Where women glow and men plunder

January 28-29
There are some words you don't want to hear as you are settling into a 20-hour flight. "There's a problem with the plane" is pretty high on that list.

It turns out there's a hole in its roof. I'm not a technical fellow, but I'm pretty sure that's a bad thing. The subsequent announcement that we are to change planes comes as a relief. Some of my fellow passengers are less convinced. They boo and heckle the cabin crew.

We miss the connecting flight from Dubai, so a long day becomes a long two days. I write a piece while waiting in the airport. Stream of consciousness, I fear. But one of the best things about working for ESPNcricinfo is the support of colleagues. Colleagues who know what it's like to still be writing at 2am when everyone else is in a bar. Colleagues who know what it's like to receive abusive messages when Sachin isn't named England's player of the year (yes, that really happened).

So it's no surprise - despite the fact that it's past 2am and I'm eight hours late - to see Melinda Farrell waiting. She's dressed as a chauffeur, with a sign saying "Mr B Idiot". She also has a case of ice-cold Little Creatures pale ale. Which is, I'm pretty sure, the beer they serve in heaven.

January 30
Straight into a game. England make a bit of a meal of beating India. There is a desire - shared by several of my colleagues - to try to be more positive about the England team this year: 2014 was grim. The ECB was, at times, so unlikeable. So joyless. On one occasion people were asked not to celebrate birthdays on tour because it might be a distraction. And while the devil has the best lines, I think we'd all genuinely like to see this team succeed. They're a different bunch. Younger. Less cynical.

February 1
The reality of life on tour is that you spend a lot of time sitting in hotel rooms typing. That's fine. It's the best job I've ever had and not a day goes by when I don't know that. But you do have to work pretty hard. And that's pretty dull to tell you about. Today we had the tri-series final in Perth. Australia won easily and Glenn Maxwell looked ridiculously talented. Afterwards we were reminded that if New York is the city that never sleeps, Perth is the city in a persistent vegetative state. The one pub open features a guy playing the guitar so badly - and so loudly - that it sounds like welding.

February 2
The England team have been given a few days off. Quite right, too. Their schedule is absurd. Those involved in all formats will spend over 300 days in hotels in 2015.

James Taylor, who has played Grade cricket out here for a few years, recommends some beaches. A couple of years ago I went for a swim off Cottesloe Beach. I thought it was odd that nobody else was in the water, and as I came out, someone mentioned a tiger shark had been seen there earlier in the day. Not a word when I was heading in. Not a word.

James also wants to know if I've had a Jack Shantry tattoo. The last time I saw him I was due to face Shantry, the Worcestershire bowler, in the nets. I'd written some uncomplimentary things about him - and many complimentary, but nobody ever remembers those - and he challenged me. The deal was that if he got me out, I had to have his name tattooed on me. And if he didn't? Well, that's what James wants to know. As we recall, the deal was that Jack had to be announced for one spell at New Road with a description of my choosing. Anyway, I won't give away the ending.

February 3
Perth is beautiful and clean. But if you've just come out of an English winter, the main thing you notice about it is the heat. During the last Ashes tour, temperatures in the press tent (a new press box has been designed ahead of the World Cup) rose to 47 degrees. People were putting their laptops in fridges.

Decide against a trip to Rottnest. It's a car-free island a short ferry-ride from Perth. It looks nice on the posters but last year when I ventured there, I found it was home to a few dozen quokkas (charming little marsupials) and several billion flies (which are less charming).

Take a trip to Fremantle, which is pretty and a bit more lively than Perth. The evening finishes with several of us - waiters too - on our hands and knees looking for the phone of Rory Dollard, the Press Association's reporter. After much searching, we find it. In his pocket.

February 4
Fly to Sydney. There may be a more beautiful city in the world, but it's not easy to think of one right now.

February 5
Early drive to Bowral to film a feature at the Sir Don Bradman Oval and International Cricket Hall of Fame for US and Caribbean TV. Stop in Wollongong on the way back for some motorbike-riding along the ocean road. "Waterway to travel," I find myself saying on camera. Feel I'm turning into Alan Partridge. Richard Madeley must wake like this most mornings. Incredible journey back through the awesomely beautiful Royal National Park. Lovely to see this side of Australia. Last year Jarrod Kimber and I drove from Brisbane to Alice to Adelaide. We saw 10,000 dead kangaroos, some great sunsets and thousands of miles of bush and desert. It was magnificent in its hard way. But nothing like this, with mature forests and lakes and waterfalls. Truly beautiful.

February 6
Have an interesting chat with Sir Ronnie Flanagan, the head of the ICC's anti-corruption unit. Like most experienced, intelligent people, he knows that life is full of grey areas. Not convinced he's right in allowing Mohammad Amir back into domestic cricket a bit early, but I respect his intentions. The Amir I remember pleaded innocent at the ICC enquiry. Only changed his mind when the case was criminal. I'd welcome him back in September. Not before.

Attempt a run around Coogee and Bondi. But jeez, it's hot. And hilly. After pretending to have a stone in my shoe many times, I concede defeat and take to the sea. There are a lot of beautiful people round here, and it's fair to say that as the years pass and I look ever more like a potato, I don't fit in. Anyway, all the tremendously attractive girls on the beach manage to keep their hands off me. Perhaps they're intimidated by my beauty, I tell myself. Or my mastery of the doggy-paddle.

Dinner with Nick Warren, the former Warwickshire seamer who might have enjoyed a longer career had he not been so poorly coached, at The Coogee Pavilion. Spectacular.

