'A fool's paradise, Dav, not a tropical one'

When I got the call from Dav Whatmore I have to say I was surprised. For a start it was on the land-line, which I haven't used for years. And all official international cricket communications are conducted these days via the proper medium of a dual-band mobile with vibrating/warble function. That way a Test selector can give you the nod while he's having a fag on the crapper, and his missis and their dinner guests don't even know he's working. As I say, the advances in the modern game are breathtaking.

After I finally located the Trimphone behind a sack of dog biscuits under the stairs and worked out which end you speak into, I found I was through to the Sri Lankan supremo. Obviously being a shade over 40 and having had a reasonable start to the season against Cardiff and Leeds/Bradford UCCEs, Dave Podmore wasn't ruling out a Test recall in the current climate. Although having taken out Greek nationality in order to qualify for my county meant there'd be some red tape to sort out.

But no, Davvy wasn't after the ton of bits-and-pieces experience under my belt but my expertise in the bespoke sportswear arena. Pod's been a bit of a legend in Sri Lanka since the last tour when I helped smooth out the bad blood between the two sides by distributing "I've been sawn off by Umpire BC Cooray" high-fashion T-shirts.

In short, he was after some thermal underwear for his lads, who'd been struggling up at Chester-le-Street etc in the early-season temperatures.

I'm always happy to put a bit back into the game so I made a few calls. Damart started playing silly buggers over the price and I suggested they take a long walk off a very short plank. (So there's no need to keep sending me the catalogues. And I've already got a free miracle potato-peeler - it's called Jacqui).

In fact it was my aforementioned attractive wife who came up with the solution. There's a little Asian sweatshop she knows on the Fairmead Trading Estate (Unit 47 - and say Pod sent you). It's come to Jacqui's rescue more than once when an emergency spandex boob-tube has been called for - eg Vinny Wells's benefit night last year when she suddenly realised it was formal dress. We hammered out a deal over a McBalti and two dozen pairs of long johns were dispatched to the Sri Lankan team hotel quicker than you can say Russel Arnold.

I've got the delivery note to prove it. So perhaps readers of this paper, who I understand are versed in matters financial, could explain why I'm still waiting to get paid. Sure, when they opened their curtains on Thursday morning they must have thought they were back in Colombo. But if you think Dave Podmore can control the weather you are living in a fool's paradise, Dav, my friend, not a tropical one. A deal is a deal in this country and I want my £32.75.

I think what's really got the Sri Lankans' collective goat is the slight misunderstanding we had about me taking them to the Beckhams' party in aid of the NSPCC last weekend. It's true there's no one more experienced than Dave Podmore when it comes to charity bashes - especially when it's for bashed kiddies. But all I said was I'd take them to the party - at no time did I say I'd be able to get them in.

As it happens there was a perfectly acceptable viewing area for punters without invites across the road from the Beckingham Palace gates, with an ice-cream van plus a Harvester half a mile down the road in Sawbridgeworth. All they'd have been given inside was a bit of raw Jap fish and what use is that to someone who's got to keep out Hoggy and Caddy in their own backyard for five days? Anyway what does Posh Spice mean to the average Sri Lankan apart from turmeric?

But moaning seems to be the order of the day among international cricketers these days. If you look up Warren Hegg's off-season job in the 1997 Cricketers' Who's Who, it says cocktail waiter. Now apparently he's complaining about being a glorified drinks waiter on the last tour. Then there was his disgraceful outburst when he was edged out of the frame by Stewie - a more senior wicketkeeper and, let's face it, a much more neatly dressed one.

It seems Heggy's whingeing about having left his mobile on all night waiting for the nod from Grav that never came. Well Dave Podmore's here to tell you that he once left not only his mobile but his car-port lights on and his engine running ready for Beefy Botham's call to join him on the Pennine leg of one of his charity walks.

Result? A flat battery and a top hat, morning suit and set of false breasts that had to go back to Moss Bros without a speck of mud on them.

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