Marcus Trescothick poses among a collection of Buddha statues during the 2003 tour © Getty Images

And yet, how contrary the experience often turns out to be. England have been to Asgiriya twice before, in 2000-01 and 2003-04, and on each occasion their karmic brownie points have been drained as efficiently as the city's famous Temple of the Tooth is said to top them up. Both matches were coloured by some of the filthiest bouts of temper on a cricket field this decade, all of which is enough to make a monk blush.

The first fixture, in 2000-01, was indisputably the worst. Sanath Jayasuriya was given out caught at slip after hammering the ball into the ground, and hurled his helmet into the boundary boards in frustration. Kumar Sangakkara used his lawyerly logic to get so far under the skin of England's intellectual opener, Mike Atherton, that a bout of irate finger-jabbing ensued. And fines were flung around like confetti by the authoritarian match referee, Hanumant Singh, a man after whom Duncan Fletcher later named his souvenir of the trip - a giant wooden elephant.

The only man who felt any karmic blessings in that game was England's captain, Nasser Hussain. He was in the middle of a shocking run of form, interspersed with some outrageous umpiring decisions, and had managed a solitary fifty in 21 innings since the start of 2000. Now he was twice caught at bat-pad and twice given not out by the less-than-hawk-eyed local umpire, BC Cooray, en route to the century that set England up for a memorable and rancorous win.

But what comes around goes around, and three years later, Hussain was back in the ranks and back in the eye of the storm, after a less-than-civil greeting to Muttiah Muralitharan as he came out to bat in Sri Lanka's first innings. A pair of expletives, and the words "cheat" and "chucker" were widely believed to have been used, and though Hussain escaped without censure after a late-night meeting with the match referee, Clive Lloyd, he was given a sound chastising by the local media, one of whom wrote a leading article warning "Mr Hussain" to "tread lightly and mind your manners".

*****

Sadly, for all the fun and furores that the Asgiriya has provided since its inaugural Test in 1983, its days as an international venue are strictly numbered. A new, purpose-built stadium has been commissioned at Pallekele, on the eastern outskirts of the town, and despite all the delays, disputes and planning hassles so associated with such constructions, it is expected to be up and running in time for the 2011 World Cup.

The principle problem with the Asgiriya is its ownership. The ground is the private property of Trinity College - whose alumni include Kumar Sangakkara and Ranjan Madugalle, not to mention a host of politicians and businessmen - and though the beauty of the ground is not in question, the revenue potential most certainly is.

The Asgiriya has not got much of a capacity either - there's only one permanent stand, above the players' pavilion, while the best seats in the house are the sole preserve of the Old Trinitians' Sports Club, whose exclusive clubhouse at deep midwicket is only accessible from the road.

Then there's the media facilities. Perfectly adequate for the print media, who delight in their open-fronted whitewashed vantage point, but not quite so ideal for the various TV and radio companies who jostle for cables and soundproofing on the echoing upper deck. Unless they schedule a warm-up for future tours, England will never play here again, and India in 2008 are likely to be the last visitors. It's sad to say farewell, but let's enjoy the venue while it lasts.

	The Sri Lankan Army Band. They still need a bit of practice © Andrew Miller

You get used to strange tooting noises when you're out and about in Colombo. The city is a constant cacophony of klaxons and horns, and if enough of them sound in sequence, it can sometimes seem musical.

It's a little bit more confusing, however, when designated musicians end up sounding like a fleet of frustrated tuk-tuk drivers. For the last two days of England's warm-up, a strangulated brassy din has been wafting across the breeze from the car-park of the SSC, where the Sri Lankan military band have been practising their scales ahead of their gala performance during the second Test.

As their tuba player explained between puffs, the band are being lined up to provide lunchtime entertainment - though on which days he wasn't yet sure - and when all their efforts come together they intend to delight the punters with a medley of old favourites, such as the Sri Lankan national anthem, and Land of Hope and Glory.

Fortunately there's still a fortnight to go before the grand opening night. Goodness knows they need it. Maybe their performance will benefit from being on the big stage, but for the time being, they've chosen to congregate behind the NCC's whitewashed brick sightscreen, which must be rather like trying to produce your best innings on a scratchy coconut-matting net.

They've been out of sight, but most certainly not out of mind. "Are we disturbing you?" asked the band members yesterday morning, as the Sky Sports team lined up their shots of the day's play. "Not at all," came the ever-polite reply. Forty-eight hours of involuntary trumpet later, and several peculiarly soundtracked snippets, they are possibly ruing their stoicism.

Continue reading "Brass necks, and the anatomy of a scoreboard"

	The new pavilion at the NCC © Andrew Miller

I jumped in my tuk-tuk this morning and asked the driver to take me to "Nondescripts Cricket Club", the venue for England's second warm-up match. I might as well have asked him to take me to Grace Road, because he looked decidedly nonplussed. I tried again, a little more phonetically - still no joy, and the clock was ticking. So I changed tack. "NCC?" I enquired. He roared with laughter, pumped his engine into life, and hurtled off at a canter.

Such is the power of the acronym. In England, only one such club could get away with being known by its initials, and even then most taxi-drivers would need you to specify "Lord's" if you wanted to get there. In Colombo, there are three lined up on the same signpost, as you turn off the main thoroughfare and head for the tranquil environs of Cinnamon Gardens.

