We were ushered into the Lord’s museum, and after the introductions from Boria, we were taken for a tour around it. The original Ashes urn was the highlight and the nods to the IPL the opposite. In their attempt to balance the history with the modern, somewhere the sensibility changed and was altogether incongruous. During snacks and wine at the museum, we met four individuals who would play a big part in our experience of the conference.

Don Neely – the president of the New Zealand cricket board, a delightful man in his seventies, full of interesting anecdotes and stories, but more than anything else - radiating a positivity and optimism that was a breath of fresh air in these jaded, cynical times. His wife Paddianne (who has collaborated on cricket books with him), was much like him too – and together they were hands down the most charming people in the gathering.

Simon Sweetman, tax consultant by day, editor of the Association of Cricket Statisticians and Historians publication by night, brought forth his erudition of the game with a lightness of touch and a curiousity about other opinions which was very refreshing. Richard Thompson, the Kinks and the Beatles also gave us a lot else to talk about later – it was very stimulating to listen to someone who was in his prime in that remarkable decade of history and still loves music the same way.

Venu Palaparthi, witty raconteur and delightful company (also because he laughs the loudest at other people’s jokes – not such a common trait actually), passionate advocate of cricket in the US, livened up proceedings with his anecdotes about well-known names and his interesting (and considerably successful) attempts to popularise cricket in the US. His personal connections with Joseph O’Neill’s celebrated recent novel Netherland (especially the conviction that he’s an amalgam of the book’s two protagonists) were extremely interesting for the coincidences he pointed out.

It was a little disappointing to leave Lord’s without setting foot in this historic ground but the anticipation of what was to follow in Oxford dissolved most of the disappointment.

(Jatin adds –We were therefore also unable to carry out Sreeram’s and Jonathan’s instructions of stealing cutlery and drawing graffiti on the wall.)

While growing up in India in the early-1980s before colour TV had made its presence felt, the film that had changed my life was Chariots of Fire for a seething intensity I didn’t know it was possible to feel till then. A lot of that film (which I had seen several times thereafter) had been set in Oxford and that romantic image was lived up to squarely when we set foot into St. John’s College (Boria’s alma mater) a couple of hours later. Green grass, grey skies, austere buildings breathing out history and tradition - I wasn’t the only one awestruck by it all.

We were given the keys to our quarters – Boria had worked out things very thoroughly and knew exactly who was going to be located where. The walk to our rooms was immensely enjoyable as we strolled through the quaint passages, manicured lawns and grand courtyards. And also because of unexpected fellow-delegates. Bishen Singh Bedi, a charming, benign version of the man who sprays vitriol in the TV show “Match Ka Mujrim” (“Criminal of the Match”), was in a ‘father-of-the-bride’ avatar, saying hello to everybody around, thumping shoulders, including ours. After sundown, it was no doubt his safest option (perhaps he didn’t want to court embarrassment by not recognising someone he knew; easy to do when you’re a few drinks down).

(Jatin adds: Bedi, who I had never met in my life, ambled by and randomly slapped me on my back with a ‘hi’- leading a fellow delegate to ask me “Are you with Bedi?”)

Then I noticed a man sitting quietly in the shadows drinking beer – he seemed older than a student but not out of place in those surroundings as Jatin and I certainly were. He instantly reminded me of the lead character in Vikram Seth’s book An Equal Music (Michael – the Viola player, with a sad unrequited love) - it was just an instinctive thought. Anthony Bateman, Tony, would be the person I’d enjoy meeting the most on this trip. Later, on our way to becoming very good friends it gave me goose-pimples to find out that he was in fact, by profession – a Viola player but unable to play anymore because of a wrist problem. Turns out that not only had he read the book but also enjoyed it thoroughly. (Even more bizarrely, Tony's father hails from the same town - Rochdale - as Michael's in the book.) Fact departed from fiction thereafter (Tony has a wife and a 16-year-old daughter), and in very agreeable ways – he loved Bob Dylan’s music and Mike Leigh’s films (two of my absolute favourites) besides being a huge fan of The Clash (very interesting for a professional Western Classical musician)…and he loved this game that we were all here for, of course. He actually had a PhD in Cricket Writing –had even published a book not many had read (the last, like me). He was also 42, what I would be in two weeks. It wasn’t as much the commonalities that bonded us but the instant feeling I had of meeting a kindred spirit – we seemed to just get each other – it is not a common occurrence at all, not for me anyway.

The student rooms we were put up in were decently sized and adequately furnished. The common bathrooms were horrible though. Toilet, wash basin, shower – all independent miniscule compartments (smaller than airline loos), each with different entrance doors which opened inside and were tough to close without callisthenics to get out of the way. They were no doubt intended to enable simultaneous functions to carry on, but they turned out to be unhygienic and highly inconvenient. As Jonathan Cumberbach reminded me from Port-of-Spain – imagine having to use them in winter.