The bawling-baby shortage blues

December 9
The woman to my left on the Auckland to Dunedin flight has a baby. I am initially dismayed, but then I remember that I have to write a tour diary. It dawns on me that a crying-baby-gets-on-my-nerves trope would be an excellent first entry for the piece.

I settle in and wait for the baby to start its bawling. "Maybe it could be sick all over the seats as well," I think to myself. "Wouldn't that be great to write?" As we take off, I am sure it will pipe up. I try not to stare expectantly.

But suddenly, we are in the air, and it hasn't made a noise. We reach flying altitude, and still, it's totally quiet.

All flight long this baby is the very picture of cherubic cuteness. It just lies in its mother's arms, tiny fingers curled into a little fist, cooing gently on occasion; perfectly, heartwarmingly adorable. One stewardess gushes over it as she serves us tea.

"This is absolute crap," I think to myself. What kind of stupid baby is this? The one time you really need them to cry…"

December 9
Upon arriving at University Oval, I notice that the road into the ground, which during the World Cup was called Brendon McCullum Drive, now bears a sign that says Logan Park Drive. Apparently, naming it after the New Zealand captain was just a World Cup stunt.

It is a little disappointing. If a Sri Lanka captain had led his team with McCullum's white-hot flair, we would definitely have named a road for him on the island. There is a Sanath Jayasuriya Mawatha down Matara way, for example. An Aravinda de Silva Veediya lies elsewhere. A Sri Lankan fast bowler has even had an intersection near his home unofficially named "no-ball junction".

Perhaps it's for the best, though. The drive isn't McCullum's most memorable shot anyway. But then I guess "Brendon McCullum Heave to Leg" doesn't have the same ring to it.

December 11
You can tell Dimuth Karunaratne is still buzzing from his 84 in the first innings in Dunedin, because he is shadow-batting various shots he played as he awaits journalists in the press conference room. He is annoyed at the way he got out. "Aparaade. Seeya peni peni giya," (What a shame. You could practically see the hundred) he says to me and manager Jerry Woutersz.

Suddenly his mind turns to dinner.

"We have to get to Nandos early today," he says.

"Why's that?" Woutersz asks.

"Yesterday when we went, Angie [Mathews] was already sitting there, and he'd eaten everything. They only had a quarter chicken left - for six of us. We just have to get there before him."

December 12
"I've been a cricket tragic all my life," says the taxi-driver picking me up from the ground. "But after what's happened in New Zealand cricket this year, I couldn't tell you for sure whether what we're seeing is two teams trying their best to beat each other." The recent match-fixing sagas and allegations seem to have left their mark, on this fan at least.

"It's just something you never, ever imagine would happen to New Zealand cricketers, you know? We just don't have corruption here."

December 13
There is a large Greco-Roman style building across the road from my hotel, with gorgeous fluted columns, ornate gables, decorative cornices and tall, arched windows. A building this grand and elegant should be a library of some kind, right? A small museum maybe? Nope. Strip club.

At night they light the windows purple and park a couple of bouncers at the entrance. One thing I will say for this establishment, though, is that it is not noisy. There are no thumping hip-hop beats rattling my hotel-room window, or rowdy squeals spilling out into the street (I'm looking at you, Leeds).

My hotel itself also looked a little dodgy, with a dark canopy over the front entrance, but thankfully it was a clean, quiet, well-run place. The whole week went by and I was never once disturbed by the amorous exertions of a couple in a nearby room (still looking at you, Leeds).

December 14
There is a vibrant rainbow over University Oval as I leave. There are also a few heavy drops of rain, which means that if Sri Lanka had held out till about 4:30pm, they could have had a shot at drawing the match.

Later in the evening I run into head groundsman Tom Tamati, a few members of his team, and some employees of Otago Cricket, who are all celebrating having successfully hosted the Test. "We got a fifth-day result!" comes the exultant cry, followed by mass high-fiving.

"What did you think of the pitch?" one of the crowd asks me.

"It's the greatest cricket pitch I have ever seen in my life," I reply, angling for a free drink. It doesn't work.

December 15
There was a crying child on my flight out of Dunedin, but when I turned around to look, it was being held by one of the Sri Lankan players' wives, which means it was one of the cricketers' kids. I can't make fun of this delightful little bundle of joy either, can I? Useless.

December 17
Some jokes about Hamilton:

It is sarcastically referred to as "Hamiltron: City of the Future", because of its supposed backwardness.

"The best thing about Hamilton," some people say, "is that it's only one hour from Auckland."

It is widely called "the chlamydia capital of New Zealand".

And many New Zealanders feel Hamilton airport is mad not to charge an exit tariff, because people would happily pay to leave.

I for one am pleased to report that despite all this bad press, Hamilton is totally adequate in lots of ways. It is clean, fairly quiet, and it smells all right. I did once think about throwing myself from the hotel balcony so I didn't have to be there anymore, but the feeling passed quite quickly.

December 18
Like University Oval, Seddon Park is a gorgeous little ground, ringed by foliage and high grass banks. The first morning of the Test is a feast for the senses. There is the smell of fresh-cut grass, the sight of cricketers in their pristine whites, and the buzzing drone-cam tearing small holes in your eardrums. This thing is seriously loud, and a total mood-killer. Broadcasters are missing a trick by not getting a tinnitus medication company to sponsor it.

December 20
You would think that after the pitches that have been seen in New Zealand, no Sri Lankan on tour would want to see greenery again in their lives. Yet today I find myself taking a walk in the large and beautiful Hamilton Gardens.

It is a wonderfully well kept and curated city attraction, with gardens of many varieties. There are gardens in the American modernist style, a Japanese reflection garden, an Indian Char Bagh garden, and another in Italian Rennaissance style.

December 21
About 90 minutes after New Zealand have wrapped up the second Test, the whole squad - support staff and all - emerge from the dressing rooms in high spirits. Most have bottles of beer in hand. They amble towards the pitch, get into a tight huddle, and perform their victory song, which is more of a garbled chant, really. Upstairs in the press box, I am straining to make out the words. Did I hear "a sprig of Watling in my hand"? Probably not.

They finish the chant, give out a triumphant yell, then a few break off and run around the outfield, in attempts to douse each other in beer. The New Zealand cricketers are so well-behaved in public, they have more than earned the right to a little macho roughhousing in the relative privacy of an empty ground.