A bit of Gavaskar in Wellington © Sidharth Monga

Sunil Gavaskar and Kapil Dev didn’t exactly get along famously during their playing days, but far away in the Southern Hemisphere, in one of the plushest residential areas of Wellington, the two icons of Indian cricket stand next to each other. About a 15-minute drive from the city centre, streets named after them stand 50 meters apart and overlook the capital from a high ground on one side, and green higher hills on the other. The view is breathtaking.

The houses look luxurious, with classy wooden doors, rich gardens and big cars. Not many venture out of their houses, at least during the 15 minutes spent there. A walker-by doesn’t really know when the streets were named, or who came up with the idea. The city council is not of much help, or perhaps they have got more important things to do. But they do suggest Wellington Museum could be of some help. The Museum directs one to the Wellington City Archives, where the only thing that can be established is, the streets were named before 1992: the earliest mention of the names in the archives is in 1992, and it is not about their naming.

There is an interesting pattern to the signboards of the street names. Gavaskar Place is written only on one side of the board, and Kapil Grove on both. Could it have anything to do with Gavaskar being a just a batsman and Kapil being an allrounder? The streets of the Khandallah area, where these streets are, are winding as opposed to the straight bat of Gavaskar.

	Kapil Grove overlooks the city © Sidharth Monga

Khandallah is situated near a hill that was once called Mount Misery. Just as well that they changed the name. All the streets in Khandallah get their names from India: Andaman, Simla Crescent, Satara, Ramphal, Delhi, Madras, Poona, Amritsar, Benares, Gaya, Vasanta, Amapur, Baroda, Agra, Lucknow Terrace, Mysore, Bombay, all in a concentrated area. Unlike other names like Bombay and Coramandel in the outskirts of Auckland, which were given by British rulers who also lived in New Zealand and really liked those Indian places, these names could have been given by Indian soldiers who worked for the British Army in the pre-independence days. More fact-finding will be done during the next week in Wellington.

Khandallah apart, the most significant presence of India in Wellington is the statue of Mahatma Gandhi outside the Wellington Railway Station. There is no ambiguity to the origin of that statue being here in New Zealand.

	Mark Greatbatch's cameo never saw the light of day © Getty Images

Who says cricket attracts only Bollywood stars? Cricket in New Zealand gets its fair share of “local” movie stars too. Russell Crowe, for one, but that interest could have been because of his cousins and former New Zealand captains, Martin and Jeff Crowe. Matches in Napier attract a movie star whose interest in cricket comes from inside, he doesn’t need his cousins to bring him to the cricket.

Well if not a star in the real sense of the word, Mark Greatbatch did play a cameo in the movie version of The End of The Golden Weather, a book from the seventies, and one of the most enduring theatre in New Zealand - the story of a New Zealand summer in the thirties. One of the characters in the book is a dreamer. In one of his many dreams, he is bowling, and in one instance, to WG Grace at Lord’s. Grace hits almightily into the air, the kid runs all the way, and dives and catches it.

That’s where Greatbatch comes in, because the film producer needed a real cricketer who resembled the good doctor. Greatbatch was the closest bet. He still had to put a pillow under his shirt, and obviously the beard. Then there was another problem: Greatbatch bats left-handed, Grace batted right. The shots were flipped to make Greatbatch look right-handed, and the shooting went fine.

But there was a heartbreak to follow. “They told me it was great, they were really happy with it,” says Greatbatch. “And the producer rang me three months later, when they started editing. He said there were two things to say. One good and one bad. ‘You were wonderful in the movie. Brilliant. Unfortunately, we have got to shorten the movie by eight to 10 minutes.' And I got the boot. So that’s what happened to my movie mate.” The end of the golden weather.

The final had long been won, but one England player was still on the pitch, practising her batting for fun with a group of mates. Ebony Rainford-Brent, the talented allrounder-turned-batsman, typifies the keenness of her side and the competition for places - also demonstrated in the dropping of vice-captain Nicky Shaw for the final before her fairytale reversal of fortune with four wickets and 17 not out.

The floodlights even came on to light up the winning girls’ smiles, by which time a disconsolate New Zealand team had slipped away, only to emerge brighter and ready to celebrate a good tournament at the teams’ hotel later on.

There the England girls celebrated in the piano bar where only the night before, fourth-placed Australia had bashed the keys merrily and heartily sang their woes away. It also acted as a goodbye tribute to Leonie Coleman and 23-year-old Emma Sampson, who had announced their retirement to their team only hours before.

Sampson can yet come back. Whether she will is a different story, something that I mulled over with a fringe Australia player whom I bumped into on the ferry to Manly (“Seven miles from Sydney, a thousand miles from care” according to the old advertisement) the next day. We both concluded that she was brave and wished her well on her travels.

Manly – named after the Aboriginal people encountered their by Captain Arthur Phillip in praise of their stature – was well worth the trip, with wide sandy beaches and ripping surf aplenty. It is understood to be the first place where the no-daylight-bathing rule was defied in 1902, even if the culprit William Gocher had donned a full neck-to-toe costume.

“Go to Manly and then work out a way to move there and work there,” a smitten English friend, who I had also bumped into in Sydney, told me. It is picturesque for sure and, surprisingly, much larger than Bondi, which I had also visited earlier in the day.

Bondi was unexpectedly quaint in comparison, particularly with its old, white pavilion and colonial-style buildings. As the sun beat down in the early morning, I even saw an Iceberg – one of the members of the famous swimming club which swims in all manner of cold, winter waters. The water was even chilly yesterday, despite warm sunshine, and the warm people.

