And here we go, with the first of any number of modern day nightmares...
ROSSENDALE UNITED 4 BARROW 3 ATS Lancashire Trophy Round Two 23 January 1990 by Phil McMenemy
I don't suppose any midweek game in the Lancashire (Cumbria. Ha!) Cup is a thrilling experience. And going to Rossendale hardly improves matters. But imagine doing it in a Lada. Well... So Al and I set off as we were the only ones who wanted to go. Wonder why? Plus the fact that I didn't trust my luxury 1983 Lada any more. The journey was underway and we were armed with Al's old but trusted (his words, not mine) road atlas. I should have known what was in store when he said that but on we pressed. "It's an easy trip," says Al, "Off the M6 straight into Blackburn, then ask directions because it's only fifteen miles or so." Blackburn was getting nearer but dark had set in along with constant driving rain which was streaming in through the sunroof. It seems sunroofs and East European cars don't mix. Water was dripping all over us at every slight bend, or on braking. And as the heaters and blowers weren't working the windows were beginning to steam up. We pulled into a garage to ask directions. "Easy," says the attendant, "Onto the main road, second right onto the M63, off at junction 12 and straight into Rossendale." Couldn't be more simple. Could it? However, Al and his atlas were having none of this. "There's no such thing as the M63. It's not on the map" he says. So we came to the conclusion that the attendant was taking the p¡$$. So we followed the horrible route off the map straight over Pendle Moor. I was getting increasingly miffed but the atlas seemed happy and therefore so was Al. By this time it had decided to snow. Still no heater. After crossing various cattle grids and avoiding numerous sheep we were half expecting the Pendle Witches or the Grim Reaper to turn up. Then it happened... Like a phoenix from the ashes up rose beautiful Rossendale. My personal Avalon. Now to get to Dark Lane for the match. The game was a nightmare. Suffice to say we got beat. But stuff the ATS Trophy anyway. There was one consolation though. That was Toddy finally losing his virginity. He scored (a goal that is). The moral of this sorry tale seems to be 'NEVER buy a Lada.' And never trust an early nineteenth century road map that doesn't show motorways, Milton Keynes, Telford or Wellington New Town. Issue 005 - December 1990