India has many many fine towns and cities but Nagpur is not one of them. A nondescript industrial sprawl 800 kilometres east of the coast at Mumbai, it's bang in the middle of the country but very far from the nation’s heart. The town is unremarkable, largely unloved and famous in cricketing circles for having produced the odd outrageous greentop. It is, in fact, the Derby of India. Which, a cynic would tell you, is exactly why Jagmohan Dalmiya chose it for the First Test – revenge for all those years of English slights, perceived and real.

Tonight at 9.30pm, on the last possible flight, the final remnants of the Test circus touched down in the dark: the Sunday-newspaper and magazine men, with less pressing deadlines than the rest; Owais Shah fresh (if that’s the right word) from a West Indies-to-India epic to bolster England's depleted batting; and the last footsoldiers of the not-so-Barmy Army. They looked a bit glum, but then having forked out a few thousand quid to end up in Nagpur on a Tuesday night, with your team predicted to get ground into the red dust tomorrow … well it’s hardly reason to break out the champagne. ‘Shah and the Stragglers’: we could almost have been a ‘60s pop group.

By 11pm the main drag in Nagpur was as quiet as India gets, which is not very. The higgledy piggledy stained-concrete shops were dark except the paan joints and a box-like, neon-lit Biryani restaurant, glowing like a green and pink ice cube. Down the sidestreets, black as tar, the only light came from the single headlight of the odd rickshaw, like an oncoming train in the movies. The England hotel was as sombre as a church.

Perhaps it was just the weirdness of all of these Englishmen from Rochdale and Runcorn and Reading arriving in one of India’s slower backwaters, a place most never dreamed existed before the schedule was announced. Perhaps it was the late-night touch down. Perhaps it was the malaria pills sending me potty. And perhaps Super Fred really can do perform a miracle. But on the last flight to Nagpur there was an ominous feeling that we were about to watch something nasty happen.

Today Nasser Hussain and Mike Atherton, in India on Sky TV duty, slipped almost unnoticed through a busy airport and out into Mumbai, a money-making city of muggy sunshine and honking horns. Which made you wonder: is it just a lazy cliché to say that cricket’s ‘like a religion on the subcontinent’. Then, just as I had that thought, my bubbly taxi driver excitedly pointed out Hussain, started a detailed and unprompted analysis of his captaincy, asked me about Alastair Cook, and reeled off the exact scores that Dravid and Laxman made in the Eden Gardens Aussie-bashing of 2000-01. Later, I checked the scorecard. He was dead right.

Any more injuries for England and Nasser might get a call © Getty Images

Even to someone who occasionally bumps into the pair, there’s still something otherworldly about seeing Atherton standing at the baggage carousel, just like Joe Bloggs, or Hussain waiting in line to change his travellers’ cheques. You forget they were just human beings, doing a job like everyone else. As a journalist it’s a chastening thought; we don’t have some laptop-pounding know-all damning us for having a bad day at the office - and I don’t think we’d like it if we did.

Given that in the 1990s England fetched David Gower out of a West Indies press box to play, the former captains Athers and Nasser must be a little worried. A fortnight ago it was India who had a captaincy problem: amateur psychologists suggested England could create confusion by stirring up the Ganguly situation like a wasp’s nest. Two weeks on, it’s England who have the problem. This tour was always going to be tricky for a captain: how to motivate an Ashes-winning squad who, as Andrew Miller recently pointed out, will never have to buy a meal or a drink in England again; how to switch focus from MBEs to India’s MO; whether to go for the throat or wait for their opponents to trip up. England have not won a Test in India since 1984-85; for Andrew Flintoff, in his first Test as captain, it's what they call a 'big ask'.

Still there is a sliver of hope. Funny things happen in India. En route to the hotel, we stopped at a set of lights and a kerbside salesman tried to sell me a book, a work by the Cambridge University economist Amartya Sen. In London, hawkers looking for a bit of cash squeegee your windscreen; in Mumbai they sell you books on philosophy. Yes, funny things happen in India. But England Test wins are not usually one of them.

This is the end and time to head back home with a bagful of memories. At this moment, events of the last 45 days remain a blur. So much has happened in so little time – we started the tour freezing at the Bagh-e-Jinnah in Lahore, ended up sweating at the National Stadium in Karachi - that it will take some time to soak in the experience.

Considering it was my first full cricket tour of any kind, it proved to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Reporting from the ground can often make you feel one with the action – in Peshawar we were literally at midwicket – and to have been able to watch some marvelous performances close-up was hugely fulfilling.

In a delicious mix, there was plenty of off-field action as well – gossip, conspiracy, off-the-record statements, speculation regarding team selection – and one often felt in the thick of things. It was so much a case of being at the right place at the right time – like we were on match eve when we heard that Ganguly wouldn’t be picked for the Faisalabad Test – and there’s a certain high in getting some important news before most. Lurking in the lobby of team hotels, exchanging notes with fellow journalists, hoping for the reliability of the “sources”, and being stumped when contradictory reports emerged all resulted in a frenzied mix of intrigue, excitement, and analysis.

Added to all this was the chance to journey around Pakistan, meeting people as one traveled around, and the sights and sounds will remain etched in memory. There was joy to be had in accidental encounters, like meeting Adnan in Lahore, hospitality to be overwhelmed by, like the warmth imparted by Munna in Lahore and Naek in Peshawar, and a sense of being readily accepted by the locals.

It’s tough to pick a favourite cricketing moment but watching approximately 32000 spectators at Peshawar, in a stadium that held 16000, greet Tendulkar’s hundred was special. There was a cheer that one could have associated with Indian grounds and there was even an over-excited fan who charged to the centre, arms waving wildly, to congratulate Sachin. There was spontaneity in the outburst, a spontaneity that crossed all barriers.

Sarfraz Ahmed slept with the World Cup last night and you can hardly blame him considering it looked to have slipped away from him yesterday. The Pakistan team savoured their victory today, as the Indians made a hasty retreat back home – although, to be fair, it was always their schedule to fly out of Colombo early this morning. However, I expect they are now fairly happy with that planning.

After filing my last couple of stories I had some spare time before heading to the airport. One final chance to do a spot of shopping, making sure I have souvenirs for everyone. Today was also an example of things happening when you least expect them – and bit like India’s collapse last night.

I’ve got to the stage of not thinking twice about the driving skills of the tuk-tuk drivers and that was always a recipe for something to go wrong. On probably my last journey after three weeks of some near-misses but no actually hits we had a full-blown prang on the way back from the shopping centre. Speeding up a narrow street a van was pulling out in front of the tuk-tuk; I could see it, surely the driver could? Well, he hadn’t, or he liked a challenge. With his foot on the gas we headed towards a narrowing gap between the van and the wall, it was time to just cross your fingers.

I thought we might just squeeze through. Nope. Clunk, snap, screech. I can’t really use the words that came out of my mouth as we pulled to a sudden halt. Sticking my head out of the cab I could see a very irate guy holding up his front bumper. My driver obviously had certain priorities; first he checked his tuk-tuk, which had a huge dent in the side, then went to placate the van owner.

Anyway, no major damage done – except to the bumper, and in many ways it was an apt end to my time in Colombo. It started, three weeks ago, with a journey through the morning rush hour and it has ended with one final brush with the city’s individual driving skills. The time here has been a real eye-opener, both in witnessing a crop of young cricketers to experiencing the subcontinent for the first time. It is certainly a part of the world I want to visit again. For now, though, I’d best get ready to dig out the thermals – apparently it is a bit chilly back in London.

