The building where an altercation with a bouncer led to David Hookes' death © Cricinfo Ltd.

Opposite Melbourne's St Kilda beach, in a lane corner, with a departmental store on one side and a compact residence at the other is a prosaic two-storied building that is shut from all sides. Its grey tinge gives it a nondescript feel. It's a sort of building that might never meet your eye.

On the night of January 18, 2004, it was this building, formerly the Beaconsfield Hotel, that was the site of a tragic incident. David Hookes, the popular former Australia batsman, was celebrating Victoria's win over South Australia in a one-day game. There was little to celebrate after midnight: Hookes got into an altercation with a bouncer, fell to the ground, hit his head in the process, and went into cardiac arrest. He never recovered and was proclaimed dead the following day.

The incident was followed up extensively but story of the hotel is an interesting one. Once a hub for backpackers, Beaconsfield, built as early at 1880, was under siege in the months that followed. The next 12 months saw business drop away, staff spat upon and hotel windows riddled with bullets by Hookes' fans. It closed down on Christmas Eve of that year, leaving a whole bunch of regulars with nowhere to go.

"I used to stay a few blocks from the hotel," says Tas James, a local who stops to chat as he passes it by. "This was my watering hole. I used to come here every second day. But now you can see the bullet marks on the doors and walls. They just used to come outside and fire. I've heard they're going to convert this into an apartment soon."

The Greek lady in the adjacent departmental store isn't too keen to open up. Neither is the man who owns the house at the other end. But most in the neighbourhood seem to identify with the hotel, and regret its closure. I'm glad we came now. A few months on and the last remnants of the Hookes incident would have been erased for ever. At least we got to see the bullet marks.

	Ponny, the run-making machine © Siddhartha Vaidyanathan

In case you took Don Bradman out of the equation, who would be the greatest batsman cricket has known? One walk into the MCG and you can’t miss the veneration accorded to Bill Ponsford, a phenomenal run-making machine in his own right.

The statue of Ponsford outside Gate 1 captures the man: he’s finished with the shot, bat in one hand and taking off for the run. It’s almost as if the sculptor is saying: there was never a doubt he could score, let’s show everyone what came after.

‘Ponny’ burst onto the Test arena with a century on debut and finished in an even more sensational manner, ending with 181 and 266 in his farewell. Nobody has managed two first-class quadruple centuries and nobody before him had amassed 1000 runs in a domestic season. One of his streaks of five innings produced a phenomenal 1146 runs. Here was Australia’s original don.

At the MCG for the first two days of the Test was Megan, his grand-daughter. She beams when asked about the Ponsford stand, full of pride at having known the “gentle” man who it’s named after. “He was so quiet,” she says looking into the horizon, “never one to talk about his achievements. In fact he didn’t talk much cricket at all.

“A lot of his contemporaries used to talk about how good he was but the current generation had hardly heard of him. In fact, it was only after the statue came up [in 2005] that a lot of people asked me, ‘Are you related to this guy? You share his surname.’ So that way the stand and the statue has revived his memory.”

Megan, who is currently working on a documentary on the first Australian side to tour India [in 1935], is big on cricket history. “I am particularly interested in the social stories connected to cricket and the 1935 tour makes such a fascinating study.”

	The 100,000th run was scored at the MCG on the fourth day of the first Test between Australia and India © Getty Images

Walk in the committee room in the Melbourne Cricket Ground and you see some wonderful photographs that tell you about the evolution of the ground. There's a picture of an Ashes Test in 1894 with the newly constructed upper decks. You can see trees lining the ground and a number of spectators standing to get a glimpse of the action. Close by is a shot from the 1911-12 Test by when the tree-count had reduced with the big scoreboard and dome-like constructions taking over.

There's a picture recalling the Prince of Wales' 1920 visit, accompanied by celebration and fanfare. The snapshot of the 1937 Ashes Test shows rows and rows of flags lining the ground, apart from a number of loudspeakers, indicating the popularity of public-address systems in cricket grounds at the time.

Cricket is only a part of the MCG's history, of course. It's also hosted some memorable football contests (the Aussie Rules kind) with Essendon and Collingwood (fierce rivals in the local leagues) playing in front of packed audiences. And there's also a concert, the one by the Three Tenors in 1997. Paul Sheahan, the former Australian batsman, pointed out an interesting stat: the 100,000th run run at the ground was scored today. "It's not difficult to know which ground has more," he said referring to Lord's. "That's the second best ground in the world."