On the bus there I got chatting to an artist – Alena Kennedy - who happened to be exhibiting in the Bondi gallery, so I went to view her talented work. On the way back, the driver started talking to me and turned out to be from the Barossa, where my husband’s family are from. He knew of them, but no more, but still randomly gave me a phone number to look up his mum next time I was there. He was still talking to me as his relief driver took over and had closed the doors.

And so my visit to Sydney ended as it had begun, with friendly and helpful people, plenty of sunshine – and some excellent cricket in between.

There are perks of living in a motel next to the Waikato Stadium, but not when the Chiefs v Blues rugby game is scheduled one-and-a-half hours after India win their first Test in New Zealand in more than 33 years. One wants to watch the match between the teams from Hamilton and neighbours Auckland, but there is stuff to be filed for the cricket.

Seddon Park and the Waikato Stadium are not far from each other. It’s just a seven-minute walk, enough to tempt one into the rugby match, too. The rugby fans are different from those at the cricket ground. They won’t be taking portable chairs, crosswords and tea thermoses. They have beers and whistles and other noise-making instruments. The atmosphere they promise is not bad for a change.

Stadium Motel, home for the last week, is one drop kick – not to be confused with the wrestling move - away from where all the action is headed. The road leading to Willoughby Street – where the stadium and the motel are – looks different today. There are police officers managing the traffic and pedestrians. One of the policemen was also seen at the cricket ground. Going to both cricket and rugby isn’t a luxury others can afford.

There is a crane, about 40-foot high, placed just outside the stadium, a man atop it is using a chainsaw to create noises similar to the bikes in the Well of Death. During the game, the crowd’s volume rises in a crescendo with every move by the Chiefs. And there are quite a few of them in the Chiefs' 63-34 win. It’s impossible to keep sitting inside and write on a game that is long over. One has to go out to catch a glimpse of what is happening. Twice in five minutes the ball lands in the front yard, as the crowd goes delirious with the scoring.

A young man tries to run away with the ball, but the policeman is alert. One also notices that in the first floor of the motel, a TV is playing the rugby match. Why would one watch the match on TV when it is actually being played next doors? One suspects it is Jonathan Millmow, former New Zealand fast bowler, who now writes on cricket for the Dominion Post. Jonathan is staying in the same motel. But one doesn’t want to go up and disturb, tomorrow is a good time to find out.

	Suzie Bates in the pool © Getty Images

The SCG is staging a press conference for the England and New Zealand captains ahead of Sunday’s final. But after a season of cricket, there is anything but the sport going on in the buzzing arena of football in the adjacent stadium, and tennis on the courts. Even the New Zealand girls are in the swimming pool – admittedly after a hard morning training.

It was at first a surprise that the women had been overlooked for having their final at New South Wales’ premier venue. A grand cauldron, if not quite the MCG, it is impressive enough with a ring of green seats sweeping round the ground.

But the reasoning was that North Sydney Oval provides a more intimate arena, with the audience closer to the action. At the conference, New Zealand captain Haidee Tiffen stated she preferred to play at a smaller ground rather than one that could potentially be “hollow”. The TV cameras are also already in position for the final at North Sydney – transferring them to the SCG would cost just too much to warrant the switch.

The ground has looked good on television already and with a crowd of a few thousand expected tomorrow, the stage is set for a thrilling final. Had Australia been in contention, the numbers may have been even larger and the local media interest – which had started off strongly – even greater.

As it is, England and New Zealand have been receiving strong support from around the globe in the most televised tournament yet for the women’s game and everyone is hoping for a tight game tomorrow. If both sides play to their potential then there is every chance that this will be a great final to remember.

	Sara McGlashan comes from a sporting family, with brother Peter playing for the Blackcaps © Getty Images

Team bonding can take many forms. New Zealand’s players even got together to design some t-shirts for their many friends and family who have made the trip to Australia. Every player is represented in some way through brothers, sisters, parents and even – in the case of Aimee Mason, Amy Satterthwaite and Nicola Browne – grandparents.

The t-shirts are black with, in white, the emblematic fern and TEAM WHANAU blazing proudly across them. Team Whanau – meaning ‘Our team of family’ – was made up internally; with their elders, they're a more sedate version of the Barmy Army – more like Calmy Army. Of course, their support is gratefully appreciated.

The parents have arrived whenever possible with work and other commitments. One mother and father in particular have a good excuse for only arriving for the Super Sixes. Their son, Peter, has been playing for New Zealand. The McGlashans caught his debut at Wellington and his unbeaten fifty at Hamilton but have had to catch his other matches on TV. They then flew to Australia to watch allrounder Sara. They are certainly clocking up the road miles and airmiles and “surfing the television channels in between times,” says Peter, smiling.

Both brother and sister played soccer, but Sara’s choice of cricket was made for her when she was injured. Peter could see he had more of a future in cricket.

Mum is Myn and dad is Peter senior. It gets more confusing – Peter senior’s dad is also Peter senior; it’s a family tradition as the middle one explains. “It’s always been Peter senior or Peter junior, or in Pete’s case PD, because he’s Peter Donald. Whenever my wife calls me I say ‘Your mother wants you.’”

A sporting family, Myn played tennis and hockey, while this Peter is a PE teacher and his school, Napier Boys’ High – which produced Jesse Ryder and several notable rugby players – have been accommodating in giving him time off.