What an extraordinary match; 180 runs, 20 wickets, 60 overs. They are the bare numbers but don’t do justice to the sheer drama of today. One minute Pakistan had been routed for 109 – World Cup over. Twenty minutes of chaos later India were 9 for 6. As they say, cricket’s a funny old game.

It was an unusual day all round really. There was a sense of anticipation surrounding the Premadasa as I walked in shortly after lunch time. A number of TV crews had flown in especially for this match and the press box was the busiest of the tournament. The Pakistan supporters, who had turned out to watch the semi-final, were back in force. When India were bowling they were noticeably subdued, but certainly came alive as Anwar Ali produced his triple-wicket over. They made a heck of a noise, considering they were all concentrated in one stand, and I tried to imagine the ground full of Sri Lankans cheering on their heroes.

Many of the fans hung around to watch the trophy be presented to Sarfraz Ahmed and then to cheer the players on a mini lap of honour – a full circle would have been rather pointless as no one was in three quarters of the stadium. But, post-match presentations are a strange beast, especially at the end of a tournament or series. You have the excruciating part of the beaten side having to trudge up to accept their medals, while probably wishing they were a million miles away. Then they have to stand there as the winners grab hold of the silverware before being able to skulk off to the dressing room to lick their wounds.

Then comes the press conference and after two weeks of two or three journalists having a casual chat with the coach or captain, this one was a bit more serious. At the back there was a bank of cameras, next to them there was the guy – he’d obviously drawn the short straw – who was keeping the spot lights on by holding two bare wires into the socket. One false move and we would be plunged into darkness. And the questions were, shall we say, thorough with some being longer than the answers they received.

It’s amazing how different a player can be on and off the field; Sarfraz was balling out at his team-mates as they pulled of their minor miracle, but he does not have the greatest English so Mansoor Rana did most of the talking for Pakistan camp. However you could see the joy in Sarfraz's eyes and even though I couldn’t understand a word of what he said in Urdu, I didn’t really need to. To pull off a win like this in any match is impressive, to do it in a World Cup final is very special.

This evening was the closing dinner for the World Cup, an event attended by the two main finalists and the two teams who contested the Plate final – New Zealand and Nepal. There were the usual speeches which we can gloss over, the main fun came after the official part of proceedings had been done and dusted.

The Indians and Pakistanis were on their best behaviour, they have a fairly important match tomorrow, and were heading for the door shortly after the tiramisu had been served. However, they did stay around long enough for a second dose of the very attractive Sri Lanka dancers who brought some lively entertainment to proceedings. There certainly seemed a few more interested faces for the dancing than pre-dinner speeches.

The New Zealand team had sat through the first part of evening looking rather glum at their team table, still trying to digest how they had managed to lose the Plate to Nepal. But they soon began to loosen up and treated the hall to a passionate rendition of the famous Haka, which is performed by the All Blacks ahead of rugby internationals. They received a generous round of applause from everyone and perhaps the cricketers should consider adopting the routine before their matches. Good on them, too, for not wallowing in defeat and enjoying their final few hours in Sri Lanka. In the morning they start a 25-hour journey home, via three countries and many more timezones.

Then, as the sound system took over and started to churn out some more recognisable tunes Nepal started to let their hair down. Soon, they were ‘giving it large’ to the R&B tracks, prompting more interest from the photographers who had decided to hang around. There was certainly no holding back as jackets came off and the dancing got more exuberant.

Their excitement was unconfined, as their win earlier in the day began to sink in. Roy Dias, the coach, wore a huge grin all evening as did Kanishka Chaugai as he tried not to break into a fit of giggles during a brief interview on stage. Their moments of fun were completely justified, they have brought some of the highlights of the tournament on the field and tonight they gave a few off it, too.

Non-availability of tickets from Multan led one to undertake a two hour journey to Bahawalpur before boarding a Karachi bound flight. The Bahawalpur airport is so non descript that it could easily be a bus terminus.

Flights to Karachi ply on just two days of the week and the airport is the only oasis of activity in an idyllic countryside. When asked if we will get anything to eat, the man behind the counter jocularly responds, “Be happy you’ve got a ticket.”

I associated Bahawalpur with two factoids - India played a Test here in 1955 in a curiously named Dring Stadium, and Hanif Mohammad scored his mammoth 499 for Karachi against their state side.

My colleague, observing the charming setting, joked that a donkey cart might take us from the terminal to the aircraft; another wondered what Tom Hanks’ plight might have been had he been stuck here for nine months. It was all too unreal and the sight of a modern PIA flight in the most quaint environment was the most paradoxical sight of them all.

Was that the Aussies choking that I watched today? “The pressure got to us,” said Moises Henriques, their captain. The favoured outcome of today’s match was the powerfully consistent Australians (at least in this tournament) to out do the talented but inconsistent Pakistanis. But that depended on which Pakistan arrived. For 17 overs it seemed for all the world that it was the reckless version, but then an extraordinary turnaround occurred. When Pakistan were 80 for 5 we all feared another one-sided final, that’s what it was – but for the other side.

The Australians lost their composure in the field, discipline with the ball and just had an old-fashioned stinker with the bat. They were well-coached, well led and had the best possible support team – but today all that was outdone by raw talent. Mansoor Rana, the Pakistan coach, has had his squad together for about two months – other teams have been together up to two years. But as Rana said: “It is the nature of Pakistanis to do things when they are needed most.”

Rana also said the Pakistan support, the first meaningful fan base to appear at the tournament, helped to spur the side on and they showed their appreciation by going over to them at the end. The Khettarama area of Colombo, where the Premadasa is built, has a strong Muslim community and one small corner of the ground was decked out with flags and banners. The noise level steadily rose during the evening and the final wicket brought a chorus of delight.

With two huge rivals now set to clash in the final there is certainly an increased interest, especially with the series in Pakistan now being dead. Two more TV stations are making their way to Colombo and, according to the tournament media manager, a batch of journalists are making the short hop from India. Rahul Dravid has also shown his support for the Under-19s following saying: “We heard the news [about them reaching the final] and we all cheered and are right behind the guys.”

The semi-finals have been two one-sided to be called classic matches but hopefully, given the sudden surge of interest, the final will provide a worthy finish. The two teams lining up means there is every chance.

It’s pretty surprising that a bunch of around 15 journalists, traveling on a bus this morning, actually got to the Multan Cricket Stadium. The city was on strike with policemen patrolling the streets and here we are, inside a rickety bus, with the driver pelting through the roads at a ferocious pace.

The bus was all gaudily decorated, with bright red curtains and shimmering adornments, but it rattled along as if the levers and crank shafts were reaching breaking point. Speed breakers didn’t seem to matter and, more seriously, policemen were brushed aside as if they were unwanted obstacles.

One policeman actually stood in front of the bus, waving both his hands, and gesturing to stop and here is our bus driver shrieking, ‘Ye press se hain, stadium jana hain’ (these people are from the press, they need to go to the stadium), and nonchalantly motoring on.

Suddenly, about a few kilometers from the stadium, he was forced to slow down as tens of thousands of fans, vehicles and animals filled the streets with multiple, disorderly lanes being constantly formed. It was a real sight to see fans and animals using the middle of the road as buses and cars tried to weave their way past.

We finally got there, so did around 35000 more. But all they got was the party-pooping Indians, sealing the series with a resounding win.

