The green swathes of grass at Lord’s or Old Trafford or Trent Bridge bring memories of great cricketers long departed and the presence of some who, in the memory of watchers much younger than I, will join those ranks in time. In place of Bradman and Hutton, Bedser, Compton and Botham, the young will have Tendulkar and Lara, Warne and Panesar and Pietersen.

Still green, but this time cloth rather than grass, the end of the Rugby season brings that epic of the green baize, the World Snooker Championship at The Crucible in Sheffield. The arts of O’Sullivan and his predecessors, Hendry, Davis, Reardon and others continue to hold me in thrall and this year I managed a pilgrimage to the Sheffield shrine. The rivers and lakes, bounded by green grass of a coarser type, also call and there are cane rods to flex in seeking elusive salmon and sea-trout.

But now the draw for the Heineken Cup stirs the imagination. The foreign journeys to far southern French towns are not for Quins’ supporters this year. Belfast and Paris again! Mere urban forays in less salubrious climates are the lot of the avid Quins traveller. Next week brings the Premiership fixture list and now it is only eight weeks to the pre-season friendlies.

Anticipation begins to take hold and other distractions are still necessary. Fortunately the South Africans are coming to Lord’s and for the affcionado of that other green cloth there is still the World Professional Billiards Championship to come. It is a struggle to wait calmly for the start of another season. One should be thankful that this is a case where to arrive is better than travelling hopefully!

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