Kevin Pietersen’s Diary: Charity drive
April 26, 2012 § Leave a comment
I am doing a charity drive across Englandlike Beefy did all those years ago, cross-country from Lands End to John O Goats. I asked Ryan Gosling to sponsor me, but he refused. Christiano Ronaldo was another no. Fortunately Ross Kemp has pledged along with many others. I’ve hired a Ferrari to drive there. Got my leather driving gloves on. Let’s go!
9.20am: Ferrari broken down on steep Cornish road. They send me a replacement Smart car. I can hardly get my legs into it. Anyway it’s got a CD player. Put on Stereophonics. Drive.
11am: Stop off at home in the Cotswalds. Jeremy Clarkson is mowing the lawn next door. I hate the man. He tries to tell me about the various restaurants he has dined in while I try and tell him about my 102 at the Gabba. As I’m leaving Jeremy shouts “I wish I was coming with you!” this puts me off and I crash car into a tree! F***! Now it won’t start! Smart my arse. Jeremy runs over and says he can help.
11.10am : I’ve set off. Jeremy is in the seat next to me. Will I live to regret this?
11.30am: Twenty minutes into the journey and Jeremy is fiddling with the stereo. I ask him what he is doing he says he doesn’t like the Stereophonics. Is he f****** serious?
12pm: After an hour Jeremy gets hungry and forces us to stop at the services. There he proceeds to devour seven Ginster’s pasties and buys another 24 to take with us.
12.30pm: Jeremy is sitting in the passenger seat eating pasty after pasty.
1pm: Jeremy is asleep. There are pasty wrappers scattered about all over the floor.
3pm: Three hours later, I’m racked by paranoia and manage to miss the turn off into Shropshire. Jeremy is still asleep on the seat next to me. His fat head’s moving from side to side. I take a few sharp corners to try and wake him but nothing. He’s dead to the world.
6pm: He hasn’t moved in hours.
7pm Hold on. Is he really asleep. He might be dead!
7.30pm Jeremy is still asleep/dead. I turn the music up really loud and swerve from side to side. But no, nothing.
“Jeremy,” I shout. “JEREMY!”
But still no movement. There’s a bit of drool coming out of the side of his mouth. Is that a good sign or a bad one?
9pm Somewhere in theMidlands. Jeremy’s alive. He did a big fart and woke himself up. Immediately as he wakes he starts fiddling about with the stereo and puts on a song by Frank Sinatra! Why did this happen?
5am I’m delirious with driving. Now I know what Beefy went through all those years ago. I keep seeing big beachballs bouncing across the road. Then I look to my left and see a big craggy headed man called Clarkson.
8am Jeremy starts to argue with me, says it’s John O Groats not Goats.
11am I think we are in France. Jeremy’s taken over the driving.
2pm Jeremy asks me if I’ve ever eaten at the Gavroche. I say of course I’ve eaten at le Gavroche. He tells me that the chef is a good friend of his and asks do I know Gordon Ramsey too. When I reply yes he starts to chuckle.
6pm: We’re back inScotland. I’m really tired. Jeremy has sapped all my energies with his chat. He calls it banter I call it fucking annoying mate. I put my headphones on and go to sleep.
8pm: Have a horrible dream that I am being chased by a ball. Just as I’m about to get crushed it suddenly changes into Gordon Ramsay. He’s towering over me laughing, spitefully saying “you thought I ran the Gavroche, hah ha ha ha.” I am startled by a loud rasping noise and wake to see Jeremy wafting the air.
7am: I think I’m in Scotland. Jeremy’s disappeared. He went off into the field to take a piss thirty minutes ago, but hasn’t returned. I try to drive off without him but can’t, no keys.
7.50am: Finally he’s returned. He’s covered in shit!!
7.55am: Jeremy’s sitting with his head in his hands. He tells me he got chased by a cow. He looks harried and harassed with twigs in his hair and muck all over his face. He keeps mumbling “dirty…..feel so dirty…” over and over.
8am: I call a taxi and it takes me all the way home to the Cotswalds. Jeremy does the same. We don’t share.
My drive complete I have raised £66.33 for charity. A lot of people wouldn’t pay, luckily I “persuaded” Belly to make up the shortfall.