***

	Jim Higgs missed out on a half-century after Doug Walters got out when Higgs was on six © Siddhartha Vaidyanathan

Jim Higgs was a popular Australian cricketer in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s. He tasted some success as a legspinner before being part of an important selection panel in the late ‘80s and ‘90s. He was also credited with teaching Shane Warne to bowl the flipper. What most people remember, though, is Higgs’ antics with the bat; he was one of the most notorious No.11 of all time. He finished with an average of 5.55 and only three times did he manage double figures.

Rewind 27 years, to an Australia v New Zealand Test on this ground, and you have one of Higgs’ most memorable stints. Australia were struggling at 261 for 9 with Doug Walters fast running out of partners. “I think Doug was on 70-odd when I walked in on what was a really difficult pitch to bat on. There wasn’t much bounce but a lot of shooters, the kind that go all along the ground.

“So I walked in and played some French cricket. Just stood back, put my bat in front of my pads and hoped the ball wouldn’t go past.” The innings wasn’t without controversy. Lance Cairns got a rare one to lift and was confident Higgs had gloved one to the wicketkeeper. “Umpires Bailhache thought it hit the elbow and also warned Lance for intimidatory bowling. I felt it was a marginal call. I wouldn’t have minded if it was out but the rule at the time prevented bouncers at tailenders. So I stood my ground. And it helped Dougie. He soon got his hundred.”

But Higgsy, chuckling all along, just won’t forgive what happened next. “I was on 6 off 61 balls, had stood there and then he got out. How selfish is that. I supported him till he got his hundred and he didn’t wait till I got my fifty. How rude. I ended by Test career with an average of 5.5. It could have been much more had Dougie stood around.” More chuckles.

	Dean Jones was one of the first Australians to sport sunglasses on a cricket field © Cricinfo Ltd

If you want to hear something interesting, try and find Dean Jones. We know about him sweating and vomiting during his epic double-hundred in Madras in 1986 but there’s more to Deano apart from gritty centuries and the odd commentary gaffe.

Did you know Jones was one of the first Australian cricketers to wear sunglasses? “I first wore it in 1988,” Jones said. “I had been playing with them a little bit. I remember Allan Border said, ‘practise with them before using them’.”

In those days cricketers had to buy their own shades. “I remember wearing an Oakley but I wasn’t endorsing them. I wore it first in Perth where there was a good wind, blue skies, and a white ball and AB said, ‘Make sure you catch the first one. Otherwise you’re in trouble.’

“And I did catch the first one, then I took a specy [spectacular catch] diving on the boundary, then I copped one on the boundary and took two more. And I saw all the fielders wearing sunglasses. I didn’t really understand marketing then but when I went back home, I saw a group of kids playing with sunglasses. It zapped me a bit.”

There was one more first for Deano - “I was one of the first to wear an extra sweatband on the gloves” – and one each for Ian Healy and Steve Waugh too. “Healy got special fibre glass put in the bottom of his wicketkeeping gloves and Steve used bats with oval-shaped handles at the bottom of the grip. It helped for your hands to fit in, unlike the normal cylinder type equipment.”

	What are they all doing here when there are bargains to be plundered? © Getty Images

It’s Boxing Day. Let’s rush to the department stores. Let’s bargain our way to glory. Walk into many outlets and you’re likely to see impressive items going for a song. Queues and more queues, right from 6am in the morning. Reports suggest that about 8000 passed through the doors of the Chadstone shopping centre in Melbourne's east at 7am. Estimates suggest around 250 million dollars will be spent today. And to think 68,465 people spent their day at the MCG.

**

Watching Matthew Hayden and Phil Jaques is great but it’s even more fun chatting with Australians. This writer has been shocked ever since setting foot in Australia. Hadn’t this been the country that intimidated visitors? The land where foreign teams were given a hostile reception? A few Australians have found it strange too but seem to have an explanation. Firstly India aren’t starting their tour in Brisbane, a city where most tours begin and one whose media is given to a fiery approach. Secondly there’s been a change of government. It’s supposed to matter. Thirdly Melbourne is a city with a large Asian community, one that allows teams from the subcontinent to adapt quickly. And to add to it, Damien Fleming, the former Australian and Victorian swing bowler, thought it was an “Indian” pitch. Merry Christmas.

