I have always loved rural Australia. My introduction to country life came when I was only 18 years old, and was sent to Melbourne on a cricket scholarship. My host was the great fast bowler, Frank Tyson, who was in charge of coaching in Victoria. Every Monday morning, Frank would summon me and an old boy called Barry Plant to his office and dispatch us to some remote part of Victoria for 4 days, enabling me to return in time for practice at Essendon CC. Off we would go in Barry’s white ute, which was loaded with coaching essentials, and hours later we would arrive at our destination and start coaching at the local school.

We travelled all over the state, and I quickly learned the difference between city Australia and country Australia. Believe me, if you come here on holiday and simply knock off the usual sights before returning home, the odds are you will have missed the heart and soul of this incredible country. It does help, of course, if you have access to a light aircraft!

The welcomes that Jim Maxwell and I have received so far on this adventure have been overwhelming. It’s as if the locals can’t quite believe that people have made the effort to come out to the back of beyond and talk cricket. They have been listening to Jim for years on their harvesters, and now here he is regaling his stories in their local pub.

“Welcome to Moree!”  was the shout over and over again last night when the locals packed into a small room which was equipped with a huge air conditioner, doing its best to keep things cool. Just as well: the temperature in the outside bar was 40 degrees, Interestingly, most of the questions were directed at me and concerned the fate of the England team.

Cars stop and a friendly wave lets you cross the road. Compare that to the fear of being done for jay-walking in the cities, where everyone waits like robots waiting for the red man to turn green. Yes, the heat is overwhelming but the slower pace of life reflects that. The bird life is stunning. This morning we woke to a tremendous argument between the cockatoos in the trees outside, their harsh squark drowning out the cheerful trill of the colourful parrots, which flash happily across the sky. I don’t know what the other birds are – but the overall sound did make me stop and wonder what Australia must have sounded like before the arrival of cars and machinery.

On we go, with the venues becoming more and more remote. Bourke, followed by Louth – where the 8 of us are being billeted in two dormitories in the pub. And finally Parachilna, with a flight over Lake Eyre, which has water, thrown in. It is certainly the best possible respite from watching the cricket.