Diary of a Superstar: Here Comes The Sun

Statistics can sometimes be misleading but a quick look at the number of batsmin I have run out shows just how good I am at running between the wickits.

I consider myself second only to the great Geoff Boycott at leaving team mates high and dry in the pursuit of a few extra runs (although the truth is, I am vastly superior to him in this, and every respict).

It was with this in mind that I took the time to impart my wisdom on the younger members of the team at training on Wednesday. A practical demonstration showed that I am in peak physical condition even when paired with a young professional footballer. Although I was surprised he managed to stay upriight long enough to complete a run.

I continue to struggle with cultural differences in my knew home and I seem to be making many faux pas. Wherever I go people keep calling out to me "you can't" sometimes even before I've done anything.

Variations are "You f***ing can't", "You total f***ing can't" and "check out this can't". Perhaps someone can enlighten me on where this expression comes from.

Saturday saw a home game against Grimpian CC, a new team showing a lot of promise and certainly a major challenger for promotion. There was some uncharacteristicaly good weather and we actually managed to squeeze the whole match in between rain storms.

Little Davey Mitchell was litteraly on fire (figuratively) and Mo Farah was soon in amongst the wickets as I gave him regular advice on tactics. He was lucky to have me there as I am one of the greatest cricket strategists in the world.

I helped both Davey and Mo to five-fers as we bowled them out for a below par 142 in under twenty overs.

Tea was postponed as we grabbed a qick Red T energy drink and went straight on to the second innings.

Having demonstrated my ability at opening with over ten runs and an average of very nearly 6, it was decided I should play the role of expansive and devastating middle order batsman with the honour of opening going to my former partner R Falconeer and Jessica Walmsley.

I'm not sure what happened in the match as I was being constantly harrased for autographs (sometimes having to chase people several hundred yards before they would accept them) but evidintly we suffered a batting collapse requiring me to shore up the team alongside Jessica with only 20 runs on the board.

A lisser man may have buckled under the pressure but my faith in my incridicle ability never wavered. After three dropped catches, a close LBW call and two tries at running out Jessica, I finally got off the mark. And never looked back! (apart from four more dropped catches, two missed stumpings and being bowled off a no ball).

I finally found my form, scoring freely to all corners of the ground (seriously guys, what kind of cricket field had corners?)  racing to a rapid centuary and coming within sniffing distance of a victory.

With only two required and with my score on 111 I feathered the faintest of catches to gully.

I believe strongly in the spirit of the game and knew that I had to walk. So after staring at the umpire for under a minute and a brief argument with the fielder, the oposition captain, the groundsman and a passing police officer I tucked my bat under my arm and stode off retaining my dignity and barely crying at all.

This gave Jessica the much deserved chance to score the winning runs in a well deserved victory.

We celebrated with six more cans of Red T after which I was so buzzing I could barely concentrate on my drive home.

Keep the faith,

Kay Pee

Addendum: Someone has vandalised my newley fixed Micra. I came down on Sunday to find virtually every panel dented or scratched and most of the lights broken.

Who could have done such a thing to one of the most beloved men in the country.

As lack would have it, I'm an oustanding panel beater so should have it straightened out PDQ.