**

It’s always interesting to observe the crowd on the first day of the series. Lahore in 2006 was loud, Antigua was more carnival, and Lord’s, earlier this year, was as quiet as a church. Melbourne was tough to describe but vibrant is probably the word. There was fancy dress, beer (lots of it) and sunshine. There were Mexican waves (which are actually banned), streakers (banned again) and lots of cheering for the visiting side (not banned but strange). Many, it seems, came here craving for a contest and went back in good cheer. Neville Cardus is supposed to have hoped for Victor Trumper doing well in an Australian defeat. Many in the crowd might have had a similar sentiment here.

**

	Merv Hughes takes part in a promotional event for alcohol control © Cricinfo Ltd

Imagine crossing hemispheres, gaining five-and-a-half hours and landing in a city with exactly the same weather as the one you've taken off from. It produces a strange sort of jet-lag. You've moved but it feels you really haven't. Melbourne's sister cities include Osaka, Tianjin, Milan, Boston and St Petersburg but somebody needs to add Bangalore to that list.

It's winter in one city and (supposedly) summer in the other. It was raining when I boarded and raining when I landed: that same windy, chilly, pitter-patter. Occasionally the sun would come out and suddenly you sweated under the jacket. Hardly had you tucked it into your bag than the wind started to sting. A home away from home. And that's where the similarity ends.

**

Lesson No. 1 at the MCG: Cricket Australia has banned Mexican waves (this was earlier this year). It's nothing personal against the central American country. Instead it has been prompted by the mugs and detritus that get thrown up every time a wave happens. One of those objects was apparently a hard tray that smashed into a kid's head. And that was that.

Lesson No. 2: Big Merv Hughes is standing near a statue of Dennis Lillee and posing for photographs. It's not about his moustache but a Cricket Australia promotion for alcohol control. "We all enjoy our beer," said a big poster, "just not one an over."

Big Merv is also a selector, incidentally. He was standing at the nets today and watching Shaun Tait steaming in and smashing them into Ricky Ponting's bat. Nice choice of batsman to bowl to. They were short, full and some ripped off a good length. He was possessed, as if there was no tomorrow. Thank god there is. It's Christmas, Shaun.

**

Slip of the day: Rahul Dravid, speaking to the media, congratulating Sourav Ganguly on his hundred Tests: "A hundred years is a fine achievement by any standards." Oh yes, it is.

**

Chatting with a good friend here, we discuss club cricket in Australia. "Can you believe I gave up bowling after I came here?" he said. Of course I couldn't. He was a decent bowler and why should anyone give up bowling of all things. Smoking maybe, but bowling? "I bowled a wide at nets once and was expected to do ten push-ups." What if you didn't? "It's just a done thing," he said, "nobody tells you to do it but everyone knows it has to be done. If I didn't my name wouldn't be on the team list from next time."

After all the hassles and hardships that went into the staging of the Galle Test match, the end result has been a triumph. Never mind what happens on the final day of the series, the impact is already abundantly clear from looking around the ground and the town itself. There is an air of renewal in the streets, even one of optimism. Perhaps it's a temporary glow, fuelled by the sense of occasion, but somehow I think not. The region has been put back on the map this week, and this time for the right reasons.

Vast swathes of Galle still look tired, as well they might after the devastation that the tsunami brought about, three years ago this week. The bus station behind the ground, which felt the fullest impact of the waves, has been particularly slow to recover. But the local economy has been vibrant this week, fuelled in no small part by 4000 England fans who've packed the bars and beach resorts, and lined the pockets of the innumerable tuk-tuk drivers who buzz around in anticipation of a windfall.

England has this effect on sleepy touring venues. Port Elizabeth three years ago and Brisbane last winter were two of the biggest economic winners of recent times, and though Galle won’t report quite such a profit margin, the bigger picture - once again - is the most important aspect. Tourism is an industry in which Sri Lanka deserves to be a world leader, but the memories of the tsunami, twinned with concerns about the conflict to the north, have undermined its standing as a paradise isle.

