Cricket tour diaries are still all the rage to financially top up already fat player contracts.

I imagine by the end of Sri Lanka’s tour Muttiah Muralitharan will have quite a lot to write about.

Dear diary – Australia is an amazing place, a virtual land of plenty. And don’t the locals give you heaps. Why even in the greatest drought on record, everywhere I go there are bananas! When I wake up in the morning, outside my hotel door there is another bunch of them.

When I field the fans are all throwing them at me. I say – “No! No! Judging by your red necks, you have a major dietary deficiency and need all the potassium you can get.” They in turn tell me to use my f***** advice as a suppository … so to speak.

It must be the hot sun and drinking so much from plastic cups that makes them go so ape.

Dear diary – a helpful Aussie at the Gabba, before he was led away by the police to cool off in their wagon, has alerted me to the fact that I have a website – muralifans.com … and suggested I read the garbage bin.

There is a most disturbing message there among the many Australian comments posted by Australians who obviously write the sledges for the Aussie boys out on the field.

It says: “Your (sic) a bloody chucker ya bloody w*****” and is signed George W. Bush from Washington, USA. After my government settles its little disagreement with the Tamil Tigers, my good friend Arjuna Ranatunga is going to take the US president to task with a squadron of our fighter bombers.

Dear diary – After play today I immersed myself in the local culture. I went along to see “Shane Warne the Musical”. Sort of Bollywood goes bonkers. I liked the early bits where he tells the teacher his dog ate his homework, but my favourite bit is where he is crucified on a cross of his own making at the MCG.

This is after Simone sings “I Don’t Know How To Love Him” while stoning him with his collection of mobile phones. Shane, who plays himself, spotted me in the audience while reliving his Hampshire county days, and invited me up on stage.

I told him I don’t do nude scenes.

Dear diary – Talk about a bad Hair day! I was continually no-balled today. And this is a rest day from cricket! I began seeing Darrell Hairs dressed in his umps uniform everywhere. He was the waiter who gave me a serve at breakfast, the bus driver who drove me to nets practice and even the sports psychologist I went to see to have my head examined.

I would have completely lost it had not ABC cricket commentator Jim Maxwell rung me to say that some buffoons called The Chaser Boys had hired Darrell, who needed the work, to have a lend of me while in Australia. I had the last laugh though, I just kept bowling doosras in front of Darrell until he lost his voice from over-use.

Dear diary – I had a lovely chat with Aussie PM today at the official reception before the start of the one day international series. At least Mr Rudd has never called me a chucker.

Footnote: There really is a website called muralifans.com that has a garbage bin section with a message from George W.