It wasn’t the worst of days for Sameera de Zoysa, Sri Lanka’s stand-in captain, against Zimbabwe. Called on as a replacement for Angelo Mathews he scored 63 and his side won to keep themselves in with a shout of winning the Super League play-off. So when Sri Lanka’s coach said: “I thought he struggled with some of his field settings, and that’s why we gave away a few too many runs,” he can probably consider himself a tad unlucky.

But it shows the desire for the host nation to do well. There has been disappointment from locals that the team did not reach further in the main Super League section, which shows that their progress has been followed despite no one being at the grounds. It has also been a tough few days for Sri Lankan cricket as a whole, what with the senior side losing the VB Series finals despite winning the first match, then the news that Sachithra Serasinghe, their main Under-19 batsman, had been sacked from the squad for misconduct.

These sorts of things hurt Sri Lankans. They are proud of their cricket and their cricketers. They still love to talk of their World Cup triumph in 1996 or of any Sanath Jayasuriya century. I’ve not seen first-hand the pressure of expectation put on Indian players in their own country, but in a less obvious way there is a similar pressure on Sri Lankans.

There aren’t always the outward shows of emotion, but the day Sri Lanka beat Australia in the first VB Series final it was the talk of Colombo. If there is a cricketing issue being discussed the average Sri Lanka will have their opinion – it is their culture. The treatment of Muttiah Muralitharan down under opened some old wounds and there is a clear feeling he is still picked on. People get upset if any of the star Sri Lankans are questioned and also get annoyed when they see things not going right.

That pressure is reflected in the constant search for perfection. If de Zoysa, or any of the young Sri Lankans, want to move to the next level it is something they will have to get used to. It won’t only be the coach who is always demanding improvement – in many ways the public is the harshest judge of all.

What a way to go – 58 all out and in front of the TV cameras to boot. There was nowhere to hide for England. Over the last few years the senior side has largely eradicated those collapses that so typified the 1990s, and when a clump of wickets do crash together – as at Lord’s last summer when they slumped to 21 for 5 against the Aussies –someone, on that occasion Kevin Pietersen, is usually there to at least give a score some respectability.

During the tour of Pakistan before Christmas, England were seemingly heading for a draw at Lahore. They lunched on 201 for 2, but before anyone had contemplated their afternoon tea the match was over as England lost eight for 43. It was a similar procession today, at Premadasa, but the Under-19s didn’t have a 200-run head start. It is amazing once a collapse starts how they gain an irresistible momentum.

When the U-19s were 38 for 8 the most famous England capitulation of my generation – the 46 all out at Trinidad – came flooding back into the memory. On that occasion England had an hour to bat on the fourth afternoon and lost Mike Atherton first ball, here they had 20 minutes before lunch, survived the first ball but proceeded to lose three. It was a torrid little time to bat, and a completely pointless regulation that put England in that position.

Despite getting a pasting with the ball they had got through their overs at a decent lick – 37 overs of spin helped. But because of this they then had to bat straight away, after chasing leather for 50 overs in 33 degrees. I’m not saying a 45-minute break would have made any difference, but surely it would have given them a better chance. And this wasn’t just to fit in with TV, it had happened early in the tournament but with less dramatic consequences.

The England lunch break must have been a depressing affair with the realisation that the World Cup had gone. Moeen Ali, in a refreshingly open interview afterwards, said: “We really thought we had a chance of winning the tournament, but we got a thrashing.”

But, in a slightly sadistic way, there is a thrill in watching a batting collapse, the unstoppable bowlers and frenzied atmosphere. And today at least the end came quickly – there is nothing worse than a hopeless one-day innings that stretches itself out to the bitter end. Not that England will be feeling any better about things. People often say that no one remembers who loses a semi-final – today’s proceedings will take some forgetting.

Rickshaw drivers come in various types. I’ve been a bit intimidated by the Chennai auto-rickshaw drivers, at your face and aggressive. Those in Bangalore are more sober; the ones in Mumbai are mostly professional (put meter, take money, give exact change types); and Delhi throws up all sorts. A few Lahore drivers, though, never cease to amaze.

Using the meters isn’t the done thing; so there is often a haggling process that ensues. Once you approach a driver, and tell him where you need to go, he may either quote a price, which solves all problems as you have a starting point from where you can bargain, or simply leave the whole choice to you.

It’s the second type of drivers that need attention. Once the journey is completed, he will give you a genial smile, as if waiting for you to decide the amount. If you ask him, he will invariably say ‘Aap ki marzi’ (your choice). Now that’s tricky. You’re new to the city, you’ve traveled quite a distance, you have made him stop at a few places, and you have not a clue about where to start off. So you joke and say ‘Theek hain, dus rupaiaya dhoonga’ (OK, I will give you ten rupees) and with a more exaggerated smile, which is even more genial, he says ‘Aap ki marzi’.

It’s a bit unnerving. It’s as if he is supremely confident that you will not be shameless enough to give him ten rupees and walk off. So you go through the whole conversation again and try and explain to him that it is his duty to quote a price. Now, after gauging your mood for a few minutes he will throw up a figure that appears absurdly high and leave you in a situation where even a fair bargain will result in a loss.

And if at all you get a bit aggressive and reason in terms of distance-time equations, he always has one excuse to hide behind – this is exactly the reason why I told you to give what you want; exactly why I said ‘Aap ki marzi’.

The crowds for this tournament have been non-existent, even for Sri Lanka’s matches, but at least the semi-finals and final should have a few more people taking notice of the action as the games are being beamed around the world. Today the Premadasa Stadium was getting the finishing touches as it prepares to host the first semi-final – England against India – a day/night match tomorrow. The ground certainly has a different feel than the others used in the tournament.

Camera gantries have been put up at either end of the ground, the locked-off cameras are in position for those close run-out or stumping appeals and the production crew has hit town. And whereas the other grounds had all their advertising covered with huge black sheets, creating a rather bland scene, the Premadasa is fully emblazoned with the official sponsors of the World Cup. It isn’t to the taste of everyone, but at least it feels like a significant match is being played.

Now all that is needed are the commentators, who have been arriving over the last few days and include household names like Paul Allott and Robin Jackman. They’ll have to have done their homework because the players on show over the last few days of this tournament are not household names – yet.

For the players, having these matches shown around the world is a huge moment. It is their chance to shown millions of people (at least that’s the figure being hoped for) what they are capable of. As Steve Mullaney, the England allrounder, told me recently: “People will take notice of what they see on TV, it is really important for us to perform well as it is how they will remember us.”

Towards the end of today’s Ireland-New Zealand clash there was one minor problem – the power went off. Apparently they had decided to test the generators and back-up systems to ensure they would be ready for the semi-final. But, perhaps it wasn’t the best moment with a match going on at the time. No power creates a two-fold problem; firstly the press box becomes a sauna – it is the only enclosed media centre of the tournament and with the sun beating through the windows, and humidity increasing, it turns into a human greenhouse. The second issue is filing, as all the wonderful technology that makes the job run smoothly doesn’t work well without power. Today we were told it was an ‘external issue’ and in a typically Sri Lankan way no one seemed overly concerned by the situation.

But it’s best to get any teething problems out of the way before the main event. By the end of tomorrow one team will be in the World Cup final, the other sampling the feeling that they came so near, yet so far. However, at least they’ll have had a chance to show the world their talents – that’s so long as no one pulls the plug out.

Mine will be a ‘Jayasuriya Triple Century’ please, and for him a ‘Border’s burger’. For the uninitiated that’s two chicken breasts with chips and a burger with all the trimmings (how Sri Lankan) at the Cricket Club Café in Colombo, an amazing place crammed full to bursting with memorabilia from every avenue of the sport. It, therefore, won’t surprise people when I say I have spent a few evenings down there since arriving in town.