None of the 4000 fans in town have had any grounds for complaint or anxiety these week. For those who've not taken up residence in the wonderful old fort, there have been two principal accommodation areas. The surfer's hangout of Hikkaduwa, half an hour to the north, and the tranquil sandy bay of Unawatana, 20 minutes to the south. Both were badly hit in the disaster, but both have proved homes from home for a vast contingent of very satisfied customers.

Myself, I've been staying by the beach in Unawatana, at possibly the most peaceful hotel I've ever frequented on tour. The Beach Access Road, as it is unglamorously named, is a barely noticeable right turn from the main Galle Road. In a tuk-tuk, the journey involves five minutes of bouncing and weaving over a potholed sandy dirt-track - past palm trees, through puddles, around dozing livestock, and through a parade of wood-carving workshops and fabric stalls.

When I first arrived at The Villa, a magnificent eight-room boutique hotel with shady garden and beach frontage, I was momentarily alarmed to find I had no internet connection - a slight drawback in this profession. Never fear, right next door, set in the courtyard of a café was a tiny internet shack that became my personal office for the week. My routine became familiar to all the local tradesmen - arrive outside hotel, dump bags, unpack laptop, plug into system, and transfer my various files while observing monkeys swinging from the palm trees above my head, and while being fed and watered by the ever-watchful restaurant staff. Every now and again, a fellow Brit would wander in to use one of the two other terminals. Almost without fail, Cricinfo would be their first port of call.

Unawatana's bay is one of the best on the island, a graceful crescent of pale-yellow sand that extends for a mile along the coast. Every few metres fronts onto a different bar or restaurant - some grand and palatial, like the Unawatana Beach Resort, a ten-metre saunter through the surf, others small and intimate, like the Hot Rock Café, three trees down the road, which was packed to its close-knit rafters on Wednesday night, when the coast was battered by a tropical storm.

As it happens, I awoke the following morning with three inches of water on my hotel-room floor - it had somehow been buffeted in through a crack in the door. But my laptop was safe, and seeing as I was making straight for the beach for a morning swim, it didn't exactly matter a great deal. Such has been the story at all of England's staging posts for this series. Contentment has reigned among the travelling support - it's only the cricket team itself that has given them any cause for complaint.

	It was almost like Test cricket had never been away © Getty Images

After all the angst and uncertainty, it was as if we'd never been away. Up until the moment that the first ball was bowled, the doubts still lingered about the readiness of the venue, but after three traumatic years, nothing was going to prevent this comeback from being completed. International cricket is back in Galle, and on the evidence of a brief but eventful day's play, it won't be departing again in a hurry.

It was, quite simply, a blisteringly hot day. Some forecasters claimed it was 97% humidity, but it was hard to spot the 3% of Matthew Hoggard's brow that wasn't drenched in sweat. But for the punters around the stands, the heat was nothing but a blessing - most of them had feared this would turn into a sub-tropical Glastonbury, but the brutal conditions did away with all the mud and ensured that the duckboards upon which their chairs were perched didn't sink below the boundary boards.

Down at pitch level the conditions were stifling - it's hard to imagine that many of England's fielders were too chuffed when Michael Vaughan won the toss and bowled. The English supporters did at least have canopies over their seats to provide partial respite - all apart from the occupiers of the "special enclosure" to the right of the pavilion, whose roof won't be erected until tomorrow. The locals on the mudflats at midwicket weren't quite so privileged, although their concessionary ticket prices of 20 rupees (compared to the English figure of 500 rupees) did somewhat redress the imbalance.

As ever at Galle, the best and cheapest vantage point was up on the ramparts of the glorious old Dutch fort. A mass of Englishmen lined the walls, armed with a day-long supply of drinks and picnics, soaking up the rays as well as the incredible views spread out below them. A steady breeze fanned them all day long, while down below them, by the roundabout behind the bowler's arm, a band jammed away on a mini-stage, their tunes adding to the general festivity of the occasion.

There was only one place to be if you really wanted to escape the heat, however. The new pavilion complex really came into its own on this opening day. The air conditioning in the press box and the executive suites was like walking into the deep freeze at the back of a tandoori restaurant - even though the ECB chairman, Giles Clarke, had to wait for a posse of ten locksmiths to pick their way into his quarters.

