The good old tour match is considered something of an anachronism, and at Hagley Park today you could see why. A first-class game against the Canterbury Wizards, one of New Zealand's strongest sides, was supposed to prepare England for a Test series, but it took a Munchhausean leap of imagination to see the row of gently swaying poplars that form the backdrop here and then picture Chris Cairns and Daryl Tuffey spitting blood at Lancaster Park in six days' time. Hagley Park is quite pretty in a Christchurch sort of way, which means the turf and the trees are immaculate and the sponsors' tents have frilly bits that dangle over the entrances. The game is being played in the middle of the park, and you'd like to think the organisers turned up yesterday, chose the location by tossing a coin, and mowed a strip, cunningly leaving it almost as green as the rest of the pitch. With a couple of sparsely populated stands and a smattering of deckchairs, it felt like the first gentle stirrings of a county festival week. Mansfield Park to Queenstown's Wuthering Heights.

The Canterbury Cricket Association is celebrating 125 years of formal existence but England actually played here when it was still a twinkle in an administrator's eye. Way back in 1864 they took on 22 of Canterbury, and while the wickets were tumbling this morning you wondered whether they'd need as many again.

England, though, reckoned without the bloody-mindedness of the opener Robbie Frew, who scores his runs at 40 per 100 balls, but today decided to dispense with such recklessness. Hagley Park was rumoured to have been built to protect the Anglican districts in the centre of Christchurch from the Presbyterians in the suburbs, but any member of any religion would have appreciated the self-denial shown by Frew today. Scyld Berry once wrote that if you had to choose someone to bat for your life, he would probably be wearing a black cap with a silver fern. Frew was wearing Canterbury's red helmet, but he tapped proudly into the long Kiwi tradition of grim-faced stonewallers, and by lunch he had raced to 15 (including an edge through the slips for four). When he was finally out in the 60th over of the innings for 44, you didn't know whether to laugh or cry, although most of the crowd chose a slumbering indifference.

Frew's thou-shall-not-pass go-slow was typical of a surreal day. The lunchtime entertainment consisted of three characters who looked like Blue Peter presenters, strummed paper guitars and sang "Cheer up sleepy Jean", which seemed appropriate. And half an hour after tea a juggling court-jester held up play by walking behind the bowler's arm as he concentrated on catching his green and red batons. For about five glorious seconds he failed to realise that all the players were watching him in professional teapot mode, hands on hips. But with Duncan Fletcher on the verge of penning a rude letter to the local circus, Andrew Flintoff cut the ice by shouting "get out of t'road, you clown." Everyone laughed and wondered what the next day had in store.

Lawrence Booth is assistant editor of Wisden.com.

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