. Give me a cheese roll rather than a ham and pickle ciabatta – that’s not related, I just hate pickle (or ‘bloody English pickle’ as Ravi would call it).

It’s like I’ve told the boys before. If you’ve only five minutes before the world ends you don’t waste time on foreplay.

Although I probably should have mentioned that in one of our coaching sessions. Saying it in passing as they filed out of breakfast seemed to throw some of them. Taken out of context it does seem a pretty random thing to say…

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