Watching cricket at Worcester is a great pleasure and one of the highlights is the view across the ground towards the city’s cathedral.

It is just these days in such proportions that the River Severn floods the playing surface and stays there for weeks on end. Such has been the regularity of incursions in recent years that Worcestershire are, albeit reluctantly, having to consider moving away from their New Road base to somewhere higher and drier.

Invasions by the water have become so serious that the expense and disruption poses a major threat to their financial wellbeing, at a time when many county clubs are finding survival hard enough already.

Another major reason the ground is so popular lies in a rather more modest building, on the far side from the cathedral – the ladies’ pavilion. As a construction it is almost as outdated as its name but woe betide anyone who suggests it should be swept away.

Long before tea, queues snake down the steps and some way around the boundary as spectators seek the excellent fare inside. Worcestershire’s Supporters’ Association have raised millions of pounds over more than half a century selling home-produced cakes, scones and other treats – plus a cuppa, of course – which are all served on proper plates and cups. Polystyrene is only by request. It’s wonderful value.

Such is the fare’s reputation that the players, who get food and drink served to them anyway, are known to pop round. When Mark Ramprakash was compiling a masterly innings for Surrey in 2006, he despatched team-mate Scott Newman with a list of his requirements. If the 196 he accrued wasn’t entirely down to the lemon drizzle cake or fruit scones, then they clearly did no harm.

Cricket’s relation with food is well known and at one stage it was impossible to listen to Test Match Special without mention of the latest confection to be sent to the commentators. It must have done terrible things to their waistlines.

One effect of the pandemic, five years ago, was that social distancing meant teams could not eat together. That would have made little difference in many countries, where players at recreational level take their own food or buy it nearby, but it is an established part of the game here.

It gave the idea to some clubs and leagues that this was the way forward – after all, catering takes a lot of hard work, whether finding someone within a club (generally a family member) or an outside caterer to feed two teams, plus the umpires and scorers.

It is also a considerable expense, which falls upon those playing a game where subscriptions and equipment are not cheap either.

Yet, on the whole, the reaction to that idea was hostile. Not just because it’s a tradition – although that can often be enough for some people to feel that the world is about to end – but because there is also something very civilised about two teams sitting down to eat together in between a few hours of ruining each other’s day outside.

Food matters so much to players that when they rate opposition grounds, the standard of the pitches and dressing rooms often takes second billing to a more important consideration – was tea any good?

By Richard Spiller