You see, I have lived and breathed the last four Ashes tours, from Gooch's disaster in 1990-91 through Atherton's disaster in 1994-95 to Hussain's disaster in 2002-03, and in that time, the nuances of each venue have become inscribed on my soul. Melbourne's Great Southern Stand, The Fremantle Doctor, the Ladies Pavilion at Sydney. But up at the Gabba, I was left completely non-plussed. Where was the history, except in rather indifferent snippets on the walls. Where was the old dog track of my mind's eye, except beneath a ton of concrete.

The trouble is, the new 42,000-seater Gabba is not a cricket ground, it is a stadium. It took a familiar and well-oiled member of the Barmy Army to point out that subtle difference to me, when I bumped into him looking as lost as the day he was born, in Brisbane's Pig & Whistle on the night after the Test. "You see, bundu," he began, in his unique mannerism, "there's no point complaining about the atmosphere at this match. You see, this is the only place in the world where you pay your money for a particular seat.

"It'll be different at Adelaide," he added, and how instantly he's been proven to be right. I've been at the ground for roughly eight hours, but already I've been here a lifetime. The seagulls on the peculiarly expansive straight boundaries, the rows and rows of benches in the member's enclosures. The ivy creeping up the walls behind the nets, where spectators can sit with their heads almost reaching into the action. Everything's exactly as it ought to be.

	'There are green open spaces in which to mill around, and no two angles of the ground look the same' © Andrew Miller

Most gloriously of all, there is space to breathe. If you wanted to stretch your legs at the Gabba, you'd have to go for a perambulation around the elevated concourse, which had such a plethora of fast-food outlets, (watered-down) beer taps and similarly claustrophobic spectators, it felt as relaxing as an afternoon at the Trafford Centre. Already it's clear that Adelaide's going to be different. There are green open spaces in which to mill around, and no two angles of the ground look the same. How could they be when you've got St Peter's Cathedral peeping over one corner, and the elegantly incorporated Sir Donald Bradman stand curled around the other?

It is obligatory to wax lyrical about the Adelaide Oval. Architecturally it blends the best features of Lord's and Trent Bridge, the two finest grounds in England, and blesses them with year-round perfect weather. But what's more important is the experience it promises to the spectator. I've grown up with this ground, even though I've never visited before. I know it, and I know the context of the contest it's about to host. In my mind's eye at least, the Ashes are about to begin at a venue that I trust as a guardian of the game's traditions. I wonder if England, as they observe the ground in all its majesty from their hotel windows across the River Torrens, might feel a flicker of the same.