I happened to wander down to the county cricket ground at New Road the other day.

I walked through the main gates and walked past the Ladies Pavilion towards the offices.

I was daydreaming of what is widely regarded in the cricketing circles as the epicentre for the finest Victoria Sponge that you can find in the county - the ladies of Worcestershire producing teas the envy of the county circuit.

My lips were positively salivating as I conjured up the delights of a light coffee cake adorned with half walnuts and rich butter icing.

Suddenly I was jerked back to reality from my daydream as I turned toward the cathedral; the hallowed turf where all the greats had played - Bradman, d'Oliviera, Hick, Serrell (OK it was a minor game of under-sevens at cricket but I had been there) - and this wonderful ground now resembles a turnip field.

The famed green carpet that had been nurtured through the years by countless groundsmen was simply washed away with the deluge, leaving behind a rather smelly mass of mud and detritus.

Standing there in disbelief I thought "Where the hell do you start?"

As I continued around the ground my thoughts wandered again - back to 1966 to be exact.

Clearly, we all remember that as the year our heroes won the football World Cup and captured the Jules Rimet trophy.

But there was a different sporting occasion I remember; it was where I was standing now, at New Road.

The West Indian cricket tourists were shaping up to play their first game of the season against Worcestershire.

Not only that but two of my all-time heroes were due to play - Wes Hall and Charlie Griffiths, the feared opening bowling duo.

Now, young schoolboys in those days either used to collect stamps or signatures - personally I found stamps a tad boring, and the latter was my choice.

On that school outing I stood in line patiently waiting to collect their autographs.

Some of the other players also signed my little grey book, among them were three by the names of Sobers, Kanhai and Gibbs (part of the ethereal peerage of West Indian cricket) and a commentator by the name of John Arlott, but I was so proud of my bit of paper with the names of my particular heroes.

How things have moved on from those long lost days.