In that situation hiding my nerves was easy but there were plenty of them, I can assure you.

My memory of my international debut is all the more vivid for the torrent of horrendous abuse I received from large sections of the 34,000 Melbourne crowd. Granted, because I didn’t have a name on my shirt, I was something of an easy target. ‘Where’ve they dug you up from then?’ ‘Too embarrassed to admit you play for England, what’s-your-name?’ ‘Hey pal, you’re anonymous like your bowling.’ They weren’t likely to pass up the opportunity of getting stuck into some fresh English meat, especially a 20-year-old piece they’d never heard of before.

This was my first experience of Pommie-bashing and it proved an interesting baptism. I copped loads but all I concentrated on when I was down at fine leg was walking in when the ball was bowled, and then walking backwards, never facing the mob, or even turning in the slightest to do so, back to my fielding position.

For a wide-eyed boy from Burnley that was not necessarily the most intimidating factor of my England bow. More scary than that was that I was now competing against guys that I’d also become accustomed to watching on TV. Standing somewhere between me and those stumps twenty-two yards away were Adam Gilchrist, Matthew Hayden and Ricky Ponting – three of the best batsmen of all time.

It was a hard game first up for me. I claimed Gilchrist as my first international wicket, a drag on from a wide half-volley. However, not for the first time, nor the last for that matter, Australia inflicted a heavy defeat on England but although my figures of 6-0-46-1 were far from flattering, and I had obviously gone for more runs than I would have liked, I walked away from my debut pleased that I had not been overawed and reflecting that I’d actually done okay.

By Christmas 2002, I had played as many one-day internationals as I had one-day games for Lancashire, taken five wickets, and been involved in not one but two England wins. Both came against Sri Lanka, the third team in the triangular VB Series.

We played them twice within seventy-two hours, and, no disrespect to them, because they were a good side, but facing anyone other than Australia provided some respite. We probably caught them a bit cold in the first encounter in Brisbane, and defended a target of 293 comfortably under the lights. Sanath Jayasuriya was my second international wicket, deceived by a slower ball.

Three days later, we were thrust into battle again in Perth on a typically bouncy WACA pitch that gave us another distinct advantage. I was at the crease in the final over of the innings when Paul Collingwood got his first international hundred, and this time our victory margin was even greater. My return of 2 for 23 from eight overs was my best yet.

These two games gave me a good deal of confidence. If my debut series had been exclusively against Australia, things might have felt slightly different for me. Undoubtedly, I would have found that more difficult to cope with. But as I prepared to fly home for Christmas – the Ashes tour was a weird split that year with a chunk of one-day games wedged in between the third and fourth Tests – I knew that I could not have made much of a better start to my England career.

I had clearly made an impression on the England hierarchy, too, because coach Duncan Fletcher asked me to stay out there for the conclusion of the Test series rather than head home for a few days. Unfortunately, however, returning to the UK was non-negotiable for me. My grandma Doreen had been diagnosed with cancer while I was at the academy, and given only weeks to live. She passed away while I was in Australia. When I received the news, I told my family that I would be coming home, but they persuaded me to stay on. Instead, they waited for me to come back before having the funeral – so I was determined to spend that Christmas with them. I didn’t even consult my mum and dad about the subsequent offer to stay on for the final two Tests. There are times when your nearest and dearest come first, and this was one of those for me.

As I packed my suitcase to return home, I paused for a moment to look at my England gear. Just over six months earlier, it had been a thrill to play in a second XI Championship match alongside a former international Neil Fairbrother, who was coming back from injury, and now here I was confronted by my very own England attire. Once it becomes the norm, it loses some of its magic, but at the time it filled me with wonder. One of the moments I will never forget is Phil Neale, our long-serving operations manager, walking up to hand me my first England helmet. The feeling was incredible. I treated it like a prized possession for those first few months, whereas nowadays I get through them like loose change because they get clunked, mangled or lost.

My return flight got me back to Sydney in time to see in New Year 2003, and I trained with the other one-day specialists at club grounds around the city while the final Ashes Test took place. Confidence boosted by my 2 for 48 in Brisbane and 2 for 23 in Perth, I was excited rather than daunted by the resumption of VB matches against the Australians. Down in Hobart I maintained my run of picking up a couple of wickets every game, this time claiming the scalps of Gilchrist and Ponting inside the opening half-dozen overs in a match that we really should have won.