Shane Warne

SHANE WARNE: I, Phone

08:00h Wake up, check phone. Battery full, LCD display working well. All in good order.

08:02h Tweet that I am #awake. Check 

09:20h Lie in bed for a few hours with fiancée.  Tweet her to make me some #breakfast. She wakes, tweets me that she is still sleepy. I tweet her, “what the fuck d’you think this is love, a doss house?” “no babe,” she tweets, before she gets up and heads down to scramble some eggs.

09:29h “Ill have a sausage too luv,” I tweet her.

10:01h Jump out of bed and run to the shower. Sit on the toilet reading news on phone. Then check out other Tweeters. @Humblerag. Hilarious!@ Jailpoet. Not much.

10:19h: @Gilly tweets me from Joburg, “Sorry mate, taking care of business,” I tweet. “Tweet to you later.”

10:30h: Music. Great new track

11:00h Ok business end of the day. Lunchtime meeting with . They want me to be their new anchor. David Gower (wiki pp) is being retired.

11:10h Must keep job interview secret.  Tweet to only a select few followers, thousand or so.

11:23h: Eat eggs and tweet fiancée I love her. Phone in good working order. Full battery, ready for hectic day.

11:30h Chauffeur arrives. Ready. Let’s go!

12.02h: Drive through London’s rain-drenched streets,

Ponder is this what I really want? Tweet question to followers. One guy replies saying, if it keeps you out of Australia its good enough for us mate. Tweet @Gilly to rack off.

12:30h Sky offices. Get out of car. See David Gower being wheeled out of side door in a wheelchair, blanket covering his face.

12:31h: Good. That means I’m in business. Ripper.

12:37h Walk in door. Right quick checklist. CV. Light reading. Phone. Phone? Phone??????? It’s gone.

The following five hours were written without the assistance of technology, graphics or embeds

12:44h Try and call chauffeur. Realise I don’t have phone. Wanna tweet someone to tell em. Can’t. Mind about to melt. Can’t think. Can’t speak. Right, think.

12:45h: Can’t think.

12:59h Right. Go after chauffeur. Run outside. See a bus. Stop it. Get on. To Lords mate!

13:01h Tells me he’s not a taxi and to get the fuck off. Tell him it’s an emergency. Lost phone. Only 4 hours to save it before it runs out of battery. Someone offers to lend me theirs so I can call my own.

13:03h I ask the bus driver if he has my number. Says no and tells me to get off before he calls police.

13:06h Better get back to Sky TV. Jump off bus. Run down the road. Where was it again? Yeah. Left. Right. Left. Left, left, next right, right. I’m lost. Don’t have Google Maps. End up somewhere called London Bridge. Shit. Go into an offie. Buy myself a fourpack of Fosters.

14:11h Right. Retrace steps. Right, left, straight, right, dead end. Only four hours of battery to go.

15:08h: Piccadilly Circus. Walk into McDonalds. Eat a burger. Wanna tell the world. Can’t. Feel so pathetic. Eye-make up running down cheeks.

15:38h Leave McD. Right, left, left, down alley, right. Walk back into offy. Get another four pack. See newspaper with photo of Demi Moore tweeting picture of herself on front. Offie guy sees me looking.

15:39h: “It is a nice photo isn’t it Sir?”

“Don’t know mate I don’t have Twitter.”

He looks at me suspiciously.

“You don’t have phone?”

“Nah, lost it this morning.”

His eyes are bulging out of his head.

“Please to get out of my shop Sir, this is no charity.”

“Listen mate.”

“PLEASE Sir!! I will call police.”

16:44h: Drunk. Walk down Fleet Street shouting Ossie Ossie Ossie. Police come up to me. Tell them I am nothing. Nobody.

16.59: It’s nearly 3 hours since my last tweet. Getting desperate. Take a piss in a shop doorway.

17:22h One hour to go. Am reeling down London Bridge. Moved on from Fosters onto turps.

“Argh yaar cyunts ya bastards. Bluaarrrrghhh.”

Vomit.

17:23h See a boat passing under the bridge. Think about taking a flying leap and jump.

17:24h: About to jump shouting “Ossie, ossie, ossie” when hear a low voice.

17:25h “Oi Warney. What’re you doing mate?”

17:36h: Turn around. It’s Mr Cricket, Mike Sleep. Was that his name?

“My phone Mike. I need it. Feeling weak.”

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

Phone recovery. Graphics back. 

17:37h:  He hands me a black cell. Immediately log into twitter. Tweet followers. Check Daily Mail Entertainment website. Look at Google. Weather. Facebook . News. Anything I can get my hands on.

17:40h: Right. Punch “call me a cab” app on phone.

17:42h Cab appears. Direct it to the Sky Sports office using Google Maps. Tweeting all the time. Get in a look at TheHuffington Post for some highbrow news.

17:45h: Car breaks down. Tell him not to worry, have car repair app on phone. Fix car in 5 minutes.

17.50h: Cabbie continues to Sky Centre.

17:55h: Enter building. They want i.d. Tweet them.

17:59h: Up to the board room. No one there. Just six phones placed at intervals on desk. Nas, Mikey, Athers, Both, producer and Rupert.

They’re tweeting each other furiously. Get a tweet from Nas.

“#virtualboardmeeting.”

18:00h Leave phone on table. Exit. Job done.

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