Travelling to the Falkland Islands, situated off the southern most tip of South America, I'm reminded that travel can be a joy and a curse in equal measures. From the air, just prior to landing, the stunning São Paulo sunrise was a joy to behold. The curse however followed some hours later, with the knowledge that the reason I was the only one left at Santiago airport's baggage reclaim area was because although I had made the journey from Sao Paulo safely, my luggage, alas, had not. I was told to come back to the airport later that evening, for the Tam Airlines ground crew were convinced my suitcase would be on the next flight. It wasn't.

So at 10:30pm, feeling extremely travel weary, I was left with just the clothes I stood in. At this point a guardian angel in the shape of a member of staff took pity on my predicament and offered me a $50 voucher to buy some essentials; toothbrush and paste, a clean T shirt, and clean underwear. She kindly directed me to the shops on the third floor of the airport terminal and wished me good luck.

Arriving at the top of the escalators, my new found optimism immediately plummeted, for it soon became apparent that the only retail outlet open for me to spend my voucher in, was in fact Dunkin Doughnuts! Even though this was a massive blow to morale, I found that I was chuckling away to myself, and I felt a sense of relief that, thankfully, through this ordeal, I had not lost my sense of humour. My suitcase did finally turn up and with clean teeth, a clean shirt and fresh boxers (Mother would be please ), I could continue my journey.

Cricket changing rooms are pretty much the same the world over. The banter is incessant, half read newspapers litter the floor, and conversations change rapidly; from the goings on out in the middle, to football, wine, women and song, then hurriedly back to the game in hand after a flurry of early wickets. In the pre-season of 1982 events on the other side of the world were to change those conversations for a few months; for in that year, on the 2nd of April, the newspaper headlines were about one story and one story only - ARGENTINA INVADE THE FALKLAND ISLANDS.

From the moment a British task force was deployed to liberate the Islands and their inhabitants, until the Argentine government's surrender on the 14th of June, the changing room conversation was predominantly about the 'Falklands Conflict'.

To start with, where were the Islands? Certainly, as a twenty year old who had previously just scraped through his school geography exam, I had no idea, and back then - in the dark days before the Internet - we couldn't just 'Google it' . For those ten weeks or so, the headlines raged on; from the considered and informative narrative of the broadsheets, to the, shall we say, more jingoistic offerings from the red tops, they held the Leicestershire changing room in thrall until the British troops returned home later that summer.

Roll forward thirty one years and I'm standing alone on a gale swept bay in the capital Stanley; signposts direct me to places that immediately transport me back to those very same changing rooms and those very same headlines: Bluff Cove, Port Stanley, Tumbledown, Goose Green. I now know exactly where the Islands are and this afternoon my mission to coach cricket on the Islands begins with the first match of the new season. One thought fills my head as I look out over the gale ravaged bay, "I feel really sorry for the poor guy who has to bowl into this".