Tour Diary

On Sunday we were all up and raring to take on the Aussies in our third match. I won the toss and elected to bat on a wicket that we thought would break up. It didn’t start too well for us with Caroline Atkins pulling a quad muscle in the first over. A good bowling attack reduced us to 37 for 4, but a great innings from Claire Taylor of 113 off 115 balls guided us to a respectable 216.

We started well after the break with an early wicket, but the Australians’ powerful hitting took them to the target in 40 overs, earning them the first bonus point of the competition. This was our worst performance of the tour to date and we knew we’d need to improve if we want to have any chance of making the final.

That night we had the only official function of the tour at the Australian and New Zealand hotel. They’d done it up really nicely and to greet us was a collage of all four country flags made out of flowers. We then went up to the room where we all had dots put on our head as we were welcomed in.

The day of our first game dawned and we were all up at 6am to get some breakfast in before leaving at seven. We arrived at Mac A and were escorted to our plush dressing room complete with leather seats. The day started well with me winning my first toss and electing to field.

The Indians got off to a great start with their opening pair putting on 121, but we fought back really well to restrict them to 231 from the 50 overs. We were really happy we’d kept them to that and were confident we could chase it down as it was a good pitch and a quick outfield.

We were looking to train early in the first week to get the girls used to getting up early and playing in the conditions. All our ODIs start at 9.30am because it gets dark quite early here, so we’re just getting used to the earlier starts! This means we’ve had some quite long afternoons, so on Friday we organised a trip to the local supermarket where we all stocked up on crisps, sprite, biscuits and chocolate éclairs!

That night we went to an official meeting at the main stadium where we went over the logistics of the tournament – all very amicable. On Saturday morning we held a light training session and gave the bowlers a rest. So instead we had a group of Under-17 schoolboys bowl at us in the nets. It was a great experience for both parties, but unfortunately they came off worse because I hit one of them in the back! I felt awful, but he got some treatment from physio Sue Hughes, so he was happy!

Our preparations for this tour started two weeks ago at the National Cricket Centre in Loughborough, with all the girls eager and raring to go. We had some good indoor practices over the weekend and did some fine tuning to our fielding with our specialist fielding coach, Richard Halsall. It was the first time we had the whole squad together as we were rejoined by Beth (Morgan) and Jenny (Gunn), who have spent the past four months playing cricket in Australia. On the Sunday evening we had a really nice team meal, finished with a piece of birthday cake for our Manager Neil Rider.

On Monday we headed down to Heathrow, after our official weigh-in with all our bags. We each had a limit of 50kg and unfortunately, but not unsurprisingly, I weighed in heaviest due to my tour ketchup supply! (and maybe a few jars of jam…) We stayed in a hotel close to the airport as we had an early start on Tuesday morning to catch our flight.

I was up at 5.30am and it finally dawned on me that now was the time that all our hard work, practice and dedication was going to be put to the test on one of the toughest continents. Despite the hour the girls were very chirpy and upbeat.

There was a lot of press to greet us (ha ha) – I think they had more to do with British Airways’ baggage restrictions than our forthcoming quadrangular series – something I can relate to - but it got us more coverage nonetheless. It was ironic that the men’s squad arrived just as we were leaving. Unfortunately we didn’t get to see Fred [Andrew Flintoff] and the boys, but what a great comeback for them in the tri-nations series down under.

A terrific day for Kenya, one they fully deserve to enjoy. They were the pre-tournament favourites, undoubtedly, but wanted to win just that little bit extra. It meant a lot to them – that much was obvious.

I’ve been so impressed with their spirit, not to mention skill. When Maurice Ouma needlessly ran himself out today his partner, David Obuya, flung his bat in the air several metres behind his head. Isolated, the incident smacked of the bad, old, petulant Kenya. But actually, it was the new, fighting, don’t-waste-your-wicket-away Kenya; they don’t just want to win, but win well. It is a hugely encouraging sign and Roger Harper deserves credit for instilling in them this new fighting spirit.

The day was blighted somewhat by the news that Darrell Hair was to sue the ICC and Pakistan Cricket Board. We weren’t expecting it (nor was Darrell, to be fair) and the news came through at about 10.30 Kenya time (07.30GMT), around the time Scotland were throwing away the cup. I bumped into a vaguely familiar face, or one I thought I recognised: Adam Mynott, the BBC’s East Africa correspondent who had been dispatched on the same mission: to extract information from Hairstone. I knew both of us would lose, and so we did.

