THERE may be more picturesque spots in Ayrshire for a stroll down memory lane but few more fitting than Somerset Park, certainly when the mind turns to football.

The Ayr United stadium is pure fitba'. It has the old terraces, the stand that positively shoogles and it reeks of the days of struggle, disappointment, victory and the occasional outbreak of joy.

Its trophy room (insert own joke here) was the venue the other day for a smashing, inspiring wee meeting that was attended by your correspondent.

The cups fair gleamed as the members of the football reminiscence group that meets in Prestwick took their seats at the annual pie and Bovril event organised by Ayr United Football Academy.

We swapped stories with the slickness of a Mississippi riverboat gambler coughing up a card form the bottom of the deck.

The group is helped by Alzheimer South Ayrshire as part of a programme run by the national organisation to entertain and help those living with dementia. There was a team of men from the group at Somerset Park with a representative from Alzheimer South Ayrshire, Ayr United staff led by managing director Lewis Grant and including academy volunteers. I and the Ayr United crew and volunteers were on the bench when we made our interventions with the increasingly shrill calls of the supporter who suspects that his centre-forward's heart is not quite in it.

This is the truth about fitba'. As soon as someone starts telling a story, then one remembers that one has a tale or two as well. It is what lifts those with dementia problems. They can find a say in the present about events of the past. Fitba' can give memory a kick with all the robustness of a Junior centre half who has realised that the opposing striker is the chancer who disgraced his wee sister.

It was therefore a morning of patter. There were the traditional rites of passage. One story of being lifted over the turnstile ended with the narrator admitting he was so tall at the end of his freeloading career that one adult offered him the entrance money, adding: "And you can lift me over."

There was the reminiscence of being at Ibrox in the late fifties when Ayr beat Rangers 3-0 before going on to complete an away Old Firm double by beating Celtic. There was the recall of a famous English winger of old using the banking at Shawfield to increase his speed in the manner of a track cyclist.

The members of the reminiscence group were all men of a certain age who could remember days at Brockville when the crowds were so large for a visit of Rangers that fans had to sit at trackside, of post-war internationals where there was a joy in merely being alive to witness them, to the days when youngsters were lifted down to the front in the manner of buckets of water being conveyed to quell a fire.

There was the mandatory chat about best player. There was a nomination for Charlie Tully who seemed to pepper his career as a comedian with appearances on the football stage. There was much chat about Pele, Matthews and Best with your correspondent weighing in when asked what was his most memorable match.

Suspecting that at least some of the audience would be unfamiliar with my appearances in the St Joe's primary school team of 1967, I opted for the moment when Diego Maradona graced Hampden Park on June 2, 1979, scoring as he, sorry Argentina, beat Scotland 3-1.

Nominating one's best game is like picking your best song. It can change from day to day, even moment to moment. But Diego in Hampden is memorable for three reasons. First, I travelled to the match with my fitba' mates from Stirling who had the combined thirst of a laryngitis sufferer in the Sahara who has just eaten a bowl of nuts and a Twiglet. We hired a minibus. For the kerry-oot. We travelled behind it in the manner of serfs following a maharajah on his elephant, with the beast being called Jumbo Tennents.

We placed said liquor at our feet in the uncovered terracing. A policeman looked at it askance. He was skelly-eyed. One feared he was about to confiscate it. But as he surveyed its towering magnificence he could only inquire of the heap of cans: "Have you got planning permission for that?"

The second reason for the nomination was the performance of Maradona who was then 18. In the old days, YouTube was an insult rather than a device for catching up on foreign stars. There was as much South American football on the telly as there was international crocheting. One had caught glimpses of Maradona, one had read snippets of his wonder. He did not disappoint.

He remains the best I have seen but that day also provided a bonus for me when years later I was sitting in Boca restaurant in Queens, New York, watching an Argentine Primera Liga match. The owner, piqued at my interest in his home league, engaged in me conversation.

My Maradona reminiscence was rewarded with the best steak in the house. If I had made it interesting, I might have received the best steak in the restaurant, but heigh-ho.

The Diego tale this week in Ayr was met with the traditional fans' repast of a Bovril and a pie courtesy of Lynne at the club.

Fitba', eh? You cannae beat it. You cannae forget it. Sometimes even if you try.

MORE information on how to help can be found at www.dementiadriendsscotland.org