'Prof' Watkins tamed Formula One and was as famous for his neurosurgery as Christian Barnard was for the heart With each one came more resolve and more effort. Where the wider medical community could only think of a ban, "The Prof," insightfully identified three fronts and then systematically delivered on all them all. The work was long and hard; he went to every single grand prix, inspected every single hospital at every single race and sat in the medical car for every single practice session and race during three decades of work. First, the improvements to the evacuation and resuscitation facilities around the track along with the medical centre were taken to extraordinary levels - levels today that many hospitals would be proud of. Second, the cars were redesigned to protect the drivers with monocoques, head-restraining systems and handling improvements and third the tracks were redesigned to absorb the energy of a crashing vehicle and reduce the high G-force bends. With the support of leading figures, such as Sir Jackie Stewart and Ecclestone, he drove through relentless improvement. In so doing he set a standard that spread across all sports in all parts of the world. His brilliance was such that he even created the international language of sport safety. When the IOC came to inspect our London 2012 Olympic bid they asked us if "the medical facilities would reach Formula One standards." Upon Seb Coe's invitation I was able to reassure them that not only could we deliver these standards but that we had invented them. Not enough. Sid led neurosurgical units in New York and then London, pioneering brain surgery for Parkinson's disease and the first implantable electrodes to relieve crippling disorders of the brain and spine. I joined Professor Watkins' neurosurgical team in August 1983 as a junior doctor and as I recall next got home the following Easter. I had come from the Royal Marsden and was heading for a career in cancer surgery when on day one I saw him make a young boy, Richard, who had been paralysed by a disabling brain disorder, walk again by placing an electrode deep into his brain whilst he was awake. Richard and I were pretty impressed! Sid had whistled and told naughty jokes throughout the whole procedure. The next week it was Ziphora, a little girl who had travelled from Israel for her cure. He duly delivered though toned down the jokes as she was so shy. He taught me all he could both in and out of the operating theatre. If ever you looked like you might not know what to do next he would say with feigned frustration "give the forceps to daddy." It was his sporting achievements that showed me what had gone wrong for the injured boxer Michael Watson, and how much If the remarkable drugs we now use for Parkinson's had not been developed he would have been as famous for his neurosurgery as Christian Barnard was for the heart. His sports achievement would have been but a footnote in the career of a medical genius. What was he like? Imagine a cross between the mischievous Mr Toad, Winston Churchill, Henry V, Romeo and an encyclopedia. His Juliet and wife, Susan Watkins, herself an accomplished historian and playwright, is the jewel in the family that was his crowning glory. No surprise then that in these few hours of our grieving my phone has been alive with tributes from his patients, friends and colleagues alike. On Wednesday we all lost a bright and guiding light.