February 7
Preview day with England. Stuart Broad gave Melinda and me a fine interview. He was friendly and interesting and open. But some guy then "interprets" his words to make it sound as if he were diminishing Australia's chances in the World Cup. And journalists wonder why players hate them.

February 8
Preview day with West Indies, Pakistan, Scotland, Ireland and Bangladesh. We interview around 20 players. Every one of them polite and personable. The West Indies guys are the most fun. Kemar Roach leaves his key card behind with me. I catch up with him and tell him I'm flattered, but I'm just not that sort of guy. He tries to pretend it was a mistake. C'mon Kemar, we both know better.

February 9
England v West Indies at the SCG. For a boy who grew up loving West Indies players - I was a Somerset supporter - the decline of the team is painful. Here they are shambolic.

Fine night out with John Etheridge of the Sun, Nick Hoult of the Telegraph and Fazzer. John, a great tourist, manages to be thrown out of the same place twice. His barely perceptible stammer is interpreted as drunkenness. "I've been drinking for 40 years," he tries to explain. "That's the problem, mate," the bouncer replies.

February 10
Ireland v Scotland in Blacktown. I'm the only "writing" journalist at this game. Which is interesting, because I read quite a lot of reports about it later. Hugely impressed by the best Scotland side I've seen.

February 11
I love Australia. But there are a couple of pretty massive caveats: it's hotter than the sun, and in every tree and under every rock, is something that wants to eat you, poison you or sting you. Today I come face to face with what locals tell me is a spider but which I'm pretty certain is a cow in spider fancy dress. It's enormous.

February 12
Fly to Melbourne. After all the pieces are written, take the train out to Epping to see the most hospitable family in Australia, the Kimbers. They were kind enough to invite me for Christmas during the Ashes. Anyway, Jarrod's parents - Peter and Lynn - host a BBQ for ESPNcricinfo types. Great company (Jarrod and his wife, Miriam, their kids, Andy Zaltzman, Andy Zaltzman's hair, Mr and Mrs Cricket Couch, who I hadn't seen since they stayed with me in the UK for a while, Brydon Coverdale and Arya Yuyutsu), great food and great drink. We record a Polite Enquiries somewhere along the way too.

February 13
Preview day. Doesn't go particularly well. Some days it flows, very often it doesn't. Some days the piece appears on the page without you having to think about it, some days you have to hack it out of your soul with a blunt spoon.

Sorry to see Geoff Boycott get some criticism from the players. Geoff may be blunt but he's rarely wrong. He's just candid. Very, very candid. And in my experience he's very supportive and hugely professional. Once, when an old friend - and her husband, who had momentarily disappeared in search of tea - came to see me in Sydney, Geoff misread the situation and tried to help. "I love Georgie," he told her, giving me the Boycott seal of approval. When I was watching him on-drive the boundary that brought up his 100th hundred - and I remember it well - I never thought he would one day be my wingman. At the risk of name-dropping - you know I'm going to - Ed Miliband once told me that the first thing he would do as Prime Minister would be to knight Boycott.

Drinks in the evening with Shantry. In a tribute to Alan Partridge we order Ladyboys - a pint, with a Baileys and G&T chaser. One round costs more than my first car. Fortunately, unlike my first car, it doesn't catch fire.

February 14
Game day. Australia look stronger, quicker and more skilful than England. It's a mismatch. The ICC know immediately that the umpires have screwed up the final decision (to give James Anderson run out), and to their credit, they are open and helpful. Piece after piece follows. Video, feature, analysis, news. Finish at 2.30am. With Brydon and Arya to the fore, it feels like we did a decent job as a team. And that makes it all fine. Actually, days like this are pretty much the reason you do it.

February 15
With my colleagues from England having flown, I go to talk to Peter Moores alone. I will then write up his words and send them on to my friends in the other papers. Peter is initially a little nervous. He knows they had a bad day. But he then talks openly and honestly. He is impressive in such situations. While he can slip into management-speak in a press conference, that may be due to nerves. Who wouldn't be nervous with cameras and dictaphones there to catch you out? He's likeable, too.

There's a piano player performing in the hotel lobby. I say "performing". They may have been dusting it. Sounds awful. I mention this to Peter. "You're very critical," he says. "It's not easy to play the piano."

"But we can't pretend it's good if it's rubbish, can we?" I reply. We both realise we're not talking about the piano any more.

Jos Buttler asks where I sourced the picture of him we used in the piece about his appointment as vice-captain. I tell him I can't betray my source. Mum's the word, Jos. Mum's the word.

February 17
The entire England squad are officially welcomed in Maori tradition. There's some nervousness ahead of the ceremony. Apparently Brian O'Driscoll, the British Lions captain, inadvertently snubbed Maori culture by failing to observe the correct protocols. The players are told to always maintain eye contact and always use their right hands. They're warned that, strictly speaking, if they get this wrong, then they can be punished harshly.

Have a chat with a relaxed Paul Downton at the Basin Reserve. Last time I saw him was over lunch in London. I laughed at the fact that, after all the fuss about KP looking out of windows in team meetings, he chose a windowless room for us to eat in. Warn him about the Maori ceremony. "The secret, Paul, is to never look them in the eye and always use your left hand."

I'm a bad person.

February 18
Fascinating conversation with Ellie, who promotes tourism in Wellington, about bad backs. I'm a big fan of chiropractors. She distrusts them. Turns out she once paid £40 - she used to live in Glasgow - for "clap therapy". This is where the client chants such life-affirming stuff as "my back is fine" while clapping their hands. I immediately try to sell her double-glazing.