For their trip to England for the World Twenty20, he is managing to combine some work over there with a study award for English education. The World Twenty20 promises to be useful in combining the men and women on the same stage – and could be particularly handy for the well-travelled McGlashans should they both got the nod. Sara has more chance, realistically – Peter hasn’t played a Twenty20 since 2006. Still, this Peter can dream of the final at Lord’s. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have the Blackcaps and the White Ferns playing there on the same day?”

The Pakistan team has not been without its support – and their surprise wins have won new fans and deserved praise. Several parents have flown over, while the women have been boosted by a thick band of local, drum-beating followers, many of whom are over here to study.

The supporters have been to every Pakistan match so far – some skipping university lessons – and sing songs when their team are doing well, and even when they’re not. At the end of Pakistan’s surprise win over West Indies, the team even came up the boundary fence to be serenaded by their national anthem.

“They really appreciate it,” explains Zainub. “They’ve come up in the games and personally thanked us. We even asked them ‘does the drum annoy you?’ They say no, it pumps us up. They get little support and we’re here to make them feel they’re so important. They work really hard. The amount of training and facilities they have, it’s nothing as compared to England or Australia.”

Urooj Mumtaz’s Cricinfo blog has drawn such sentiments as “Sana Mir for president” from commenters back home and, more poignantly, “Your team is our silver lining.” Her young charges have played joyful cricket, encompassing the intended spirit of the tournament, and have even got their new fans confident that they will be up there in the next World Cup, in India in 2013. “Urooj’s name means ‘At the top’” says Zainub, before decisively adding: “She’s the captain and we say she is lifting her team to the top.”

Ian Healy is on the ticketing gate at Drummoyne Oval today – or at least, for a split second, it appeared so. In fact, it’s his brother Greg, chairman of the club.

The other Ian and Greg may the more well-known Australian brothers, but cricket is a rite of passage for the Healy clan – Ian’s famously so, while Greg made the Queensland squad and their other brother Ken had two games for the state. The family’s legacy is now being carried forward by Greg’s daughter Alyssa Healy, a member of the Shooting Stars.

Having lived in New South Wales for the last 14 years, Greg’s eight-year involvement in Drummoyne came when Alyssa moved to the club to take advantage of learning from such international players as Michelle Gosko and Leonie Coleman. The stellar roll call of former players includes Julie Hayes, Lisa Keightley and Belinda Clark.

And, unlike some women’s grade clubs, who rarely get to play on the top square, the women play on the beautiful ground every Sunday and, should other men’s matches arise, they still take priority.

Healy is a staunch supporter of the women’s game and delighted for five matches to be held here, for which the club re-laid the turf and replaced the sightscreens. During games, he has been gateman, general manager and on the groundstaff.

For his part, Ian, a genuine fan, promotes the game where he can. “He’s an ambassador for women’s cricket,” says Greg Healy. “He lives in Brisbane so he’s flying down on Sunday off his own back to see the final.

“He’s a real supporter of it, as are the guys like Michael Slater, Mark Taylor, they promote it on Channel Nine through the commentary team. Quite regularly through the [lunchtime] Cricket Show they have snippets of women’s cricket so it’s growing, we just need to make sure it continues to grow at the grassroots, at the schools.”

Which is where Greg Healy comes in. He has been overwhelmed by the media attention the game’s had: “It’s actually in the mainstream newspapers too, with photos. Normally women’s cricket seems to post everything on websites, this is actually really good.” He would have loved a televised game for Drummoyne, too. But his main focus will come after the World Cup, with the next generation.

To this end, the local children have been invited, and representatives from the club have gone to schools as personal ambassadors. Though there are none here today, when Australia played here there were around 700 schoolchildren, with some volunteering for scoreboard duties in exchange for a donation from the club.

Initiatives such as CrickHit, for whom Alyssa is ambassador, help no end. The scheme gives children a free taste of the game and indeed it was where she began. Competing sports could claim here – she has state junior colours in five sports – but, unsurprisingly, cricket has her heart.

But her father is keen to accentuate all the talented girls in her grade side. He gives a hot tip, to look out for young legspinner Angela Reakes, who came down from northern New South Wales to nearby UTS university which has links with the Drummoyne club. Australia's campaign may have faltered, but it's not so for enthusiasm at the grassroots.

The past week or so has shown that women’s cricket is in good hands in Sydney, with host clubs enthusiastically embracing the opportunity to stage World Cup matches. Though Drummoyne only has one more game here – the 5th-place play-off on Saturday – having world-class players on their ground has already helped to attract tomorrow’s stars.

As a Brit, I’m not alone in wanting to see the Sydney Opera House. It’s as cliched as kangaroos and corked hats back at home, but also as iconic.

Like a haughty emperor, the building itself defies you to ask for its attention, hidden away from most optical assaults from the city by a cluster of jealously sheltering skyscrapers. Boat-goers and North Sydney dwellers can take their fill.

It nestles at the eastern point of the cradle of Circular Quay, where the best view in all of Sydney is to be had, as your eyes can sweep from House to Harbour Bridge in a breathtaking instant.

And there it is, at last, the bright sun clinging mutedly to its already golden cream sails. Though looking totally modern, its concrete base - reminiscent of London’s National Film Theatre - betrays its age like the wrinkled hands of a well made-up older lady. Walking up towards the building, the arches of the sails stand like several rowing boats cut in half and up-ended.

As well as its almost secret location from the city, the beginnings of the Opera House are almost smothered from memory. Sydney-siders would hesitate to whisper it, but the building in its recognisable and much-loved form almost never came to be.