It is a fascinating place for someone with my mild – and not at all unhealthy – interest in cricket. I visited for the first time on my first day here, and I think there were bets being taken on me taking out permanent residency in it for the three weeks. It hasn’t quite turned out like that – Colombo is well stocked with decent places for dinner – but I reckon the waiters are starting to recognise me.

If there is a piece of cricket history that’s worth a mention, especially involving Sri Lanka, England or Australia it will have a place inside. Autographed bats from a variety of sides line the walls, as do newspaper cuttings and scorecards from famous matches. In case you want to now what time a Test match is starting in any country, no fear, there are clocks dotted around showing the time in each nation. And, if you were thinking that it might be nice to see a game for yourself, then there is sign post showing the distance to every Test ground.

Also, if there is a match on TV, it will be on TV here, even if it is the highlights of a game from many years past. Whenever you flick on the sports channels they will be showing some highlights package involving India or Sri Lanka (although one evening I had the slightly surreal viewing experience of watching Geoff Boycott bat against West Indies – it just made you realise how times have changed). However, it isn’t just cricket that has given this place its name for major sporting events.

In 2003 it was the scene of England’s greatest triumph of their tour – the rugby team that is. The cricketers descended on the club for the World Cup final against Australia, resulting in joyous scenes when Jonny Wilkinson kicked that winning drop goal. If there is a sporting event on, this is place to come and watch it. Over the last couple of weekends rugby has again been the focus as the Six Nations swung into action. The bar has been well populated with fans, especially from the UK, cheering their team on with a pint and a pie.

It is easy to see why this place has a reputation around the world. A number of teams from the World Cup have enjoyed evenings here – a visit to Colombo (cricket related or otherwise) is not complete without, at least, one night here. I’m hungry just thinking about it…guess where I’m off to for dinner tonight. I’ll have my usual please.

Strangely, and this maybe because I have watched most of Sachin Tendulkar’s career before I began covering cricket, I have rarely noticed him when he leaves the ball.

Through the nineties, Sachin letting the ball go was often like a commercial between overs – take your eyes off for a moment, finish off any small pending work and then refocus on the game. It was a brief interlude, as if he was taking a breather before conjuring up further magic.

Dravid on Tendulkar: 'He realised there was something happening with the ball, realised we needed to keep wickets' © Getty Images

It was Dravid who came to one’s mind while uttering the words ‘well-left’. It was stuck in the memory – that exaggerated leave which appeared to have been executed after he had cracked several algebraic equations. Everything was precise about it, to a fault in fact, and one noticed it more and more.

With that as the backdrop, you can understand my queer feeling when I watched the game today. Here, right in front of my eyes, was the great Mr. Dravid, yes the wall himself, being turned inside out, struggling against the darting cutters and generally looking a mess against the new ball. And there was the great Mr. Tendulkar, against the same bowlers on the same pitch, judging line immaculately, shuffling nimbly at the crease and shouldering arms just at the right moment.

Here was Dravid, playing and missing, poking, almost choking under the seaming handcuffs. And there was Tendulkar, alert and cool, determined and completely assured, reading the angularities, predicting the bowlers’ tactics, thwarting, thwarting, thwarting. Asif and Gul were jagging it all over the place, breaking through the defensive fortress that is Dravid but against Tendulkar they had not a chance.

For nearly seven overs, he dodged and no amount of movement appeared to matter. His 95 runs made the vital difference between India’s victory and defeat but nobody should forget those snaking deliveries that he harmlessly let go, helped remove the shine and laid out the easier path for the rest of the batsmen.

Tendulkar letting the ball go was a sight in itself. Tendulkar letting the ball go, while Dravid groped in the darkness, made the sight that bit more astonishing.

Today was a ‘Poya Day’ in Sri Lanka - a Buddhist ritual which happens four times a month and equates to the four phases of the moon. This was a full-moon day, the most important of the phases and a monthly national holiday in Buddhist tradition. Yesterday there were lavish parades around the streets of Colombo, involving herds of dressed-up elephants, as the city prepared itself for a day of worship.

This meant there was no cricket today, so as the World Cup reaches its half-way point let’s take stock and see where we have got to. At the ‘business end’ of the tournament – the Super League – two mouth-watering semi-final line-ups have appeared following a week of qualifying matches and the quarter-finals. England take on India, a preview to the contest about to start between the full sides, while Pakistan face the impressive Australians.

Two of the possible finals from those matches revive huge rivalries, which have been a major part of world cricket in the last 12 months – England v Australia and India v Pakistan. Whatever happens, the four biggest countries are fighting for the main prize and a tournament can’t ask for much more than that.

In the lower reaches of the Super League, Sri Lanka – chastened after their thrashing by Australia on home soil – will want to fight for the consolation of the play-off prize, while Bangladesh will aim to bounce back from their defeat against England.

The Plate competition gives the associate members a further chance to show what they are capable of, plus South Africa and New Zealand the chance to head home without egg on their faces. I reckon Nepal, who face Uganda in the quarter-finals, could be the dark horses here. They challenged England, should have beaten Zimbabwe and downed Ireland in the group stages and ought to be too strong for Uganda.

This tournament has yet to have the shock result of a minnow beating a major nation, but South Africa and New Zealand won’t have it all their own way as they aim for the consolation of the Plate.

Anyway, that’s enough speculation – can you tell it’s been a quiet day? No action on the field tomorrow, either, as it was a scheduled rain day for the quarter-finals and the rain has managed to restrict itself to the occasional evening deluge. There has been some impressive cricket this past week, but you get the feeling that it could be about to get even better.

I was just imagining Rahul Dravid's life when one-dayers are on. Maybe it reads something like - travel, practice, press conference, team-meeting, gym, warm-up, game, press conference, travel ...

Time waits for no man...least of all Rahul Dravid © AFP

In between all this, he has to entertain thousand requests from the media, tens of thousands of requests from fans. At some point, he will need to stop and formulate team strategies; sometime during this jet-setting routine he may need to think about where his team is heading.

Surely, he must be required to give his players some individual attention. Undoubtably there will be a few problems to sort out within the team. Who's fallen ill? Who's feeling lonely? How many bowlers will play tomorrow?

Amid all this, he will need to think about his batting, the pitch, the opposition bowlers and set out his own tactics. For a man given to immaculate preparation, he may need to visualise himself in the middle, leaving balls outside off stump, driving bowlers through the covers.

And then there's a small matter of his wife and recently-born son back home and the pressures of staying away from them for an extended period of time. He's probably the most hassled captain of all, with India's millions bringing an added pressure, but he rarely shows it.

Yet, despite all this he takes every single press conference mighty seriously, thinking about every question and giving elaborate answers that cover all angles.

He rarely gets angry, almost never slips up and will not stumble even when posed with a clever question. He often slips into cliched territory, repeating himself over and over again and trying to get his point across, but he rarely behaves aloof or abrupt. He probably understands that every word he says is a potential headline, every sentence he utters can be easily twisted.

And what does he do after scoring a hundred? Press conference, travel, practice, team-meeting ...

Nondescripts is an unassuming cricket ground, the only one of the five used for this tournament that hasn’t hosted a Test or ODI. But while it may not have held international matches, it certainly has an impressive production line of international players. Reading the honours board on the back wall of the pavilion is like a who’s who of Sri Lankan Cricket.