It was almost too cool for the occasion, although the pavilion roof - a short hop up a flight of stairs round the corner - proved to be the perfect place to take in the full vista of a grand occasion. The giant screen at midwicket (fully operational just in time), the beer- and sun-drenched tones of the Barmy Army, the Sri Lanka flags on the fort and the England banners on the fences, and the majestic backdrop of the 17th century clocktower. All captured in a single eyeful. If you let your thoughts wander, it's almost possible to believe that nothing has changed since England were last in town.

He's better known now for his dulcet early-morning tones on Test Match Special, but there was a time, a couple of decades ago, when Jonathan Agnew was a firebrand fast bowler with international aspirations. In a famous outburst on the England A tour to Sri Lanka in 1986, Aggers' fieriness became all too literal:

"It's ****ing red hot on the field, and when you come off it's ****ing red hot in the dressing-room, and then, what do you get for lunch, ****ing red hot curry!"

What Agnew failed to mention was the life-enhancing magnificence of the said curries - if, of course, they are anything like the ones we've been fed in the press-box during the course of the first two Tests. Great steaming vats of chicken and fish with deceptively mellifluous aromas, they pack the sort of punch that Ricky Hatton lacked in Las Vegas, and reduce me to tears of admiration on a daily basis.

Back home in England, only hard nuts and show-offs order creations of this strength, and even then they only do it at the end of a long night on the tiles. And yet Sri Lankans somehow slurp them down, day in, day out, without so much as a moistening of the brow. As Peter Moores might have said at the end of England's fielding stint at the SSC: "You can't fault that sort of commitment."

The only thing I've ever eaten that was warmer than Sunday's offering was a curry my brother made by accident in his student days, when he misjudged the spices required for 13 people. We ended up feeding the (plentiful) leftovers to the cat, who took one mouthful, leapt away in fear and astonishment, before creeping back cautiously and cuffing the offending morsel on the assumption it was still alive.

But I can happily report that I am very much alive after our press-box lunches. Not only are they extremely nutritious, but they've also forced me to down about 20 bottles of water per meal, so I'm feeling as hydrated as a freshly furnished fountain. Perhaps that's the point of their potency in the first place.

*****

The Barmy Army have been in exceptional voice in this Test match. They haven't been this vocal since the dying days of last winter's rout at Sydney, which perhaps implies that England's prospects in the current game are rather bleaker than the scoreline suggests. There's nothing quite like a lost cause to rouse their vocal chords.

But maybe it's not them, maybe it's us in the media - because we've been able to hear them loud and clear for a change. The SSC press-box offers a magnificent vantage point, one of the best in the world game. It is a vast echoing aircraft-hanger of a building, with steeply tiered seats ensuring that everyone has an equal view of the pitch, and a huge open front with room for TV cameras, photographers and scribes all to get on with their work without tripping over one another.

It's certainly better than anything on offer back in England. For all the visual splendour of the gherkin at Lord's, the hermetically sealed isolation deprives everyone within of the sound of leather on willow - a fundamental oversight that probably accounts for some rather jaundiced write-ups. Much the same is true at Headingley, Trent Bridge and, unequivocally, the Stevie Wonder memorial press-box at The Oval, where you are required to surrender all senses upon entry.

It doesn’t pay to look at the foundations of the SSC building (the entire structure seems to be balanced on a single tier of breeze-blocks) but it was standing last time England visited and will doubtless be here in four years' time. Or when the Sri Lankan innings ends, whichever comes around soonest.

	Surrey's cricket aid has helped rehouse victims of the Asian tsunami © Andrew Miller

In less than three weeks' time, Sri Lanka will commemorate the third anniversary of the worst natural disaster ever to hit the island's shores. On Boxing Day 2004, more than 35,000 lives were lost and a further half-a-million people were left homeless when a gigantic earthquake off the coast of Indonesia sent waves of up to 30 metres crashing into the country. The devastation was apocalyptic, particularly along the Southern and Eastern coastlines, but in the years since, many lives have been pieced back together, often with aid from overseas.