It was 1947 and Sydney Symphony Orchestra’s new conductor Eugene Goossens had called for a fitting theatre for opera. Recently arrived from England, he noticed the city’s dire need and in time a global competition was announced, attracting more than 200 entries and plenty
of media attention.

The State’s premier Joe Cahill announced that the opera house “should not be a ‘shadygaff’ place but an edifice that will be a credit to the State not only today but also for hundreds of years.”

You might expect that when Danish architect Jorn Utzon’s idea for the iconic cream sails floated in, the rest would be history. It almost wasn’t. Three of the judging panel had placed his design on the scrapheap, only for its precious metal to be rescued by a fourth, upon
arriving late.

Although the judges expected plenty of controversy from choosing such an original design, they handed the prize to Utzon, who had never even been to Australia before. In the place where an eye-sore of a tramshed had once stood on Bennelong Point, construction soon began on the
theatre which now sings out to the world. More than a million roof tiles were required; surprisingly square, they are cream, brown and white and it’s a thrill to touch them today.

Though the public loved their new building, controversy did follow – of an unexpected kind. For the third phase of construction, Utzon’s request for plywood mock-ups was turned down, leading him to withdraw from the project in 1966. The theatre opened in 1973 – with a production of Profokiev’s War and Peace – and Utzon won many honours including the Keys to the City of Sydney in 1998.

But it was only the following year, more than two decades after his withdrawal, that he was re-engaged with the Opera House, having been asked to come up with a set of design principles.

It was a warm reunion for Utzon, who wrote: “My renewed contact with Sydney […] has felt like a wonderful welcome back to Australia, a hand extended in the spirit of reconciliation, a hand I shake with warmth and gratitude.” He died In November last year aged 90, but his masterpiece lives on, looking as modern as it did nearly 40 years ago.

Moving on to something even more ultra-modern, I also took the chance to venture to the Archibald Prize exhibition, housed in the stately Art Gallery of New South Wales in the Botanical Gardens a short walk south.

This year’s winner was Guy Maestri, with his portrait of the blind Aboriginal singer Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu, whose singing brings grown men to tears. Maestri, I felt, had perfectly captured the singer’s quiet, but statuesque, strength with his bold painting.

The People’s Award is still up for grabs and the hot tip is for Vincent Fantauzzo’s portrait of Brandon Walters, who was described by our guide Janet as the child star of Baz Luhrmann’s Australia. I would go further and say that Walters, as Nullah, was the star full stop.

These are just some of the attractions in Sydney and, of course, the main event for the women's World Cup is yet to come.

	Grassy banks all around the Drummoyne Oval © Getty Images

By Jenny Roesler

“Happy St Patrick’s Day,” said a South African man while I was waiting for the bus. He saw my clover green top – must have been a subconscious thing – and noted that I was on my way to Drummoyne, where a large contingent will gather in the appropriately Irish-sounding PJ Gallagher’s pub for the celebrations.

If I was heading to the pub, it was a little bit early for Guinness at 8am. And my destination involved England and West Indies teams though Ireland could have been here had they taken fifth place at the last World Cup instead of West Indies. As it was, they were surprisingly way off the pace, without a single win in the tournament, and missed out on a spot this time through losing to Pakistan in the qualifiers.

Lying several kilometres west of Sydney’s Central Business District, Drummoyne - meaning flat-topped ridge - was settled not by an Irishman, however, but a Scotsman, the merchant whaler and sealer William Wright. With a largely industrial background, Drummoyne has some stunning Georgian buildings – and an even better location for the picturesque oval, constructed in 1931 as a Depression project. Sadness is the last thing on anyone’s minds today under the gentle sun and a relaxed, though competitive, vibe. One man even backed England to pound 300 against West Indies. He may bask in the sun but not quite the glory – a flurry of wickets made sure the bookies were kept happy.

The oval is surrounded by grassy banks which slope gently down to the Parramatta River where a motley fleet of white yachts stand proudly ready for service. Some larger venues may be surrendering their grass verges for bucket seats but there is no such danger here, with slopes running right round the ground, broken only by the pavilion and the temporary media cabin to its left. It is the Balmain club’s home ground and also houses Drummoyne Rugby Club and some AFL matches.

On the short trip to the ground, I caught my first glimpse of the Harbour Bridge and paused to reflect on its magnificent, yet foreboding, history.

A bridge was first proposed back in 1815 but it was another 85 years until a competition was launched. All entries were rejected but the next year a formal proposal was finally accepted. The formidable bridge would weigh 52,800 tonnes, with six lanes of traffic, two railway tracks and two footpaths. The parts were made from 1923 in sheds where Luna Park is now situated, and it was only six years later that building began on the actual site.

Like Drummoyne Oval, its construction helped create jobs in the Depression and for that reason it was known as the Iron Lung. But it came at a price - $10million, the destruction of 800 houses and 16 workers’ lives.

More quirkily, along the 2.4-kilometre-long Bradfield Highway which runs across the bridge and is named after its designer John Bradfield, between midnight and dawn it is permissible to herd livestock after giving notice. The right has not been invoked for half a century and, like Andrew Flintoff’s Freedom of Preston which permits him to drive sheep through the city, is likely to stay that way under the weight of today’s traffic and the expected lack of need. Flintoff, however, may still be tempted to make good use of his right to a free pint in every pub whenever he visits his home town from his Cheshire pad.