From recent times there are names such as Kumar Sangakkara, Malinga Bandara and Hashan Tillekeratne. Going further back you reach Rajan Madugalle, now a match referee, and Asoka de Silva, now an international umpire. Players from this club certainly don’t finish their international careers when they hang up their pads. It is fascinating to see one club that has brought through so many players – the saying in England used to ‘strong Yorkshire means strong England’, in Sri Lanka that could quite easily be ‘strong Nondescripts means strong Sri Lanka.’

I’m not the only one to have admired the list of names. I’ve heard players asking about the large mural that is painted above the bar, showing some of the club’s successful players. A cricketer’s development is not all about what happens on the field. It is also about taking an interest in the bigger picture, so hearing a player query the history of the club suggests these possible future stars understand more than just the bat and ball.

One of the greatest players in the club’s history is Aravinda de Silva, and the locals are very pleased to talk about him. With Sri Lanka have been trounced by Australia next door at the SSC, I went and watched the end of Zimbabwe against Pakistan. As I took a walk around the outfield, I was beckoned over by a group of people leaning over the wall – goodness knows why they don’t come in, it’s free after all. Anyway, they started with the usual questions – which country was I from, which team did I support, why was I here…you get the picture.

Then suddenly they’d heard enough about me – not the first time that has happened – and said: “This ground (pointing to the School’s ground next to the NCC) is where Aravinda played his cricket. He was so good, did you see his World Cup century, he smashed it everywhere. He used to do that here, too. The ball would fly over the wall all the time.”

de Silva was indeed a quality player. One of the innings I remember best was his Benson & Hedges Cup final century, in 1995, against Lancashire (apologies here to the Cricinfo office, who thought they’d escaped county references for at least three weeks) where he blitzed the bowlers to all corners. That innings was so good he won the man-of-the-match award in a losing cause. So, I can appreciate where the local fans were coming from.

There was a real joy on the faces of those people when they talked about de Silva. Sri Lankans love to talk about their cricketing heroes and this famous club has certainly given them a fair range to choose from – but Aravinda remains a firm favourite.

You’ll have read the occasional passing reference to tuk-tuks in this diary already, but the three-wheeled vehicles have become such a part of my everyday life around Colombo that I felt they deserved an entry of their own. The question is really, where do I start? Is it the hair-raising cornering? The total disregard for the rules of the road? Or the confrontations with traffic many times bigger and stronger?

Inside view: The tuk-tuk experience is not for faint-hearted © Cricinfo Ltd

Well, there are no two tuk-tuks, or trishaws as they are also known, that are alike. Some are fairly bland, just there to do a job, while others are lavishly decorated with loving care and attention. Some drivers have family pictures in their cab and brightly coloured fabrics covering the seats. Some are kept in top-notch condition, others, you think, must be about to fall apart around you.

One thing I learnt early on is that negotiating the price for a ride is very much like buying a house, you never accept the first offer. Once you have done a journey a few times you have a bit of bargaining power and it is often possible to force the driver down a few notches. One thing they aren’t so good at is having change, so when you offer a 1000 rupee note it begins a drawn out process over who is going to sort out some smaller notes.

However, the fun really starts when the driver sets off. The first thing they will often do is tear up the wrong side of the road – or even the duel-carriage way – instead of finding the next turning spot. Road signs mean very little and traffic lights sometimes even less. Creeping while the light is on red is seen all over the world, but these guys take it to a new level. By the time the signal changes, they are often halfway across the junction, revving their engines as if about to launch into a drag race with their mate opposite.

Size certainly doesn’t matter in the case of tuk-tuks. They hold no inferiority complex over buses, lorries or cars and are quite happy to take any of them on in a duel to reach that next gap in the traffic. You see, they are all equipped with that one vital piece of equipment for driving in Sri Lanka – the horn. If you aren’t hearing them there is something wrong, if you do hear them they are invariably trying to prevent something going wrong. If your horn fails you may as well not bother trying.

However, the drivers have been doing this for years, who am I not to trust them, and most know what they are doing – but not all. When you say your destination there will always be a nod, smile and acknowledgement that they know exactly where it is. I have found, in reality, that isn’t quite true all the time. So there is often the situation where the driver pulls over to ask directions, sometimes two or three times in a ten minute journey.

But for all the turns that surely can’t be made, sideswipes and collisions that seem inevitable, I have yet to see a tuk-tuk crash. There is time, of course, and the odds of my next entry here being about a broken leg have probably shortened, but it wouldn’t be Colombo without the tuk-tuks. Taking a taxi will seem quite the same again.

Taxilla. It's a name that evoked memories of one's history books, of King Ambhi, of education. It's an ancient city that rose to prominence as one of the eminent seats of learning in the sub-continent, before being ravaged by invaders from Central Asia.

The ruins suggested a strong Buddhist influence and the place invoked a sense of awe. Imagining how people lived a few decades back is hard enough; trying to visualise lifestyles around 2nd century AD is quite mindboggling.

Museums help - one gets a feel of the weaponry, the utensils, the currency, the script, the architecture, the clothes and the jewellery. The sight of imposing Buddhist stupas and the repeated mention of Asoka makes one realise the religious influence in these parts. But it's the ruins that are tough to unravel.

You see rows and rows of stone colonies, planned drainage systems, water faucets, and innovative ventilation. You are shown enclosures and told about this being a marriage hall and that being a courtroom. But nothing is concrete, everything is left to the imagination. At a certain level, it's fantasy. It's wonderful.

The university, though, is something one can relate to. A room for each student, a monastry in the middle, prayer halls in the side, a common washroom and a awesome view of the mountains from all sides. One could imagine students from various lands arriving here, climbing the steep ascent, assembling in the monastry, meditating, learning, praying. Eons later, the ruins remain. It's wonderful.

Driving from Peshawar to Rawalpindi to Islamabad is like going from a rustic barber's shop to a run-of-the-mill hair-dresser to a posh hair-styling saloon. The contrast is far too stark to miss. One a city that still retains an old-world charm, another a rather crowded hub and the third a manicured, organised capital.

Islamabad is like an enlarged lego set - similar sized houses lining the well-planned colonies; wide several-laned roads infested with trendy automobiles; picturesque set of trees overlooking avenues; recreation parks straight out of suburbs in England. In many ways it's an enlarged Chandigarh, another of those cities planned like clockwork and one that looks the same whichever way you look at it.

It's no doubt impressive but somehow it felt too good, too artificial, too chocolaty. It was a sudden shift coming from pastoral Peshawar, a land that opened up infinite possibilities, one where old blended beautifully with new, one that had a distinct soul. Someday I would love to go back and soak in a bit more of its character.

Now to the posh hair-stylist.

After two matches at the SSC, Colombo’s second biggest ground following the Premadasa Stadium, it was time to take a look at another of the town’s multitude if venues. Like Antigua is said to have a beach for every day of the year, I’m sure this place can match that for cricket grounds. They are everywhere, of all shapes and sizes, and very conveniently three of them (and, as if by magic, three of four for this tournament) are within about 100 yards of each other.

The press box at Colombo Cricket Club didn't offer the best view of the scoreboard © Cricinfo Ltd

So when I say I went to another ground, it certainly doesn’t mean I had to venture into the unknown – more like turn left instead of the right this morning. Colombo Cricket Club is typical of smaller grounds; one main pavilion building, a small open stand, the groundstaff's shed, the scoreboard and the press box. Now, I don't like to quibble about little issues that crop up during the day – and there haven’t been any so far this tournament – but the CCC threw up a tricky proposition.

