Party like it's 1999?

Once upon a time, long before suspect millionaires landed at Lord's in helicopters, the clean-pressed Alec Stewart was England's captain and England hosted the World Cup. The month was May 1999, the spring was dank and the runes ominous. People doubted the ECB could run an international tournament, and they were borne out to some extent: that toe-curling opening ceremony, the not-so-Super Sixes, the World Cup song released the day after England were knocked out (Wisden reported that not a single was sold in London's two biggest record shops in the 24 hours following its release). But it was a trumpet-blast of competition.

Pick your adrenaline fix from Tendulkar's 140 straight after flying back from his father's funeral, the fury of Shoaib against Australia in the gloom, the crazed, limp folly of Lance Klusener and Allan Donald in the semi-final, Herschelle Gibbs dropping the World Cup.

I was working at Wisden Cricket Monthly and we had an absolute ball. We loved the intrigue (Bangladesh beating Pakistan), the absurdities (Hansie Cronje's earpiece), the ridiculous (West Indies manager Clive Lloyd watching his team play in Dublin whilst tucked up in a blanket), the crowds, particularly the tub-thumping Indian and Pakistan fans, the whole 37-day caboodle.

I lived in London then - but it didn't much matter where you were, as 21 grounds across the country hosted the 42 matches, many selling out. This time round, the 27 games will be held at only three venues - Lord's, The Oval and Trent Bridge. This is not an evangelist's fixture list, nor even a geographer's. They are wonderful grounds, all three, but not only is there nothing in Wales, Scotland, or Ireland, but nothing north of the Trent or west of the Thames. No wonder England v West Indies at Lord's hasn't sold out - they've already played a Test there to a far from capacity crowd just a month ago.

Ten years on and Manchester is home. And no, it isn't raining - actually you wouldn't believe how blue the sky is at this moment, with the swifts spinning overhead. We live in a suburb of quinoi-eating, yoga-loving, allotment growers. There is a vegan co-operative, a green festival, and eco-warriors to let down the air on 4x4s. But even in this little earth-mother enclave, with Lancashire Cricket Club's ancestral home just around the corner, football rules.

The challenge for this tournament, this the-world's-got-talent show, is to inspire those cricket fans lying dormant, will them to scratch around under the bed for both bat and United shirt. This column will undertake a deeply flawed 17-day cricket-watch survey in the park and report back.