The bridge was finally opened in 1932, more than a century after the original idea – but the ceremony was to be remembered for the wrong reasons. The state’s premier, Jack Lang, was asked to cut the ribbon but his thunder was stolen by a horse-rider who trotted up and did the honours himself, declaring the bridge open in the name of the people of New South Wales. The stranger was unmasked as Francis de Groot, a member of a right-wing parliamentary group who believed the Governor General, Sir Isaac Isaacs should have taken the honour. All manner of attempts to nail de Groot legally fell apart, but he was fined £5 for trespassing, while the ribbon had been quickly restored.

On this day, 132 years ago, Test cricket was born but it was just another day at the Crowne Plaza hotel in Auckland. But the poignancy of one moment couldn’t be missed. As Suresh Raina, Praveen Kumar, Rohit Sharma, and other ODI specialists left for the airport, to fly back to India, VVS Laxman and Rahul Dravid posed for photographs with fans, in the foyer. It was also odd, that such vastly experienced champions were replacing relative upstarts. A sort of reverse changing of the guard.

For the last 25 days or so, facing the camera has been the job of Raina, Rohit, Praveen and such likes. Twenty-five days that have included two defeats for them to start off with, a comeback in the ODIs, introduction to the extreme beauty of New Zealand, sky-walks, harbour climbing, deep-sea fishing, cold days, warm days, rainy days, dry days, and a historical series win.

Over the last 25 days, Raina realised the horror stories from the last tour were just an aberration, and Praveen realised the pitches here needed about as much work as in India. Maybe Tests will be different. But then they will watch the action on the telly. They might choose not to, but the action will go on.

Jenny Roesler

I felt a good vibe about Sydney from the moment I stepped off the red-eye flight from sun-scorched Adelaide this morning. I hopped on a purring train, (reminiscent of the double-deckers in Paris) and smoothed slowly out to the south-west towards Padstow where I was to change for a bus to Bankstown.

The first thing that struck me as the train whispered along is that the rolling, house-lined hills of Sydney are green, very green and quite open; a complete contrast to the clunky Tube ride from Heathrow into cluttered London.

The next point of note was that few outside the ground had any knowledge that the World Cup was going on in their area. At the newsagent to buy some dictaphone batteries, no clue. On the bus, the driver didn’t even know which stop for Bankstown Oval. “Cricket?” he spat, disgusted. Then again, he didn’t know much at all – he was new to the job and unfamiliar with the roads. The passengers who tried to help also had no idea where the ground was, nor that the World Cup was on.

There is more media coverage than ever for the game, but as Rachael Heyhoe-Flint lamented on Cricinfo recently, more is needed. There are no posters near the venue, no obvious signs at any stations that the women’s premier tournament is live and kicking.

Coming over from South Australia, I had been hopeful. There, a club team-mate of mine headed into the post office in Port Adelaide with her Australia supporter shirt on. “Ah, the women’s World Cup. Karen Rolton and Emma Sampson from the Port are playing,” said the assistant, most encouragingly, before adding: “Are you in the team?” She wasn’t. At least players’ names are getting recognised, if not so much their faces.

Still looking for the ground, I arrived at an oval, but it was for AFL. A nice man took pity on me and my suitcase and offered to drive me round to the cricket ground, which was adjacent. He introduced himself as Lindsay as we walked to his car. Now kids, you should never accept lifts from strangers, but I have to say I trusted Lindsay and his steed.

I tried to convince him and his sons to come to the cricket, but they were not to be swayed; perhaps on Monday when Australia are here. “The boys only really watch Foxtel, though,” Lindsay said. “No problem,” I replied. “All North Sydney Oval matches are on Foxtel.” “Ah, then that’s OK,” he smiled, and dropped me off.

Bankstown is as pretty as promised, with a cream picket fence dotted with official sponsors’ boards, and plenty of grassy banks to choose from. Most preferred the covered grandstand named after Kevin McCormick from which to barrack for their side, although they were stationed square of the wicket.

The press were also side on, in the Stephen and Mark Waugh stand. If Bowral is Bradman’s Oval, then Bankstown is the Waughs’, their home ground and also that of Jeff Thomson.

Before the game, the insipid song – Here We Go – which is the theme of the World Cup rang out around the ground. The later music was more vibrant and uplifting – including Blame it on the Boogie, Celebrate – and, rather more bizarrely, the Birdie Song. But the sides didn’t need music to uplift them. Besides which, there was plenty of loud support for both teams, with a pleasing variety of old and young, men and women, all soaking up the atmosphere of an entertaining Saturday.

Dion Nash was not the man for too much water in his playing days. But he sells it all right. And he calls it 420. He puts a bottle on the table in the suave conference room of his office, and calls it “his baby”. There are many reasons for that name.

First, the water is packaged by 42Below, a major vodka manufacturer. So you just add a “0”, and get the name. They use the same 420 water in their vodka.

The second is a pretty cool reason. What’s the chemical formula for water? H-2-O. Hence 4-2-0.

Okay, so the water is a hit. They pour 420ml into bottles and it sells in "UK, Germany, France, Netherlands, America, Asia".

“It is actually funny there are two other products in the market that are 420ml,” Dion says. And then he drops the line that you are after: “It’s called four-twenty, which means different things around the world.”

Four-twenty also refers to consuming cannabis and identifying with the culture. So the story goes: a group of teenagers in San Rafael, California, presumably students, used to meet after school, at 4.20pm, to smoke marijuana at the Louis Pasteur Statue. There was nothing particular about the time, it was just after the school ended. The term became part of their group's salute, "four-twenty Louis", and the fans of the band Grateful Dead popularised it. It became so popular that four-twenty celebrations would happen on April 20 (4/20, see).