As I wandered into the ground, trying to avoid the two team buses that were attempting, what seemed to be, logistically impossible reversing into incredibly tight spaces, I asked for directions to the media area. Sent across to the other side of the ground I meandered over the outfield, dodging the occasional stray practice ball, and admired the large traditional scoreboard. I think manual scoreboards add to the character of a ground; The Oval had the fastest operators in the west, Adelaide’s is stunning, while Sydney’s is heritage listed.

The board at CCC does not quite reach those heights, but still produces an efficient show; well at least I think it did. I can’t tell you for sure because the press box and the scoreboard are side by side (and I mean almost touching), completely facing the ground. When I noticed this a bad neck was expected by the end of the day with stretching to try and read the thing. That didn’t happen, but only because even if you lent well out of the box it still didn’t help. Having scoreboards like this is not unusual, it’s just that there is often another one on the opposite side of the ground giving basic information like the total and overs.

Not here, so the day was spent relying on the media assistants – a hardworking bunch of people who have, so far, outnumbered the actual media at most matches – to keep the stats rolling in. And they did a sterling job, especially given that this match turned out to be the tightest in the tournament so far.

In fact, the whole operation at each ground has been impressive – viewable scoreboard or not. Probably the most important guy has been the technician, who goes through what seems like an extraordinarily complicated wiring process each morning to give us phone lines (I could have sworn he’d picked up a trans-atlantic phone call today) but never fails to get us connected. Nothing is ever too much of a problem, a familiar and endearing trait from many Sri Lankans, which makes even not being able to see the score at a cricket match seem like a trivial matter.

In many ways, the World Cup is bigger news in the lesser-known cricketing nations. This was well demonstrated today with two journalists from Nepal covering the clash against England, while there are also journalists from Uganda, Ireland and Scotland covering their countries. And they are only the ones I know about.

My knowledge of the Nepalese players was somewhat lacking at the start of the match – and it wasn’t helped by first names appearing on the backs of some shirts, compared to surnames on the scoreboard. So I bent the ear of the reporter from the Kathmandu Post, and enjoyed an enlightening conversation about the rise of their cricket.

It has now become the No. 2 sport in the country, still trailing football by some distance but rapidly gaining ground. During the Afro-Asia Cup qualifying tournament, which Nepal won to earn themselves a place in this World Cup, between 15,000 and 20,000 fans turned up for the final. This was at a ground with no seating and little crowd control. Apparently the awards ceremony at the end was held up by a crowd invasion as the coach was lifted into the air in triumph.

The recent rapid rise of cricket in Nepal is emphasised by the story of their opening bowling Amrit Bhattarai. He is just 15-years-old, so has the chance of emulating Kanishka Chaugai, his captain, by playing in three World Cups. But the more amazing fact is that he has only been playing cricket for 18 months – now he is opening the bowling for his country. Talk about fast-tracking. A number of the U-19 squad have also already represented the full Nepal side, and their problem is creating a large enough pool of players to pick from.

I chatted briefly to Roy Dias, their coach for five years, following the match, and he said he was proud of the effort show by his team, but disappointed they couldn’t get closer to England. “It is very disappointing, because we dropped a few catches and that cost us important runs. But it was still a good score to chase and we got a nice start with Kanishka batting well, but sadly he pulled his hamstring and that altered our rhythm. Then we lost three wickets on run outs, that’s a crime. You can get out, just not run out.”

These lessons will be learned in time, especially if the enthusiasm and commitment that was evident today continues to spread. The raw ingredients are there, now comes the hard work.

It’s been exactly a month since I landed in Pakistan and only now do I get the feeling of being in a foreign country. For once, I am clueless about the language and for once, I look and dress totally differently from the locals.

We experienced some overwhelming hospitality when we landed in Lahore but the Peshawari warmth is cut from a different cloth. At Lahore, most people transformed their outlook from acting normal to being numbingly hospitable. At Peshawar, the initial reaction was more dead-faced but the final action just as stunning. One taxi driver didn’t want any money; another, Naeyk Alam Khan, insisted that he paid for all the items we bought and finally refused to charge us for the whole trip.

Khan took it up as a mission to show us around the city. After a failed visit to the museum (closed on Sunday), he offered to take us to Karkhana Market, a place he termed unique. Cruising through the smooth roads, with digital clocks at every traffic signal, we enjoyed the sun sinking under the imposing mountain range, a refreshing breeze blowing, and a quaint sight of donkeys pulling carts and zooming past.

Karkhana Market is known for several things, least of all for a place where one can buy, hold your breath, guns. It’s a truly astonishing sight with rows of pistols, rifles, air guns, machine guns, Kaleshnikovs and zillion varieties of firearms lining the walls.

Look into the glassed shelves and you get bullets, cartridges, magazines, cases, spares and the rest. Turn around and you see imperial swords – lengthy, curved, sharp and lethal – daggers, stilettos, butterfly knives et all. In one of the shops, a couple of men were diligently making guns – filing, sawing, shaping and oiling.

Walk a few metres and there is more lawlessness – shops openly selling hashish at absurdly low prices, some trading in smuggled goods (Rolex watches were available for Rs 150!), others dealing in pirated CDs, others selling fake soaps and shampoos.

What was the best sight of them all? As we were leaving the market, still reeling from the brazenness of it all, one noticed, just a few metres away form the centre of anarchy, a police station with several guards chit-chatting outside. Probably one can’t blame them. When in Peshawar, one might as well do as the Peshawaris do.

In their current form there are not many sides that could outdo the full Australian side when it comes to a crushing one-day win. So, it comes as no surprise, that when it does happen it is another Australian team that manages it. While South Africa suffered a 57-run drubbing at Sydney, the Under-19 version were crushed by 175 runs in Colombo.

The small, but vocal group, of Australian supporters at the SSC © Cricinfo Ltd

Not bad for a team that had lost its two warm-up matches. But Matthew Mott, the assistant coach, said to me before the match that “they had learned some lessons,” and South Africa felt the result.

The star of the Colombo show was Tom Cooper, a tall and correct opening batsman from New South Wales, who watched two partners fall in the space of three balls before guiding his side towards their massive total. Today was not one of Colombo’s warmest, but batting for nearly 40 overs was still hard work, so there is certainly one person who will have enjoyed the Supersub rule, as Cooper was given the second innings off and could put his feet up in the dressing room.

“I was buggered to be honest,” he admitted, “so it was nice to come off and I enjoyed my rest. I didn’t have a word with the skipper or anything, he just gave me the nod during the lunch break.” Expect a few more century-makers to be looking their captain’s way during the next two weeks.

Given how well Cooper played, and the powerful striking from Aaron Finch and David Warner, it was just a shame that virtually no one was in the ground to watch. There is free entry to all the matches in the tournament: either the message hasn’t got around or people had better things to do on a Sunday.

The groundstaff, who spent most of the day lounging in the shade of a stand, until some threatening clouds began to approach, made up about two thirds of the people who did watch. There were a few locals scattered around the pavilion and a few expats had made their way down to cheer on their team. However, the biggest section of support was a group of Australians who cheered their side all day. Sat just below the dressing room, they were made up mostly of player’s families but at least they added some small atmosphere to the day. When the two teams lined up for the brief post-match ceremony they gave a hearty rendition of that well known classic, “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi.”

News filtered through to the SSC that there was similar non-existant crowd at the Premadasa Stadium. A small crowd for an Australia-South Africa clash is one thing, but when the home team is involved it does make you wonder whether the tournament is going to grab the imagination of public. It would be shame if it didn’t as there are some gifted players on show.

