Kevin Pietersen’s Cricket Diary: India
April 16, 2012 § Leave a comment
Summer itinerary: India.
Wake. Brush teeth. Read GQ. Orlando Bloom on the cover. I like his cardigan. Call his agent while flossing. Ask him to send me one. Refuses.
Hang upside down from bar in bedroom to get blood flowing to facial pores. Batlike pose stimulates cells/senses. Turn on iPod, Florence and the Machine. Musical Xen.
Am making sonic twitting noises when bell rings. I answer.
“Hey Kev. Me and the boys were thinking of going to visit the Taj Mahal today. Wondered if you’d like to come.”
I think about it.
“I’ll be there.”
“We’ll be getting the coach from Delhi at 9.”
“Negative, I’ll be using my own transport.”
It takes 5 hours to get there by elephant. But it’ll be worth the surprise. I cannot wait to see Straussy’s face. I pull up outside being held aloft in the elephant’s trunk. To my surprise there’s no one there. Wait a minute. There’s Belly. He’s dressed in a straw hat and Pathan robes.
“WTF Belly. Where the hell is everyone?”
“I’m sorry Kevin a few of the lads couldn’t make it.”
I’m about to crush him underfoot using my new elephant servant when he cries,
“They’ve all gone to the Maharajah’s Palace.”
“What? No one told me! We’re going there now.”
Honestly, you couldn’t make this shit up! I’m so angry. I spend another six hours on the elephant running full pelt to get to the Raja’s palace. I force Belly to walk alongside. By the time I get there the party is in full flow. But now they won’t let me in.
“Don’t you know me?” I scream. “I’m KP. K ***** P.”
“We are sorry Sir but you are having no invitation, therefore you cannot be letting inside.”
From inside I can hear the sound of familiar laughter. It’s Swann. I can see him in my mind’s eye. He is dancing like a bear. He is slightly drunk. He is having fun. I am standing here in the sweltering heat, next to an elephant which smells of dung. I have been sitting on this same beast for over 10 hours. Bell is standing next to me.
Nothing, nothing will ever salve this pain.
Lost, won, lost, won, lost– it’s irrelevant.
Swept my way to glory. 105 not out. I…..am…….KP
The most devious man in cricket. How he has managed to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes I don’t know. The sort who would pinch a three year old child and make it cry.
“Ah Kevin. How are you mate?!” he says.
“I’m wishing you all the best of luck in this series. I know you had some bad fate but things will change. Don’t be down too much.”
“It definitely cannot be easy losing your mojo. It happens to us all.”
“I’m not down. And my scores aren’t bad. I’m KP.”
“Well why don’t you come around to my house for dinner this evening. My vife Sharmila would love to have you over.”
“Are you f** serious! You think I don’t know?! You’ll put salmonella in my curry or something. I know what you’re up to Dravid, I am KP!”
He looks hurt. Good. Nicest man in cricket indeed.You know what they say—the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.
Trott’s Letter home
India’s amazing. Arabs everywhere! Such nice peoples. Had a nace meal at Rahul Dravid’s house yesterday. His wife is a real gem bru. Rall nice lady. They made me a nine course meal!!
Hope you didn’t watch the game though. I was shit man! I had an upset tummy the whole time. Been squatting buckets. I had to go to the khazi 15 times.Must’ve eaten something bad. The guys all started calling me jokey names. Mr Trotts, Runs-machine, Curryworry, Booger, Leon, Roundface.
Cor the banter here is amazing bru!
Anyway loves to the family