There aren’t many people that I don’t like.
There’s Jason Gallian of course - how dare he even touch my kit, let alone throw it off the dressing room balcony.
You’d probably guess that I’m not too keen on Peter Moores either. I’d still be England captain if it wasn’t for him.
And the less said about that muppet Graeme Smith, the better.
But apart from that, I pretty much love everybody. Even Stuart Broad.
There I was coping admirably with some swine bowling devilish left-arm spin when some spurious appeal was referred to the Third Umpire and he had the temerity to give me out.
How dare he? Didn’t he realise that everyone at the ground had come to see me bat? They’d had to endure rain deluge after rain deluge and even worse, a day of Cook and Trott batting.
They wanted some entertainment. They wanted KP. They wanted to feel the love.
As I said angrily to the spoilsport umpire in question Rod Tucker (or should that be F***er?) “They came to see me bat, not you to give me out umpire”.
Apparently some bearded Victorian geezer said something similar.
Oh well, back to my least favourite chair in the Cardiff dressing room again...
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