Each year I would make the pilgrimage to Old Trafford, and each year it would end in rejection. In fact, it was only after shooting up those several inches, when my bowling had developed considerably in pace, that I made the breakthrough, and only then because of the persistence of one of the mums from our cricket club. Mrs Valerie Brown – mother of David and Michael, who went on to play for Middlesex, Hampshire and Surrey – knew John Stanworth, who ran the Lancashire age-group teams, because her boys had been playing in the system for years.

‘This lad is well worth a look at,’ she instructed him. ‘He’s quick.’

I had played in a tournament for Lancashire B at Ampleforth College at Under-15 level but until Mrs B’s quiet word I was not on the radar at Old Trafford. Year on year, the same guys had been selected; they played all the way through from eleven upwards, they knew all the coaches and in turn the coaches knew all the parents. It felt something of a closed shop, so I was grateful for the door being opened in the form of a special trial.

About two years earlier, when discussing potential career paths, I told my parents I wanted to be a professional cricketer, and eventually to play for England. The only problem was that I didn’t know whether I was good enough. Mum told me they believed in me and would support me in trying to achieve my goal.

The season after my first-team debut for Burnley, I turned seventeen, and began representing Lancashire at Under-17 and Under-19 levels. Mum only ever got into sport because me and my dad would have it on the TV permanently at home – she hardly had a choice in the matter – but once things got serious for me, her interest naturally increased. She’d always watched me play football on Sundays, and cricket now followed.

Goodness knows how neglected my sister Sarah felt through it all. Dad and Grandad used to drive me everywhere throughout my teens, and then when we met up on Friday nights for dinner, talk would naturally turn to cricket once more. Even now she’s no fan of the game, quite frankly hates it in fact, and who can blame her? From my point of view, it was handy that Dad, who worked for himself, could take days off to go to places like Leicester and Chelmsford to watch me play. Lately my family, Sarah included occasionally, tend to restrict themselves to watching me at weekends.

These days I would like to think that I have mastered my art but I was at completely the opposite end of the scale when I made my Burnley first XI debut against East Lancashire on 9 May 1998, when, despite all my team-mates’ enthusiastic encouragement, fast bowling was pretty new to me. In those early days, I was just getting used to my extra height and so whanged it down with as much velocity as I could muster. When I got it straight I was dangerous and soon I was doing senior club cricketers, who had played the leagues for years, for pace.

The truth of the matter was that occasionally the deliveries I produced were good enough to account for some very good players indeed and before much longer there was a collection of famous international cricketers among my prize scalps. The first professional player I dismissed came in that summer of 1998: West Indian all-rounder Roger Harper, who was playing for Nelson, caught behind first ball. He was one of three wickets for me in quick succession that sent the opposition from twenty-nine without loss to 30 for 3. I made a bit of a habit of getting the professionals out first nut, in fact, and had Martin Van Jaarsveld in that very manner in a game against Lowerhouse in 1999.

At that time, I was making a considerable impression on the Lancashire League, and one player who was not destined to forget me was Australian batsman Brad Hodge, overseas professional for Ramsbottom, at the start of the summer of 2000. Because I was so erratic at times, I was as likely to bowl a beauty as a beamer, so when I forced him to punch one off his face he was not best pleased.

Of course, as a kid of seventeen, bowling to an established Australian state player with a big reputation, I was nervously apologetic.

‘I’m ever so sorry about that,’ I mumbled.

In contrast, he was typically Australian.

‘Fuck off,’ was the extent of his reply, and I couldn’t get the fact I had hit him on the glove out of my mind as I trudged back to my mark. It spooked me for the rest of the match, and I felt terrible. I might have come close to knocking seven bells out of him with that loose delivery but it was me who was intimidated by the ferocity of his response.

Years later, when Brad arrived on Lancashire’s staff as overseas player, he had not forgotten. The very first words he greeted me with were: ‘’Ere, you’re that —t that beamed me . . .’ They do say that first impressions count.

Our own pro, Ant Botha, who went on to have a successful career with Derbyshire and Warwickshire, would bowl the bulk of our overs with a great deal of success from the other end, and while he was a steadying influence on the attack, I was anything but.

Primarily it was my pace that got me noticed, and indeed led to opportunities higher up the spectrum. Because I couldn’t swing the ball at all back then, I held the seam as straight as I could and concentrated on bowling fast.

Not long afterwards, after establishing myself in Lancashire’s Under-19 team, I enjoyed a personal battle with Sajid Mahmood. Whenever we bowled in tandem, I would study how far the wicketkeeper was standing back and try to work out which one of us was hitting the gloves harder, which one was making the ball carry further. Edging that duel was my badge of honour, and it wasn’t until I had played a few second XI games and got a contract at Old Trafford that Mike Watkinson taught me to swing it.

Although fast bowling was pretty new to me, I just did what came naturally in those days rather than model my action on anyone else. I always liked watching Allan Donald. He had such a sleek approach and delivery stride but I never tried to copy him.

Well, I tell a lie. I actually tried to copy just about everyone’s action on the domestic and international scene (playing in the street against David and Gareth at least).