NCC, CCC and SSC. Three venerable first-class clubs, each a six-hit away from the other, and each with its own unique history. From the air the three clubs form an L-shape as they line up along Maitland Place - CCC on the west side of the road, NCC directly opposite, and SSC one click to the south. As England's game got underway, a certain familiar face could be seen peering like a ticketless fan through the mesh fence that divides the two properties. It was Muttiah Muralitharan, spying on his opponents ahead of a Sri Lankan training session at the Sinhalese Sports Club (to give it its full and less familiar title).

Continue reading "Descriptions of the Nondescripts"

	Chilled out: One local inhabitant isn't too bothered by the tight security in Colombo © Andrew Miller

Two books caught my eye as I was perusing the gift shop at the team hotel this morning, killing time before England's training session began. In among the postcards, guidebooks and polka-dotted bikinis were a pair of weighty publications, "Fractured Paradise" and "A Divided Isle", that told the tale of the traumas that have undermined Sri Lanka's standing on the world stage.

By rights, Sri Lanka should be one of the world's most alluring tourist hotspots. It has it all - ancient civilisations, stunning beaches, friendly people and an appealing night-life, to name but a few of its ticks in the box. None other than Marco Polo rated it as "the finest island of its size" that he ever encountered, and he saw a fair bit in his time.

Continue reading "A troubled paradise"

	The players' tent is not the most comfortable place to be when Colombo's daily deluge arrives © Andrew Miller

Who says that journalistic standards are slipping? Not the members of the media lined up at the Colombo Cricket Club, that's for sure. Four years ago, on England's last visit, we were housed in the bleak but undeniably functional whitewashed press box next to the scoreboard at the far end of the ground. The view of the pitch was excellent, although the creaky wooden trestle tables, intermittent power supplies and tandoori oven atmosphere were less so. Also, the vantage-point came with a certain sense of detachment, as all the action seemed to take place in and around the grand colonial pavilion at the opposite end of the ground.

Things are much more civilised this time around. Now the press are lined up on the pavilion verandah, beneath a bank of pankahs, with easy access to the fridge, the internet, the bar (post-play only, of course), and not least, the players. Quite what the players themselves make of the new arrangements is a matter of debate, however. They've been shunted down the steps and onto the grass beneath us, where they've spent the last three days lounging beneath a blue boxing-ring sized marquee - which is not the most comfortable place to be when Colombo's daily deluge arrives …

Continue reading "Reporting from the verandah"

	'When you've got a sweaty Matthew Hoggard towering over you, armed with an inquisitive branch, its best to keep a low profile' © Andrew Miller

Normally when lunch is called on a baking hot day in the subcontinent, a cricketer's first instinct is to leg it for the pavilion to hide in the shade and take on board several gallons of liquid. Not so on the first day of England's tour match in Colombo. The cool of the players' marquee may have been beckoning them, but as soon as the umpires released them from their duties, eight of the team instantly sprinted in the opposite direction.

Very soon they had set a trend - within minutes half the media, most of the spectators and several pointy-stick wielding groundstaff were all gathered around a rubble-strewn wall, peering down onto what, to judge by the excited chatter, was a very, very big visitor.

"Naya, naya!" was the word doing the rounds. Coiling around the bricks, bushes and general detritus - and looking not a little alarmed at suddenly becoming the centre of attention - was a large greeny-yellow cobra.

Its colour may have been perfect for hiding in the proverbial manner, but this one had made its home out of an abandoned piece of grey piping, which was jutting out from the soil at the angle perfect for easy slithering. Lurking just to its left, although by now very much out of sight, was a second such creature. When you've got a sweaty Matthew Hoggard towering over you, armed with an inquisitive branch, its best to keep a low profile.

The size of the snake was much disputed. The best judge in the England camp was probably Andy Flower. He is well used to such creatures from his days in Zimbabwe, but even he was apparently heard to swear gently under his breath when he turned up for his viewing. Graeme Swann, on the other hand, was rather more blasé. He was a latecomer to the gawping, having been told by his team-mates that it was at least "eight metres" - all he could see by the time he turned up was the last measly six inches.

But for Swann, as with all the one-day tourists, such sightings are old hat. At Dambulla several of the squad came across a "Killer King Cobra" (copyright The Sun) during a training run, and were so inspired they went on to win their next three matches. "Let's hope it's a good omen," said Swann. "That one was only a four-footer, but this one was of anaconda proportions …"

Either way, it fared better than the last snake to interrupt an England Test tour. In Bangladesh four years ago, a significantly smaller version fell from a tree surrounding the BKSB ground in Dhaka, causing the most disciplined stampede imaginable from the hundred or so spectators gathered round the pitch. That one was soon clubbed to death with a combination of bricks and sticks. But England nevertheless went on to win the series 2-0, so the snake-sightings are clearly a one-way benefit.

For the rest of the day, snake corner at backward square leg was an uncomfortable place to be posted, especially on a day when so many rusty fast bowlers were on show. With competition for places at a premium, a spate of leg-side long-hops might have been a subtle way to eliminate a few new-ball rivals - ("Sorry Hoggy, would you mind fetching that massive six out of the undergrowth … oh sorry …"), but in the end Vaughan selected Monty, his premium spinner, to patrol the rope and keep his team-mates on the straight and narrow. He's capable of producing a few spitting cobras of his own.