Last night’s closing ceremony was a big, loud, extravagant feast of an occasion. Suitably hosted at the Safari Park Hotel – a hotel large enough for me to lose a taxi driver inside its grounds – it was a luxuriant way to end the tournament. Tom Tikolo did his very best to control a hungry audience once the half-dozen speeches had finished, by letting the teams go up to the buffet in alphabetical order. Bermuda went first (cue wry jibes from cynical hacks on the media table), then Canada...but the decorum ended there and, led by the scavenging media, we descended on the mountain of food like a pack of hyenas. Apologies to the diplomats and dignitaries present for queue-jumping, but well done for joining in.

The food was magnificent, waiters serving meat, cut from the bone, off giant forks, right onto our plates. It was not the place for squeamish vegetarians – a meat lover’s paradise. Beef, lamb, chicken and even some I didn’t recognise, but it all tasted damn fine.

The Nairobi Hospital is a big, beasting building which most Nairobi taxi drivers seem proud of. “One of the best hospitals in Africa” they tell me. Until yesterday, I muttered my approval but hadn’t expected to visit it. After being struck down with the finest food poisoning Africa can serve, I did visit it – and very good they were too.

Runs a plenty. Before the proverbial hit the non-existent fan, I went to one of the many sports clubs to speak to Scotland prior to yesterday’s game. Their training session was to be held at the Sir Ali Muslim Club (SAMC), a run-down and rather decrepit, sad looking place. Khan, the manager, stood motionless inside the gloomy hallways and spoke at length of the club’s ailing fortunes. Like many, they need money. Desperately. And they don’t know when it will come, nor how much they will get.

Travelling in Nairobi is an exercise in patience. Fortunately, I am now on brilliant terms with nearly every taxi driver in the city – all of whom, somehow, seem to know me. I certainly know them. Daniel knows Joseph who knows Albert who knows...and so on. A trip that should take five minutes invariably takes 40 and, in that respect, it’s not unlike driving in London. Without the white vans.

But it’s much, much more fun; people casually walk across the main road, stopping cars with an invisible force field. Roundabouts are more stopabouts, or jamabouts, and everyone is relaxed about the whole affair. They're relaxed about everything in fact. A five-minute delay in Britain reduces some drivers to quivering, shaking wrecks, spitting venom at anyone who will ignore them, although perhaps that’s just me. I realised last night that tapping the dashboard with my angry fingers was going to get no one anywhere, least of all me and my driver to our destination.

Were it not for the balmy conditions, I could just as well be watching two counties in England in early April - not a one-day international in Nairobi in January. Crowd attendance for the World Cricket League so far has been skimpy, at best; there were 22 certifiable spectators yesterday at the Gymkhana. I counted each one. Today, though, it is positively heaving with close to 50.

It’s a relief. The only noise during the matches so far has roared from the throaty disgust of team coaches, and us enthusiastic anoraks in the press box. Roger Harper has been particularly vocal, using the breezeblock walls of the Jaffreys club as a makeshift (and very effective) megaphone for the opening match of the tournament.

After Scotland’s thrilling last-ball shocker over Ireland this afternoon, I left the picturesque Nairobi Gymkhana in buoyant, chirpy, looking-forward-to-a-beer mood. It was a swelteringly hot day, compounded by the greenhouse of a press box we were caged in (although, it must be said, the view from it was magnificent – and a damn sight better than many Test grounds in England), and libation was needed.

After nearly half-an-hour Joseph, my cabbie, arrived in his Toyota banger. His wreck has just one redeeming feature: you can hear it rattle from about 1km, giving you just enough time to rise from your seat and flag him down in case the brakes aren’t working. Off we set, out of the Gymkhana and down the slip-road onto the main highway, but were abruptly stopped by a 4x4 in front of us who had been halted by a policeman.

A tall, furious man, spitting venom, he marched the driver through the traffic to another policeman – and then set his eyes on us. By this point, Joseph was getting decidedly edgy, but my classic, foolish Englishness kicked in. Clearly he’s just having a bad day. He is a policeman after all – there to protect the public and uphold the law.