One such project has been initiated by Surrey County Cricket Club. Six months after the disaster, Surrey held a Tsunami Relief match at The Oval, between an Asian XI and the Rest of the World. Stars such as Brian Lara and Sachin Tendulkar took part in the event and helped to raise £1 million. This week, in the break between the first and second Tests, a party of British journalists got a chance to see just how effectively that money had been used.

The village of Magonna lies approximately an hour and a half south of Colombo. It is accessible from the coast road, via a long and bumpy dirt track that winds through rice plantations and coconut groves, before opening out into a wide open plain that, until last year, was nothing more than bushland. It is here that the Surrey Cricket Village has been created. It is a haven of 45 new-built houses, perched on a hilltop and providing sturdy shelter for some of the worst affected survivors. Each of the residents lost not only their homes and livelihoods, but at least three members of their immediate family.

	The flag-raising ceremony at the opening of the new pavilion in Magonna© Andrew Miller

The centrepiece of the village is a gigantic cricket pitch, carved from the hillside and very similarly proportioned to The Oval itself. As yet it is incomplete - the square is in place but the outfield is currently brick-red clay and is awaiting a layer of top-soil and grass seedings. On Friday, the pavilion was officially opened, in a grand flag-raising ceremony attended by the Sri Lankan sports minister, Gamini Lokuge, as well as Paul Sheldon, Surrey's chief executive, and Roger Knight, the former MCC secretary who was Surrey's captain between 1978 and 1985.

"I first came here in February 2005 when it was just acres and acres of bush," said Sheldon in his opening speech. "It is a truly amazing transformation." It could be more amazing still when the pitch is finally put in place - from the evidence of the signs on the pavilion, and the fully-tooled up shed of groundsman's equipment further round the boundary's edge, Surrey has grand intentions for its new development. It is not inconceivable that one-day internationals will be held here in the near future.

There is already a strong international flavour to the village - with familiar names adorning the various streets (or "Mawathas"). "Alec Stewart Mawatha" is the most striking. It runs along the hillside behind the pavilion - ramrod straight as you would imagine, though as yet lacking a touch of tarmac. Further around the corner, where the red-slated roofs of the houses genuinely look as though they could have been lifted from suburban Woking, is "Graham Thorpe Mawatha", and there is plenty of local recognition as well. Malinga Bandara and Upul Tharanga, both of whom grew up locally and are in the squad for the second Test, have been honoured with streetnames as well.

Sri Lanka is not the only cricket-playing country to have benefitted from Surrey's charity. The Oval Cricket Relief Trust was established out of recognition that many of the countries that play the game are also susceptible to terrible natural disasters. Grenada, whose stadium was flattened by Hurricane Ivan in 2004, and Pakistan, which suffered a catastrophic earthquake in the weeks before England's tour in December 2005, have both received aid, as has the town of Bhopal, which still feels the effects of a dreadful industrial accident in 1984.

It may seem scant consolation for the thousands whose lives have been transformed by disaster, but every little helps. For 45 families the impact of Surrey's involvement has been immediate, but for many more in the region, cricket offers a route out of poverty that few other professions can provide. As the local community begins to capitalise on the first-rate facilities being created in Magonna, maybe one day, the streets will have to be renamed to reflect the talent that has sprung from this initiative.

	The Corridor of Uncertainty, doesn't shirk from the big issues © Andrew Miller

In the weeks since Duncan Fletcher's autobiography hit the bookshelves, every pundit and his dog has taken the chance to dissect the revelations within and, in turn, assess his impact on English cricket over the past seven years. But few publications have summed up the debate as pithily as the one which appeared in the stands of the Asgiriya stadium this afternoon. "Duncan Fletcher," splashed the headline on The Corridor of Uncertainty, the official unofficial England cricket fanzine. "Genius or T***?"

As it happens, the latter opinion came out on top in a ruthlessly scientific study, by 31 points to 20, but you'll have to pop over to Kandy and buy your own copy to examine the working. They are readily available, at 400 rupees each, from the blond bloke with the ethnic man-bag and the faded England Test shirt, as once owned by Matthew Hoggard. He is Andy Clark, the mag's founder, editor and publisher, and a fixture of the England touring contingent for nigh on a decade.