Anyway, not digressing from the topic, you tell Dion what 420 means in India. Under the Indian Penal Code, the article 420 looks into matters of frauds, forgeries, con jobs, and such like. So a fraudulent, dishonest person, a con man, is affectionately called "420".

“We are bottling water and selling, so the name is appropriate. You can always get it from the tap,” he says. What a bloody marketing genius.

	Feeling the heat: England's tour of the Caribbean was memorable and closely fought © Getty Images

One final airport departure lounge, one final flight. England’s tour continues with the one-day series, but my stay in the Caribbean has drawn to a close. And what a way it finished, West Indies eight-down hanging on to regain the Wisden Trophy. I hoped for something memorable when I left home and haven’t been disappointed.

Congratulations to them, as well, and it must be hoped that this is the start of better times for the game in these islands. However, I have to admit that my patriotism was bubbling on that final afternoon as Graeme Swann and Jimmy Anderson chipped away at the wickets. It was one of those moments I wished I could have been sat in stands, but from a professional and impartial view West Indies deserved their success.

However, this tour has been about more than just the action on the field. I could hardly have imaged some of the stories I would be covering when I arrived Jamaica on February 2.

Never mind Jerome Taylor’s spell at Sabina Park, Antigua was where it really kicked off. I remember watching the game from Jamaica in 1998 that had to be abandoned because of a dangerous pitch, but never thought I’d see the same thing happen because of an outfield. Yet in the space of 36 hours the Test was moved from North Sound to the Antigua Recreation Ground. Those five days proved some of the best of the trip.

Then, of course, while we were in Antigua the Allen Stanford story broke and suddenly the worlds of business and cricket collided. There was a hurriedly arranged press conference with ECB chairman, Giles Clarke, next to the gents toilets and some of my colleagues on the newspapers were dispatched to do stories from the local banks.

Barbados allowed us all to talk cricket again (even if there wasn’t often much good news for England with Andrew Flintoff flying home) although everyone was fed up of runs by the time the Test at the Kensington Oval was finished. However, the news from Lahore put cricket firmly in perspective. Then the finale: after four days on a slow-burn the game erupted into life thanks to England’s last-ditch attempts to draw level.

As I was told before heading out on this trip, a tour to West Indies is also about the people you meet. There have been some great characters, from the taxi drivers who want to chat endlessly to my encounter with Gravy in Antigua.

The former players, too, were fascinating to spend time with and the moment that stands out is talking with Viv Richards after the debacle at the ground that carries his name. He was distraught, angry and sad. It was great to see him during the tense closing overs in Trinidad, pacing around like a true fan, and no one was more delighted with the series win.

The Caribbean’s love affair with cricket is still there, but the fans need to realise they will never have another team like the 1980s – however hard that may be to accept. This side needs to be given a chance to develop and as they have shown over the last six weeks big strides are being made.

So that’s that. Six weeks, four Tests (or actually five) and 1-0 to West Indies. Great stories, great memories and a great experience. When I left London it was snowing. Hopefully it’s warmed up a bit when I land back at Gatwick.

Take Stone Cold Steve Austin’s rasp voice, add the Australian accent, and subtract the swear words. And you are talking to Brad Thorn, a New Zealander who played most of his rugby in Australia, but is now an All Black and plays for Canterbury Crusaders in the Super 14s. Not knowing much about rugby, you can't wait to get him started on the cricket v rugby banter, the old brain v brawn game.

But Brad follows cricket enough to enjoy a drawn Test match more than the one-dayers. Still, being a rugby player, risking injuries with every step he takes on the field, doesn’t he think cricket is a bit of a wimps’ game? “Maybe when you see the Ranatunga fellow,” he says. Good old Arjuna. What’s with him and the Australians?

“But seriously speaking, if you have faced pace bowling, you have a lot of respect for cricketers. One time, me and a few rugby players at high school had a session with the bowling machine. And we put the scales to 160kph. And we didn’t want to go near it. So we have a lot of respect like the timing a batsman has got. The few seconds they get to react. It is just amazing. I think everyone appreciates and respects that. It’s like you really appreciate Tiger Woods and what he can do.”

Through his long rugby career, he has seen it all, the sudden stardom at the age of 17, drinking problems, a move from Australia back to New Zealand (“I’m a Kiwi at heart, but there’s a bit of an Australian in me”), a ride back to goodness, except for too many injuries.

Which is why, at 34, he is still an important lock in any team he plays, four years older than the second-oldest man in the Crusaders team, and way past the playing span of a rugby player.

“I have been very lucky I haven’t got injured,” he says. Well you do consider yourself lucky if you have seen career-ending injuries all around you - knee reconstructions, broken joints in shoulders and ankles, replaced hips, broken jaws and noses. Their assistant coach, sitting in the stands at Rugby Park, where they train, had to cut his career short because of a neck injury.

This is where cricketers are lucky. At least players of this day and age, with all the protective equipment. With rugby you have no assurances. One bad tackle and your career could be over.

It is a light training session for the Crusaders today, and you can see Richie McCaw, the Crusaders and All Blacks captain, his knee heavily strapped, trying to take the first steps out of an injury absence. Another player sits on the bench behind him, holding a crutch, watching his team-mates raise some mild hell. You want to watch them train at full pelt the next day, but you also have a flight to catch and a cricket training session to watch, where batsmen will be wearing the helmet, the chest guard, the thigh pad, the elbow guard, the box.

