What I did on my holiday

Awesome day of competitiveness, aggression and moustache care. Woke up pumped because Boof said the boys can have a day round London, so I've gone straight over to Buckingham Palace. I've got massive respect for the Queen, hell of a competitor. Met her once. She said, have you come far? I said I'm going to knock that hat right off your head, Your Majesty, or Queen-o as she likes to be called. People like to see that sort of verbals on the pitch. Absolute legend is Queen-o, and we all had a beer afterwards in the rooms.

So I head over to Bucks Palace but they wouldn't let me in despite me bringing my own cans and telling the yahoo at the door that I'd be more than happy to split them with Her Maj, provided she laid on the bar snacks fair dinkum.

This bloke in a red get-up and a big black furry thing on his head tells me to move along. I says, aw look mate, I don't like your tone, and I don't like that big black furry hat neither. He says, this is a bearskin, traditional headgear of the Guards regiment.

If there's one thing I cannot stand it's people taking the mick with their millinery, and so I says to him, mate I think that is pretty disrespectful to Bears actually and I'm just about to give him a little how d'you do on the jaw when I notice he's got this bloody big gun. I'm the sort of cricketer who never likes to take a backward step, but at the end of the day Boof is always saying to us we have to think with our heads and not just start dishing out violence randomly unless they're calling last orders and there's a big queue at the bar, so I run away backwards as fast as I can, shouting come on then mate do you want some.

I'm so full of energy and passion for the aggressive display of running away that I am currently executing that before I know it, I've run all the way to Trafalgar Square. There's this massive tall column with some sort of Pom standing up there, looking down all superior as Poms will do, and I think, I tell you what mate I'm not having that. I climb up the column so I can have a word with the bloke but when it gets up there it turns out it's a statue! I think the boys are going to love this, so I give Mitchell Johnson a phone call and say, mate, you won't believe what I've done, I've tried to start a fight with an iconic ornamental sculpture, what am I like? But Mitch gets upset because he says, aw look, maybe it's not made of stone, it's actually a real person that's become frozen in space and time because he contemplated too deeply the impossible beauty and wonder and sheer bloody great big size of the universe and our utterly insignificant place in it, and then Mitch starts to cry and that's set me off and I'm standing up there on top of this giant pillar bawling my eyes out but I give the statue a good thump in the kisser anyway just to make sure and I climb down.

I'm just standing in front of the National Gallery there thinking, cor yeah, I might go in and have a look at the old Georges Seurats because I'm a massive admirer not just of the way he plays his cricket but also the way he went about his aggressive brand of pointillism. And I'm just thinking about that when I see one of them Human Statue blokes, and would you believe it a pigeon's landed on him. Now we don't mind a bit of to-and-fro but if there's one thing that's bang out of order it's some joker being inappropriate to a mime who is just trying to go about his business, and especially after Mitch's moving words about how a statue might be all sad and that. I think, right, I'm sorting this out. I give that pigeon a bloody good slap right in its disrespectful beak, but sorry to say you can't get away with anything these days and before I know it I'm up in front of the ICC on a Level 2 charge of attacking a feathered opponent (feral).

To be totally honest I've learned a lesson there and next time I think I'll just stay in the hotel with Buck Rogers and try to punt a few tickets off on the old eBay.