Clark hit upon the idea as a way to ensure that he would never, ever, have to spend another winter in his home town of Hull. He's doing a pretty good job in that regard as he's now into his tenth edition, dating back to Nasser Hussain's India campaign in 2001-02. The only tour that's not had its own dedicated edition was the Pakistan trip in 2005-06, because there simply weren't enough fans out there to make it worthwhile. "There are a lot of guys who put a lot of effort into writing for The Corridor," says Clark, "and they deserve to be read."

He lists 12 fellow contributors on the acknowledgements page. It's an eclectic mix including a former Wisden employee, a Masters graduate in Cricket Diplomacy, and a bloke known only as Big Harvey. The topics are varied and invariably worth reading - a tough 20-question quiz with such enigmatic posers as "555 in 1932. Where?"; a fan's eye appreciation of England's long-time Mr Nice Guy, Ashley Giles; a damning fan's eye appraisal of the World Cup, and even (in the interests of fairness) a defence of poor old Duncan. Oh yes, and a cut-out-and-keep ICC protractor, where every degree is 15 degrees …

"It's basically all put together with email, paper, glue and photocopiers," says Clark. On the eve of the first Test he commandeered the Telworld Copy Centre in the centre of Kandy, where he explained his complex page layout, stressed the need to turn every individual page over to ensure the booklet remained double-sided, and left the staff to it while he concentrated on the important bits - collating the sheets in the correct order, and stapling the finished product

"The guys in places like Sri Lanka and Bangladesh do a far better job than in Australia, South Africa and especially the West Indies," said Clark. "They earned a good tip because we were up until 1am and the shop re-opened at 7.30, but they really care and want to do a good job." It's not just magazines that Clark has been known to flog, however. During last winter's tour of Australia he swelled his coffers no end with an incredibly popular range of "Douglas Jardine - Ashes Hero" T-shirts, many of which are still being worn to this day.

The sheer weight of visiting fans isn't quite what it was during the Ashes, although Clark's costs are dramatically lower whenever England are on the subcontinent. On the first day alone he sold 150 copies, and is already "well on course" to the figure of 600 he needs to cover his travel costs. Hull, it seems, can freeze over for another winter.

It's fair to say I hadn't a clue where I was when I awoke on Friday morning. I knew the name of my hotel, but that's about it, having arrived under the cover of darkness following a busy day of pre-match build-up at both the ground and the team hotel. I vaguely remembered a long, winding, never-ending journey from Kandy town centre to what felt like the highest peak in the land, but that was about it.

I've since discovered I really was in the middle of nowhere, which goes some way towards explaining my disorientation. You see, living and working in Kandy is a bit like living and working on an upturned octopus. Most of the action takes place right in the middle in the town itself, a bustling focal-point with a welcome air of tranquility thanks to that glorious lake at the base of innumerable hills and hummocks. Most of the sleeping, on the other hand, takes place up, up, up and away.

It makes perfect sense. The cool mountainous air, the stunning panoramas, the karmic seclusion. It's what every human being in their right minds would want at the end of a hard day's chiselling at the workplace. And hence the only hotels worth frequenting are as far removed from each other as is humanly possible.

Going down is the easy bit. Your tuk-tuk arrives at 8.30am, and off you go, freewheeling recklessly through the hamlets and roadworks and the inevitable dozing dogs. The bumps and jolts are part of the ride, as you whizz towards your workplace with fragments of scenery popping into view at every hairpin corner. It's exhilarating to tell the truth, although not without its perils - one colleague told me yesterday how a similar journey in India had resulted in an emergency operation after the boneshaking dislodged a previously unnoticed kidney stone.

Getting home at night is the trickier part. For starters it's invariably darker, but that's the least of one's troubles. It's the poor tuk-tuks that are the problems. Two-stroke engines are designed to power chainsaws, not scrambler motorcycles, and the sensation you get as you scrape your way up a 2-in-1 gradient is rather like clinging to the coat-tails of an apoplectic hornet. The oil-curdling whine of the engine has to be heard to be believed, and the speed rarely exceeds a stiff jog.

In the end you find yourself clinging to the handrail in front of you, not out of fear, but in the vain belief that by doing so you might help in some way to pull the contraption along with you. It's utterly exhausting, which is perhaps another reason for the positioning of these hotels. By the time you finally reach them, you never fail to have a good night's sleep.