But hey, they face the leather ball at – not 160 – sometimes close to 150kph.

The Queen’s Park Oval has struck me as a funny sort of ground. Not in a bad way, but in an interesting way. It is how I imagined Caribbean stadiums to be, a bit of a hotch-potch of stands but full of character.

In that way it is a little like the ARG as opposed to the manufactured monstrosity at North Sound. Redevelopment work was done prior to the 2007 World Cup, but the stands haven’t been replaced by concrete blocks. The main work was done on the pavilion, renamed earlier this match under Brian Lara’s name, and last year floodlights went in. So the ground has been brought up to modern levels yet still retains the older charm.

There is grass banking that runs around the boundary, but no beach this time. The pool that was in occupation at Kingston and the Kensington Oval would no doubt have been a welcome addition as the visiting fans sweated in the heat and humidity, although there are few complaints when they see the forecast from back home.

The most famous part of the ground is the Trini Posse Stand (although, sadly, it hasn’t been able to escape commercialisation) and it provides plenty of entertainment. The lower level is well packed with England fans who have enjoyed the presence of the energetic dancing girls. During lunch intervals they join in with the singing and dancing, although quite what the locals make of their efforts is unclear.

Again it has been a shame to see so many empty seats, although the way West Indies went about their cricket on the first two days certainly wasn’t a crowd-puller. Apparently the Twenty20 here next weekend will be a sell-out, so it seems the sort, sharp burst of action is what they want.

However, there was a valid reason for one of the sections to be completely vacant on the third morning. The top level of the RBTT Stand was closed after it was found that the staircase which runs up the side was coming away from the structure. Everyone with tickets was shifted to the Dos Santos and Jeffrey Stollmeyer Stands, but apparently the problem will be solved in time for the Twenty20 by some simple welding. They may just want to double check it when they’ve finished.

	'It makes it a much prouder achievement. It was a small country before and now it is even tinier and having someone from Montserrat represent the West Indies is quite a good achievement' © Getty Images

When you’ve had to run away from an erupting volcano, the challenges of bowling to international batsmen cannot seem quite as daunting. Lionel Baker was 10-years-old and at home on the tiny island of Montserrat when the Soufriere Hills volcano began to erupt on July 18, 1995.

He still talks about the moment when his island was devastated in a very matter-of-fact way. "The volcano erupted on the east side and I’m from the north side so I didn’t have to move or change houses so I was quite lucky,” he said. “It wasn’t anything to do with running away from the lava, it was more like a pyroclastic flow. It’s more terrifying than the lava and harder to deal with.”

When the volcano blew it destroyed the capital Plymouth and thousands had to flee their homes. Baker was one of the lucky ones, his home was far enough away that it escaped damage but some of his friends weren’t so fortunate.

“We didn’t lose anything at all so were quite lucky. I know a couple of friends who lost houses, cars everything they own and everything they’d built,” he said. “Some of them had just finished building a new house and it all got swept away.

“It makes it a much prouder achievement. It was a small country before and now it is even tinier and having someone from Montserrat represent the West Indies is quite a good achievement.”

No wonder the island has recognised Baker’s achievement in becoming the first international cricketer from Montserrat. Baker Street would normally conjure up images of Sherlock Holmes, but the local government were so proud when Baker made his West Indies debut that they honoured him with his own road.

“I was away in New Zealand, I phoned home and someone told me I had the street named after me,” he said. “It was the street where in the afternoon I used to go and played wind-ball cricket. I was always there.”

Baker’s international career is so far limited to two Test and six one-day internationals. But even to develop one top-level player is a notable achievement for an island whose population is just under 6000. There are only six countries in the world smaller than Montserrat – The Falkland Islands, Niue, Tokelau (both tiny Pacific islands), Vatican City and the Pitcairn Islands.

“It’s a big achievement for me, my family and the people of Montserrat,” Baker said. “I’m very proud and overwhelmed to be the first in history.”

Cricketers have had to leave the island to try and forge their careers although facilities have now returned to allow Baker to train and practice when he returns home. He spent two years at school in England and then played club and county cricket. He had a deal with Leicestershire, but once his West Indies call-up came along he had to ditch that because he no-longer qualified as a local player using his British passport.

And he hopes he won't be the only player to hail from the island. "There are a few good youngsters so hopefully they can follow me into the team."

Baker had to sit on the sidelines and wait during the England series to earn a recall, but was eventually brought back for the final Test in place of the injured Jerome Taylor. “It’s frustrating, but you can still watch and learn,” he said. When you’ve seen your home country pushed to the brink of destruction, everything else comes as a bonus.

	Ian Butler juggles being in charge of the New Zealand team's transport with his fast bowling duties © Getty Images

Ian Butler looks after the transport. He makes sure all the vans are ready in time for the team to leave.

Grant Elliott makes sure that when the team is done with the dressing rooms, with the nets, with the practice grounds, that they leave behind a clean place.

Jesse Ryder decides what music will be played; nobody can take the music player away from him.

Martin Guptill makes sure he carries the New Zealand flag with him, to dressing rooms, to team meetings. He makes sure the flag is up when the New Zealand team meets, and is folded and taken back when the meeting is over.

Jacob Oram allocates the complimentary tickets among the players.

