Tired after training, Graeme Smith refuelled with a light snack of a whole buffalo in jam, hippo carpaccio, and a green salad (hold the salad, add sausages). As he ate, he pored intently over a well-thumbed copy of Steve Waugh's Mental Disintegration For Pleasure And Profit: How To Rattle A Pommie Poofter.

"Mickey," said Smith to the coach. "It says here to sow seeds of doubt in your opponent's mind by a series of deeply subtle and highly personalised techniques, such as calling him a ****, calling his mum a ****, and even calling his mum's **** a ****."

"Ya, Steve was an awesome tactician and thinker about the game," agreed Arthur. "Have you thought of how you can apply these methods to the England series?"

"Actually I have," said Smith. "I've targeted Andrew Strauss, because he wouldn't give me a pork pie this one time in a press conference, and I was really, really tired and basically totally starving, and I reckon he definitely had one in his bag. And me with my blood sugar to worry about. Also, I've targeted Kevin Pietersen because I don't like him."

"It's true what they say," nodded Duncan Fletcher, who was practising his forward press in front of the mirror. "Smith has really matured as a captain and a person since being thrust into the limelight at an early age."

"I have as well," said Smith. "I'm the king of skill these days."

"Not like Flintoff," sighed Fletcher. "Do you know, he actually regressed as a person on being given the captaincy. He got younger and younger, and more and more immature, until in the end he was just a giant baby with a nappy and a bottle of Malibu, like in that film Benjamin Button."

"So how are you going to target these two targets that you've targeted, Graeme?" asked Arthur.

"Well, I've told Pietersen that there's a lot of people in South Africa who are going to give him a really, really hostile reception. And that they've written letters to him and everything. And got me to pass them on," said Smith. "Look."

Smith produced a wad of handwritten letters.

"Oh, Graeme," said Arthur. "These are all in your handwriting. Look at this one, from a Mr G Smitt of Bape Town."

"Cunning stuff," nodded Fletcher approvingly. "Flintoff could never have come up with that. This one time? At boot camp? I asked him to write a letter to Ricky Ponting to unsettle Ricky. Flintoff was so drunk he drank the entire stationery shop dry of ink before I could stop him."

"Graeme," said Arthur. "All these letters accuse Pietersen of being a domineering ego merchant who loves to win at all costs."

"There was simply no place for him in my South African team," said Smith. "We're like chalk and cheese."

"This one time," began Fletcher. "Flintoff saw some chalk and--"

"Not now Duncan," said Smith. "I'm tired and hungry. Can you send a runner out for some cheese?"