Taste tests, and snoozin' next to Sanath
Our correspondent displays horrific ignorance about the finer things in life, and begs for a lift to McDonald's

Bruny Island: if you don't know your cheese, just enjoy the view • Andrew Fidel Fernando/ESPNcricinfo Ltd
The stereotype goes that Cantabrians are people of strong opinions. Occasionally the word "myopic" is used to describe them, usually by Aucklanders. But two days out from the World Cup, Christchurch's World Cup expectations are restrained and nuanced. "We look good, but I wonder if Brendon McCullum can play as aggressively as he does against some of the better attacks," says a man in a café. "I also worry that Trent Boult won't swing the white ball as much as we expect," replies his companion.
Tens of thousands turn out for the World Cup opening ceremony, which is more community carnival than global showpiece. It is refreshing, uplifting, and typically for New Zealand, understated. The only high-octane moments of the evening are when the biggest fireworks display Christchurch has seen light up the sky, a little while after mayor Lianne Dalziel stormed the stage and bellowed, "We are back", like some 1980s hip-hop hype-woman. All she needed was a clock around her neck.
Colleague Andrew McGlashan and I return to our lodgings starving, late in the night. No restaurants save the 24-hour McDonald's down the road are open. I volunteer to go fetch the food, but to my dismay, only the drive-through is in operation. Too hungry to go back empty-handed, I approach the latest car to pull into the queue and ask if I can climb into the back seat and order and pay from there, since they only allow vehicles into the drive-through. Not only do the couple in the car agree, they end up dropping me back to our apartment. Gnasher is in stitches when I tell him the story. He describes it as the perfect combination of Sri Lankan informal ingenuity and Kiwi friendliness. I reflect I probably shouldn't try this again outside of those two countries.
Dimuth Karunaratne sees me near the Sri Lanka nets and comes to say hello. He's trying out a heavier bat. He smiles when another journalist and I tell him that Aravinda de Silva had switched to a much heavier bat during his epic 1996 World Cup as well. Dinesh Chandimal comes over for a chat a little later. Mahela Jayawardene exchanges a few words walking past. A lot of people want to know what the Sri Lanka players are like in person. I can almost never say a bad word. There are no airs, for most of them. They are normal to the point of being a little boring.
Meet a Bangladesh fan in the lobby of the apartment building I'm staying in in Melbourne. She and her husband have flown from Sydney to watch the following day's game. "My perfect match would be for Sanga to score a hundred, then for the Tigers to win," she says. She will get half her wish. They have also booked tickets to the Melbourne quarter-final. "I just have a feeling we will get to the quarters this time."
Arrive at the departure gate to find I'm on the same flight as the Sri Lanka team. I board and find myself sitting next to selector-on-tour Sanath Jayasuriya. He laughs to himself when he sees me. "This is going to be my quietest flight ever, otherwise tomorrow everything will be on Cricinfo." I retort with: "I'll just be happy if none of the players try to open the plane door at 35,000 feet" (as a Sri Lanka A cricketer had done last year). He laughs again.
I know nothing about wine. But that does not stop me, or two other wine-ignoramuses from attending a tasting at a Hawke's Bay winery. As we begin to glug down the samples, we offer questions of profound obtuseness to the young lady hosting us. "Do you chill white wine before you drink it?" And "why is some wine white and others red, when they are made from the same grape?" We pause for a few seconds, as if to aerate the tannins of our own daftness, then let fly with: "What's the difference in taste between Shiraz and Syrah?" (They're the same thing, apparently.)
Within 24 hours of being in Sydney, I have already seen enough male cleavage to last me a lifetime. There seems to be a council law that skin-tight plunging v-neck shirts are all men are allowed to wear. I hope I don't get pulled up and fined. I guess if you're putting in the work for those muscles, you may as well show them off. The Mardi Gras gay pride parade is in town too. Lots of noise. Lots of exposed skin.
Sydney has never been my favourite Australian city, but boy, that harbour is something else. Colleague and liker-of-own-voice Raunak Kapoor shows me around the Match Point set, overlooking the grand Harbour Bridge and Opera House. He was about to go for a run when I turn up, but we end up drinking milkshakes, eating ice cream and having a heavy lunch instead. His plans to exercise apparently pan out much the same way as mine.
I am even more ignorant about cheese than I am about wine, yet here I am again, attending a cheese tasting on Bruny Island, just off Tasmania, with Jarrod Kimber for company. To break the silence as we taste, I offer: "Mmm, yes, that one had quite a cheesy quality to it, don't you think? I was definitely getting flavours of cheese." He furrows his brow, tucks his chin in, nods his head and makes an observation whose insight stuns me. "I like that last one better because it was softer than the one before it."
Andrew Fidel Fernando is ESPNcricinfo's Sri Lanka correspondent. @andrewffernando