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Finny on… getting lost
“Waheeeeey. Beeeeeers. Wheeeee.
It’s fair to say that we hit the beers pretty hard after winning the T20 series in Abu Dhabi to mark a successful end to the one-day leg of the tour. Fortunately there was a club in the hotel that made it a lot easier to stumble to our rooms. I still managed to get lost on the way to mine…uh hur a hur.
I basically crawled into a darkened room, thinking it was my own. As I got into bed I noticed a shape lying next to me—it was Sachin Tendulkar! He woke up and asked me what the hell I was doing there.
“God I don’t know I said, I got lost. What’s the big deal anyway?”
“Please kindly leave now.”
“Well at least let me go for a piss before I leave.”
I went into his loo and took a big piss. I could hear him getting agitated outside. Eventually, at the end of the day, I left.
As I was going out I could see him on the phone to security. I mean Jesus, the man has no humour!”
Finny on… benefits with friends
“Literally I love beer.
A hur a hur. Jimmy kindly asked me to help him out by attending a dinner for his benefit – he’s never spoken to me that nicely before, but I knew he wanted something. And I knew that whatever it would be it would be something really funny and amusing and drinking related. A hur a hur. Well when I turned up I found him and Swanny on stage crawling about on all fours. One of them had a beer glass strapped to top of his head the other was trying grab it in his mouth. They kept chasing each other round in circles like two dog! Clueless!
Then you know what? We ALL had a beer, got topless, tied our ties around our heads and started to piss around for forty odd minutes. It was great fun. I was sick everywhere. Jimmy was sick all over Swanny. Then one of them was sick into a glass and I drank it.Wahaaaaay!!!! These lads are some of the funniest guys I’ve ever meet. And now so am IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! Wahayyyy. God I love a bevvy.”
Finny on WAGS
“The arrival of wives and girlfriends is always a happy time for the lads, however, I didn’t have anyone jetting over to see me. Ah well back to my solitary masturbatory ways! Only kidding. You think I’d do that??! I mean have you seen some of the prostitutes out there in Colombo. Cor, you could fall in love all over again. Only kkkkidding!! I don’t use prossies. Nor does Swanny! U hur a hur.
I am renowned for being a bit of a trash telly junkie, which isn’t looked upon lightly in the dressing room. My favourite is Jeremy Kyle. Next is Geordie Shore. Then the Apprentice. Next is TOWIE. Followed by the X Factor. Then comes Pete and Jordan show. Next is I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. Also House. Then there’s Britain’s Got Talent.
I will however draw the line at Big Brother. It’s lost all its charm in recent years. It’s pretty disappointing how things like that can go downhill so quickly!
Anyway the opportunity to have a proper chinwag with a few of the girls about the trashy reality TV back in England was absolutely brilliantttttt. All the mind-numbing, brain destroying, personality warping stuff that have made the English the superior race of individuals they are today! Wa heeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
Anyway I even borrowed a few of their magazines—Vogue, UKGT, Playgirl— but none of the boys know this, so keep that to yourselves! Please. Shhh wink wink.”
Finny on… after-dinner activities
“The evenings in Sri Lanka are beautiful outside the hotel, and beyond the curtains, but the most important action happens behind closed doors (get your minds out of the gutter). It’s sex of course! The boys like to chow down at about 11 o clock. Andy Flower is the worst of the lot. Like a perverted ringmaster he leads us into phantastical processions of mind bending depravity which neither human nor animal could ever imagine. Wahaaaaay!”
Finny on… Bressy’s literary skills
“Tim Bresnan has limited literary skills. Full stop. He was in charge of writing the lads’ names on the bottles for the first Test. I’d say the lads have some pretty easy names to spell. Cooky, Straussy, Belly, Finny, Anderson. Easiest of the lot I reckon could be Broady… Bres couldn’t decide whether it had an extra ‘R’ in it. Or an I.
Ah well. It is who he his. You’ll often find him huddled in the corner of the dressing room, crouched into a ball, looking back at us. More Neanderthal than man he sits there giving us dark shifty glances, brows furrowed, hands clasped in agony. A doctor came to look at him once and just said “This man needs an emergency operation.
Well I don’t know!”