But it is early days yet. The group of workmen that appeared with a truck on one of the grass embankments are obviously more optimistic about the crowds flocking in. They built a drinks stall which was certainly capable of catering for more people than needed refreshments today. Talking of drinks, I’ll toast Tom Cooper – well played.

In 1275, when Marco Polo visited the Peshawar area, he found a place where "people have peculiar language, worship idols and have an evil disposition". The first part isn't too far off the mark, the second, I haven't yet observed and the third, I really hope not.

Peshawar appears more Central Asia than Pakistan. It's an old city, one of the oldest in the sub-continent, and was the site of several bloodbaths in history. Yet, it survived them all and is currently a city where the old blends beautifully with the new. You have trendy malls, you also have Chapli kebabs and gigantic naans being cooked outdoors.

The men are big, bigger, biggest and have a medevial, serious look that can have an intimidating effect. Many look more Russian then sub-continental - fair and well-built, crunching your palms during a handshake.

Even light-hearted humour is often accompanied with a stone-faced countanance. When you're way over six feet tall, wearing a flowing shalwar-kameez, and walking as if you are on a warpath somebody is bound to think that you may have an evil disposition.

Here, with my finest weather-presenting impression is the forecast for Colombo. It’s hot, and stays hot all day and all night, but when it rains, boy, does it rain. Yesterday evening I was sat in the Sri Lankan office of Cricinfo, putting together an entry for this blog, when I realised I could hear water cascading down the window panes. Funny time to wash the windows, I thought, before opening the door to see sheeting rain. Within minutes the road outside the office resembled a river and the dusty surface had turned to mud.

The strikingly ornate Gothami temple © Cricinfo Ltd

But, if that was impressive it was nothing compared to the deluge that struck Colombo today, unfortunately on Independence Day when everyone was on holiday and would have packed out the beaches if the sun had shone. At about one o’clock this afternoon, typically just as I was about to leave the house, the thunder rumbled in and the heavens opened again.

Now, tropical rain in Sri Lanka shouldn’t come as any surprise, but this isn’t the main wet season and today’s downpours surprised a few people. When the country held the 2000 Under-19 tournament it was staged a month earlier and rain played havoc with a number of matches.

I attempted, fairly unsuccessfully, to dodge the worst of rain as I went to one of the hotels in town to collect an invite to tonight’s opening ceremony. When I came out a brief dry interlude encouraged me to take a walk along a random street to see where I would end up. However, I wasn’t alone for long as I had one of those surreal experiences that can only happen on the subcontinent.

I wasn’t paying attention when this friendly chap – who became known as 'Dom' for simplicity sake – started matching me stride for stride and chatting about the weather. After a couple of false starts I worked out he was one of gardeners from the hotel, so I complimented him on his very fine lawns and shrubs, and he quickly tagged on that I was a Brit and was quite excited when he found out I was here for the cricket. He then insisted that I go with him to look at a temple and two minutes later we were in a tuk-tuk that would end up staying with us for the next two hours.

Dom insisted that this was one of the best in town and the Gothami temple was indeed a strikingly ornate building. After taking off our shoes my new guide showed me around the various rooms, explaining what different paintings and statues meant.

Then it was on to another Sri Lankan special – a gem factory. A very knowledgeable young man called Michael – a qualified gemologist apparently - talked me through how Sri Lanka’s famous gems are made. Without major details, it involves volancos, rivers, the sea and a lot of digging. Suddenly, all that A-level geography came flooding back. Well, not quite.

Back in the tuk-tuk Dom seemed very pleased with himself and said we should stop at the beach before he went home. Once we got to the shore he jumped out, we settled up with the driver and as quickly as he’d appeared Dom was on his way – he was late he said, and would get in trouble if he was any longer. Well, I thought, that doesn’t happen every day but, then again, plenty of my Colombo experiences have been firsts.

Like an oasis in a desert, somewhere in Clifton Shopping Arcade in Karachi, is a small niche specialising in making, hold your breath, Masala Dosa. Coming from a region where the dish is almost a staple, I didn't need to sample this one. Yet, one couldn't resist the temptation.

Eighteen years back, Mrs Fazeelat Jahan moved from Madras to Karachi and, if reports are to be believed, started the city's first Dosa outlet. These days the Dosas are made by her protege, Anwar, and they come in three varieties - Kheema, Chicken and Aloo.

Anwar was quick with his dosas - high flame, quick turn - kept talking as he made them, was enthralled at meeting a South Indian and asked if he was following the right procedures. "Do you add more oil? Do you make it crisper?" (If only I could tell him that I knew even lesser about Dosa making than him)

The power of the Dosa lies in the side dishes. The chutney was a bit bland but the impressive bit was alongside. It would be hard to find Tamarind concentrate (or vetha kozhambu to a Tamilian) outside South India but to get it in Karachi, hot and tangy, was one big surprise.

I told him there was less salt in the Dosa, mentioned that a pinch of masala and chilly powder could have been added to the aloo, and praised the vetha kozhambu with a lavish "just like in South India". He promised to follow all the advice (God save him) and requested that I returned for more Dosas soon.

Just one taste was enough to crave for home food; enough to miss my mother that little bit more.

A refreshing aspect to my early days in Colombo has been the attitude of the players and management that I have so far come across. It is fair to say that, at times, dealing with full international teams can be a frustrating and impersonal affair, as you are directed through one official channel then another before being told there is ‘no comment’. Nothing of the sort here, those I've met have been happy to talk and ensure the World Cup is shown in the best possible light.

Australia's Adam Ritchard gets to grips with fame © Cricinfo

These players have yet to put up their guard – they have no reason to – they are not weighed under by ongoing pressure on them. Whether it is milling around at the hotel or having a chat with some of the players during a lunch break, they are relaxed and confident. It is all part of the experience and they also realise that good coverage of the tournament gives them more exposure and can be a boost to their careers. Relationships with the media won’t always be so cordial, but while they are life is so much easier.

Working with the media is just one of a host of other roles that those players who progress through the ranks will find become a part of their everyday life. The days leading up to the start of the tournament, on Sunday, have not only been filled with the warm-up matches, but an array of administrative commitments – a small taste of what will await a few in the future. And don’t think, for one minute, they get an easy ride because they are youngsters. This is a full-on ICC tournament and comes will all the associated bells and whistles.

Probably the most eye-opening of the tasks for each team will have been their meeting with the ACSU – the anti corruption unit – an hour-long talk about how to ensure the players avoid any unscrupulous activities. This is the serious part of the day, as there is an ongoing campaign to ensure the sport stays clean and fair. Some of these players will be around for the next 15 years, so they may as well get into good habits early.

The teams are then herded into a large room, for the mini-bat signing session. There are 75 for each team to scrawl their signatures on, the difference here as opposed to the full national sides is that you can often make out the names – they haven’t been overworked as yet and had time to resemble more a wiggly line than an actual name. However, they are asked before hand to resist the temptation to include “any hearts, kisses or little doodles”.

But the players are serious about why they are here and quickly complete the two tables of bats – the Australians apparently were the fastest, although the Indians didn’t hang around. Despite the fact that most of them would probably rather be fitting in some last-minute training, the two squads that were involved while I was knocking about the hotel – Australia and Namibia – were clearly aware of their responsibilities. But they are also young enough to enjoy it without any preconceptions.

