The final day of practise before our opening ODI of the tour has found Nottinghamshire’s favourite glass-jawed pugilist in full-on sulking mode following a complete lack of interest dans le camp anglais over the publication of his attention seeking memoir Hey, I’m over here, everyone stop and look at me! (I forget the actual title, but I think I’ve captured the tone of the work with that approximation).
The problem is Graeme’s built up his autobiography as being “packed full of lurid revelations” yet so far all we’ve learnt is that KP was a useless captain and Samit Patel likes chocolate bars. Exactly who’s supposed to be shocked by that? Everyone knows Kevin used to field with his eyes closed so he could watch the match back on Sky+ without knowing the result, and Samit’s the only cricketer on the county circuit whose kit is sponsored by a diabetes charity.
So after being met with an unremitting wall of ‘so f#@&ing what’, England’s first centrally contracted David Brent-a-like spent this afternoon’s net session stomping round, promising additional chapters for the Christmas paperback edition will be “some of the most jaw-dropping in the history of sports literature”.
As I pointed out to him, given former Brazilian legend Garrincha admitted to losing his virginity to a goat, Graeme must have one hell of a Shed Seven anecdote up his sleeve.
He disappeared off in a huff at that point, followed by the sound of bleating noises coming from some of the more immature members of the squad…
…with any luck he’ll still not be talking to me tomorrow.