The tropical hoppings

For anyone who doesn't know, the Hoppings is an annual funfair that takes place at Newcastle's Town Moor every summer. It has horrific rides and nearly always hoys down with rain.

When Eddie and I arrived at the airport (disappointingly no Mark Robinson to meet us to ask if I would replace Katherine Brunt) we found a nice taxi man who offered to take us the 90 minute drive to our hotel. It was absolutely hoying it down as we sprinted off to find his minibus.

"You might want to sit in the front," he advised, "The roads are a bit windy." (Not windy as in blowing a hoolie - but windy as in twisty...)

"We'll be fine," we said in that bravo way that you do in front of locals.

For the first 45 mins, I was fine. Marvelling at the way the little bus would scale vertical ascents then turn sharply up another one, before hurtling down roads that had turned to waterfalls with the torrential rain. Beautiful rain forest flashed past as we hurtled our way up, round, down and round the island.

Then I started to feel clammy. Hot, cold and sweaty - and I felt the colour draining from my face.

"I was wondering if you would be able to stop a little moment," I asked politely.

The driver pulled over and I spilled out onto the tropical roadside, the rain lashing down relentlessly. Toulouse sausages in a ragut sauce maybe hadn't been the best choice from the nice Virgin lady after all. Thankfully it was dispatched quickly and I leapt back into the bus feeling much better.

After this Tropical Hoppings-like experience, we finally arrived safe and sound to our lovely hotel, where it rained all evening, and as I write on the balcony this morning, I can just hear the gentle sound of raindrops on leaves starting up again.

We are hoping to get to see England play their first match of the tournament today v Sri Lanka, but it doesn't look too likely!