It was so similar, yet it was so different. I've played street cricket in India, played under lights, played with rules restricting scoring to the straights, played it with a lot of fervour. I’ve played with tennis, rubber and cork balls but never tried out using a hard tennis ball wrapped in tape.

It was a six-a-side game in one of the streets of Defence Colony – with stumps placed in the middle of the road and occasional breaks caused by vehicles passing by. With houses on either side, lofting over the walls and into the compounds meant out. Hit straight or nudge and push; go for glory, trying to whack it straight, or be a bit cheeky and paddle it around.

Maybe it was only me, but this ball required one to actually watch closely. With tennis or rubber balls back home, it’s only a matter of reading the length. Once you’ve got it within your sights it’s not too tough to swing through the same line.

Here the ball invariably does something. Before pitching it swerves, sometimes very late; after pitching it can zip through faster. Once you face a couple, you invariably stay on the back foot and try to angle it around; it’s only after a few more that you try and smack it down the ground.

Bowling is great fun. The slightly faster pace is pleasantly surprising. You realise that it can actually get through pretty quick, so you walk back and try to bowl a bit quicker. Superb. Longer run-up this time, hurry in quicker, bend your back more. Awesome. It works for a couple of balls; then you stretch to the extreme and ... thwack. Even before you have bent down, while still panting your heart out, the ball has raced past for four. So what to do now? Let’s bowl even faster and get this $&%&$.

Similarities are many – sledges, running commentary, tactics, scraps. With a decisive game on, at a crucial stage, Mr. Tall Left-Arm Terror (TLT) comes in to bowl his third over. Vehement protests. Why? Maximum of two overs per bowler. Did you say so at the start? No, but it’s understood. No way, play if you want. Shut up you %&$%&. Get out you $%&*$.

As they say in the gullies back home – every cricket match is followed by a fight, every fight is followed by a cricket match.

Who says England can’t win a match with spin? The probable threesome for the senior tour of India – Shaun Udal, Ian Blackwell and Monty Panesar – won’t be giving Virender Sehwag and Rahul Dravid nightmares, but the Under-19 side today showed the way, bowling England to a moral boosting warm-up win. To India’s Under-19 team Graeme White, Nick James and Moeen Ali will have sounded like a similar prospect to that facing the full squad next month. But they proved that with the backing of some thoughtful captaincy and the confidence to throw the ball up anything is possible. Food for thought as Vaughan and Co. prepare for their next challenge.

Bloomfield Cricket Ground, the scene of England's impressive win against India © Cricinfo

England, though, would do well not to get carried away. These types of matches are notorious for sending out the wrong signals, but what was eye-catching about the whole game was the intensity of proceedings and the thrill at the result. You would be unlikely to see any full national side whooping and hollering after winning a practice match, which partly goes to explain why Test sides often slip up - the desire isn’t quite there. However, both teams today – but especially England – were really up for this one. It will have had something to do with their 11-0 trashing in Bangladesh (making any win a joyous occasion) but it also shows what it means to these young guys to be representing their country. The scenes at the end looked more like the World Cup was theirs – well, if they continue in this style, they will have a decent chance of being there at the end.

It was a great match in which to get my bearings as far as the World Cup goes, and as it turned out, my bearings around Colombo. One thing I’m learning fairly quickly here is that the best-laid plans don’t always come off. Being the start of a tournament I’d had accreditation issues to sort early in the morning. That was fine, an easy tuk-tuk ride (well, all these things are relative) from the house I’m staying in, to the impressive Taj Samudra hotel, right on the sea front in Colombo. Getting from there to the ground, now that’s a different story.

Firstly, Galle Road, the major route in town, was shut in parts for the rehearsal ahead of Sri Lanka's Independence Day celebrations on Feb 4. This, as the tuk-tuk drivers kept explaining, was a real pain. But still, the guy seemed confident when I said “Bloomfield Cricket Ground.” After another ten minutes of playing dodgems with the traffic we arrived at a cricket ground. Only it was the SSC, one of the main Test grounds in the city. Across the road is the Nondescripts Ground. OK, so I wasn’t in the right place but at least I knew where I would need to go come Sunday and the first proper matches.

I obviously wore the “I have no idea where I am” look because another driver came up and asked if I needed another ride. They aren’t slow to spot the floundering visitor and the possibility of a nice bonus. However, I’m learning to confirm a fare before leaving, so a mere 100 rupees later I was at the right ground, in time to enjoy a match that whetted the appetite for the weeks ahead.

Forgive me if some of my comments over the next few weeks seem slightly
clichéd or old-hat. This is my first trip to the subcontinent and it
doesn’t matter how much you hear from other people, there is nothing like first-hand experience.

My flight left Dubai in the early hours of Wednesday morning, meaning
there was very little sleep beforehand and, with the journey taking just four hours, very little sleep on board. So, it was with slightly bleary eyes that I stared out of the window as we descended into Colombo, the lush, green landscape appearing out of the haze. However, any feeling of weariness was soon cast aside as my senses were sent into overdrive on entering the bustling – and at first glance, chaotic - Colombo life.

The first challenge was to locate the correct taxi driver amid a sea of people outside the arrivals hall. I gambled that a man holding a slightly miss spelt version of my name was the right guy – taking the view that not too many people with a similar surname would be getting off a flight from Dubai. Next came the baggage handler, who didn’t miss a trick and was convinced I was hiding some nice “London money” from him. The best I could offer was some left over Dirhams, which I’m sure he never quite believed.

Airport negotiated, it was time for the trip into town. If I’d had any ideas about nodding off for an hour, that notion didn’t last long. Parts of the journey were breathless; faced head-on with a large truck on the wrong side of the road, there is not much you can do than have total faith in your driver. But as we progressed further along our route it dawned on me that the system of tooting horns and waving arms actually worked and kept things moving. The tuk-tuks squeezed in among the lorries, which vied for position with the cars and four-wheel drives.

Midway through the journey into Colombo, the driver asked how I would be paying for the trip. Good question; I knew I’d forgotten something at the airport. No problem. The car was swung around, pulled up in front of a bank and I was pointed in the direction of an ATM. I’d not given much thought to the exchange rate and had to think for a moment before keying in the seemingly absurd amount of 5000 rupees. If I was to ask for anything greater than double figures back home, the machine would probably start smoking, chew up my card and tell me not to be so stupid. To ask for a thousand anything, never mind the currency, took some getting used to.

But here I have the joy of being able to divide by roughly 180 to get the equivalent in pounds. Now, my 180 times table is a little rusty these days so, back in the cab, my phone-cum-calculator told me I’d withdrawn the princely sum of £27. Excess baggage and merchandise might well be an issue in three weeks time. Until then, this is an experience I’m intent on living to the full.

A battle of the hacks under floodlights at the Asghar Ali Shah Stadium is no joking matter. Especially when you reslise that one of the opposition openers, a former hockey star with Olympic and World Cup medals, can smash sixes out of the ground.

Wasim Feroze's international reputation was built around a stick. Part of a brilliant forward line also comprising Shahbaz Ahmed and Tahir Zaman, Feroze was a brilliant outside left who would often turn around and drive a ball straight into the striking circle.

Yesterday he drove with a cricket bat - hard, high and ruthless. One over midwicket cleared the walls of the stadium, one sped to long-on, another was pelted to extra cover. Most of the lofted strokes were lost in the lights, some swirled in the breeze, some fell in vacant spaces.

By the time he was done, the run-rate was more than ten an over and the contest turned pretty one-sided. A smattering of spectators watching the proceedings felt the bowling was too easy but blamed the pitch for being too flat. Here we go again ...