MY Sunday evening was spent enjoying the charm and elegance of Cheltenham.

The handsome Town Hall was the venue for ‘The Holy Bail’, the name given to the UK tour by David Gower and Chris Cowdrey, two old friends who have enjoyed intertwined careers in and around the world of cricket, both on the field and in the media.

I went in some trepidation as such occasions are often cliché-ridden with too many sour stories about obvious targets such as Yorkshiremen Boycott and Bird.

They are a rich seam to mine, but we need to move on and this is what David and Chris did.

We heard of behind-the-scenes events that revealed the pomposity that used to exist in English cricket.

Gower and Cowdrey told many stories, usually against themselves.

I had heard Cowdrey before, but Gower was a revelation. As a batsman, he was an example of easy grace. He was just the same on stage in front of 400 people. He and Cowdrey reminded us that cricket is just a game, but what a wonderful game.

Driving home with a warm glow I suddenly remembered that Gower had the same games master at school as myself and my contemporaries.

Maurice Milner, head of PE and games at Victoria Road in the 1950s left to hold the same post at King’s School, Canterbury, Gower’s seat of learning.

Many of us remember Maurice, clad in tracksuit, sweat shirts and scarf sending us (vest and shorts) on cross country runs while he retreated into his cosy office.

The memory of those days was re-enforced by several of my emails. They tell me of indoor cricket practice starting for many of our local clubs, and also of the opportunities for so many children.

Organised practice and youth cricket was unheard of in the 1950s. Playing in men’s teams was the only option. The opposite sex playing cricket was way over the horizon.

Not for me the ‘good old days’. In all sports opportunities for all are so much greater. It is up to us to make the most of them In stark contrast to Sunday, I spent the previous day in drab, dismal and dilapidated Dagenham, the destination of Forest Green Rovers.

The M4 and M25 were navigated successfully, as was the M11, which took us into East London. My career had taken me to nearby Hackney but I was unprepared for what I saw.

Dull housing, factories and warehouses empty or being demolished, no gardens or green spaces and no spring time blossom. It was inner city living at its worst.

The Dagenham and Redbridge ground, however, was an oasis.

There was a warm welcome, a plate of tasty sandwiches for the media posse and a trim, attractive stadium. That completes the good news because for Rovers the game was a disaster. Dagenham attacked down the flanks where FGR were always vulnerable, squeezed our midfield and were always dangerous.

Despite this Rovers could have won but for two basic errors. Kaiyne Woolery was presented with the ball when the Dagenham goalkeeper was stranded way out of position. He managed to miss.

Then a needless free kick was poorly defended, resulting in the late winner. You cannot expect automatic promotion making mistakes like that.

A disappointed band of travelling fans returned to their coaches. One of our number, wiser than most, put everything into perspective. “Gentlemen, ladies, all that has happened is that we have lost a football match,” he said. “More importantly, we are travelling back to a Cotswold springtime and do not have to live here.”