SHAMELESSLY star-struck, it was a pleasure to be invited to spend some time with Sir Ian Botham at his home in Ravensworth to discuss his return to troubled Durham County Cricket Club as chairman.

The man who is arguably England’s greatest living sportsman could not have been more helpful or more positive about his passion to get Durham back to the top, and his love of the county in general.

“We’re going to get back in the top flight where we belong and I think we can do it this year. We’re certainly good enough,” he told me.

The meeting inspired an exchange with John Corney, formerly of the Sunderland Echo and now a sub-editor with the Metro, which happens to be edited by Ted Young, a Northern Echo reporter in the 1980s and my old flat-mate.

When John was a mere bairn of 16 or 17, he got a job as a steward at The Riverside with Durham Cricket Club and he was somehow promoted to “player liaison”.

That meant looking after the players’ cars and doing all kinds of odd jobs for them, including running a bath for Sir Ian on the morning of games to loosen his back.

“Run Beefy a bath, son,” the head steward would say, “his back’s knackin’.”

“He must have got through some Radox that season,” said John.

The young Corney also had to run back and forth to the post-box for prolific letter writer David Graveney and maintain regular supplies of paper and pencils for Simon Hughes who was busy writing a book called From Minor to Major about that historic first season.

Perhaps the most urgent of chores was keeping Wayne Larkins well stocked up with “tabs” in case he was out early. “He could get through a fair few if he was ever out for a duck,” recalled John. “Fond memories, all great guys, and most were good tippers – although I won’t divulge who the tight one was.”

Whether it’s smashing the Aussies round the ground or raising tens of millions on his charity walks, Beefy has a habit of getting things done.

And now he’s putting his back into Durham’s revival, I have a feeling it won’t be too long before the club returns to where it belongs.

FROM Beefy to Piegate. Sutton United’s roly poly goalie Wayne Shaw gobbled a pie on the sub’s bench in the FA Cup match against Arsenal and it became the story of the week.

Shaw got the boot from where he earned a crust and now there’s an investigation into betting irregularities after bookies offered 8-1 on the 23-stone keeper eating a pie mid-game.

Surely, the problem lies with greedy bookies who’ll offer odds on anything you can think of. Go into a bookies and ask to place a bet on Donald Trump’s hair being revealed as a secret weapon that can be unleashed as a frisbee to eliminate a Russian spy and they’ll take your dosh.

The bookies want the cash, and the publicity behind daft novelty bets, but they don’t like it when someone takes advantage.

By the way, Paddy Power is currently offering odds of 200-1 on Prince William and Kate’s next baby being called Boris. Get on quick – before Prince Andrew hears about it.

The Northern Echo:

LAST week’s column raised the subject of funny nicknames given to characters at work.

I told how a former newspaper sales manager at The Northern Echo had been given the name Thrombosis – because he was the clot in circulation.

That inspired a message from Mike Glover, former editor of the Bradford Telegraph and Argus, Yorkshire on Sunday, and Westmorland Gazette. Mike recalled a dour Welsh-born editor called Rees who was always last out the office so he could go round turning off lights and, when they came along, computers. He never had a cheerful word to say and was consequently known as “Rees is Negative.”

ONE of the nicest councillors you’ll ever meet, Darlington’s Cyndi Hughes, got in touch to tell me how she’d once met a guy at Chester-le-Street Labour Club who was known to everyone as “Juanita”.

Cyndi thought it was odd as he was neither Hispanic nor female. It turned out, he only had one tooth.

ANOTHER welcome submission arrived from former Durham police inspector John Zissler, who recalled a colleague known to everyone as Egon. Every time there was work to do he never answered, and the cry always went up: “Where’s Egon?”

MEANWHILE, it’s all been happening in Ireland. This cutting from Sligo found its way to me and I’ve been struggling to sleep ever since. Was the hat claimed or did it have to be humanely destroyed? If so, was it a controlled explosion? I need to know.

The Northern Echo:

FINALLY, a warning to sports reporters everywhere – and it’s nothing to scoff at.

A journalist in Belarus had to eat his own newspaper after losing a bet over the fortunes of ice hockey team Dinamo Minsk.

Vyacheslav Federenkov had to literally eat his words – dunked in soup – after wrongly forecasting that Dinamo Minsk would fail to make it to the play-offs of the Kontinental Hockey League.

I’ve been told he’s now suffering from irregular vowel movements.