Dear cousin Bert
How are ya? I am playing cricket for England.
The lads are a good bunch. There’s Straussy. Cooky. Belly. Broady. Swanny. Wrighty. Finny. Monty. The last one’s originally Indian. I say I’d love to go to India, heard it’s beautiful. He says he doesn’t know he grew up in Walsall. I say what about the names. Does his mean anything? Mont. He says he doesn’t know he grew up in Walsall and then starts to talk for 3 minutes but I don’t understand anything of what he’s going on about. I say niver mind.
Oh an there’s another Saffer in the team. Kiv Pietersen. Rally nice chip. He is big and is helping me settle in. He keeps saying that it will come good but don’t try too hard. He’s lent me all these things. Bat, pads, triangular face mask. He tells me not to worry about getting hit in the face, “Your ugly anyway Trotty,” he says. “Seriously mate, you’re lucky you don’t have a face like mine. Gold it is. Think about getting it insured sometimes. Then I think, nah best to age gracefully.”
Anyway bru I’ll give you a bell soon, just goin out to bat. Miss you, love to the folks
PS I tried to read that book, “The art of War”. Bit of a disappointment bru. I thought it was all about war and ninjas and shit. But it’s not. I don’t know what the hell it’s about.