Some of these odd jobs can be mundane (Ross Taylor wrote of how he kept forgetting the New Zealand flag in his room in England), exciting (the music), a privilege (the ticket allocation), and highly responsible (like managing tour allowances; O’Brien remembers 1.25 million takas lying on his bed when in Bangladesh). But the New Zealand team spread these tasks among the players, and a player is allocated different job over different series. Taylor wrote of how Peter Fulton’s music sense didn’t go down well with the team in England; they seem quite happy with Ryder now.

This is an interesting team-building exercise, not an event but a continuous process. It creates a sense of responsibility, and makes things easier for everyone around. So who allocates these duties? As of now, Dave Currie, who has worked with New Zealand teams for the Olympics in 2004 and 2008, and the Commonwealth Games in 2002 and 2006. He was in Delhi to inspect the preparations for the 2010 Commonwealth Games when he was made the manager of the cricket team. “They weren’t aware that I had been appointed the cricket manager. The evening they [Commonwealth Games organisers] came to know, all they wanted to talk about was cricket,” Currie says. “They didn’t want to talk about the Commonwealth Games at all. The [Indian] team was leaving for New Zealand in two days.”

Currie never played cricket at “any great level”, but brings a vast sporting experience to the team. He doesn’t see a great difference between managing other sports teams and a cricket team. “Everything is different on one hand, on the other everything is same,” he says. “Elite sportspeople are elite sportspeople; they want to be the best in the world. They have clear vision, clear goals, and clear plans, and work hard. Those principles are the same. And a cricket structure is not different from a hockey team.”

“Only difference is they have a very difficult touring programme. They spend time away from home. Also there’s a broader range of personalities than any other team.

There’s one more difference. “The captain, vice-captain and the coach don’t do any odd duties. They are focused on beating India.”

	International players who haven’t toured Pakistan, won’t be going any time soon © PA Photos

A text message landed at 1am – I never turn my phone off, it’s a bad habit – and it simply said. “Have you seen the news?” A couple more messages and quick flick onto CNN revealed what it was all about.

Even thousands of miles away in Barbados the ripple effect of the terror attack on the Sri Lanka team was being felt. One person had reason to feel very closely effected as Stuart Broad’s father, Chris, was in one of the mini-buses attacked.

In the hotel lobby the news channel was on and it was all people wanted to talk about over breakfast. Nobody was discussing the run-feast at the Kensington Oval. By mid-morning both boards had issued statements.

In the airport departure lounge both squads and their officials were waiting for their flight to Trinidad. I spoke to one WICB board member about the morning’s events and the consequences were already clear in his mind. Some of the players waiting by the gates had also toured Pakistan at one time or another. Those who haven’t won’t be going any time soon.

But it doesn’t seem quite right to say too much about events so far away, other than to try and show how the impact is global.

*****

This series goes on as normal and we are now in Trinidad ahead of the final Test. I had to have a little smile when I found out the team’s charter flight had been delayed. They were due to leave around 10am, but both squads were sat with ipods on and laptops out trying to kill time, while their plane was stuck in Port of Spain. So much for avoiding the travel hassles.

Mine was a simple trip via Grenada and the fourth and final island on my journey provides another host of experiences. The first thing to strike you is the extra humidity; it really does feel quite tropical helped by the lush, green forests that cover the hills.

My guest house is set in the hills just north of Port of Spain and the journey from the airport took us past the Queen’s Park Savannah where a number of cricket games were starting, a slightly less packed version of the maidans in Mumbai.

A notable factor is the traffic. There is so much of it. I was warned about the jams before arriving and they didn’t disappoint. The other thing that stood out was the four-lane highway, because it’s the first road wider than two lanes I’ve seen in a month. Perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise that roads are bigger here – Trinidad’s south-west coast is home to the world's largest natural reservoir of asphalt.

And they are building more, with an unfinished on-ramp curving over the carriage way at one point, bringing to mind that scene from Speed where Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves leap the gap in a bus. Don’t think I’ll be trying anything so dramatic, although it might be a good way to beat the traffic.

Being an England fan on tour should be classed as an endurance sport and not just because the team often make it a tough experience. It’s quite possible that some of the people watching the action on Sunday morning haven’t actually been to bed.

Saturday night in Barbados isn’t for sleeping – although I should add here that my evening ended around 11pm after a curry and a few beers [yeah right, Ed]. How boring, but I’m not a morning person at the best of times so a rough head isn’t a pleasant prospect when, apparently, I'm here to work.

Anyway, at breakfast a small group of lads were sat on the table opposite dressed in England tops, tucking into bacon and eggs. They looked a little worse for wear and indeed had got back to the hotel at 5.30am and woke at eight.

The efforts of the travelling contingent have certainly impressed the locals more than England’s bowling. “They have beer for breakfast, plenty through the day then top it up at night,” said Chris on the front desk. “But we rarely get any bother, they are just here for a good time.”

And that is a common sentiment. In the main, the locals enjoy welcoming England cricket fans to town. They certainly don’t arrive with the reputation that proceeds certain groups of football followers and it also means a bumper few days of work.

Our taxi driver after the third day’s play said he’d been a security guard at the Kensington Oval during the World Cup and had been asked to do it again for this Test. “But it’s more lucrative for me to drive my taxi and pick you all up,” he said.

There will certainly have been a high demand for taxis on Saturday night. You’ve barely been able to move down at St Lawrence Gap in the recent days as the visitors make the most of an island that is happy to open their doors to them. No wonder the stands were a little quieter this morning, but they’ll be back to full voice soon enough. Now, make mine a Banks.