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Earlier this year, I spent a couple of days riding my expensive and some might say pretentious bike around the Pendle Hill  area; a place where I spent my formative years. As I cycled, red-faced and runny-nosed, along the road linking Barley with Roughlee, I noticed a sign pointing to "Whitehough", and was compelled to snap out of my ridiculous cleats and come to a clumsy halt by a wave of shameless nostalgia. You see, to me, Whitehough (we always pronounced it Whiteho) was "Camp School": a brilliant outward bound centre I had visited as a pupil of Lord St Juniors in Colne, some 50 years or more previously. My mum, Margaret, taught at the school, so I had been lucky enough to go to Camp School on two occasions.

My memories of the place are  vivid, as seminal childhood recollections tend to be, I guess: the seemingly endless journey to get there in an old Charra; the strange smell of the wooden dorms, the huge dining room where I was stung by a wasp whilst playing chess (yes, really); the mad tin-plate races down the stream; the endless breathless chases and games outdoors; the infernal craft challenges indoors  . . . . I could go on, but in plain terms it was a thrilling experience for me and the other kids from school.

So, having struggled up the steepish tree-lined track to Whitehough, I was intrigued to see that it had hardly changed at all: the same huts, some sports equipment lying aimlessly on the grass,  but everything well tended and maintained. To all intents and purposes, it  appeared to be just as I had last seen it in the early 60's. But this  was February, 2017, and the place was deserted.

I leaned the bike up against a tree near the Reception Building and was about to take some photos, when a genial guy came out of one of the houses facing Reception and politely asked if he could help. I gave him a brief summary of my reasons for being there and he smiled, introduced himself as the Caretaker and told me an extraordinary story. He said that the place had still been accommodating schools (including Lord St, Colne!) and other groups until last year when the Council, in these miserable days of austerity (my words not his) had reluctantly felt compelled to withdraw funding. Whitehough had been mothballed for about a year and he had been retained to look after and maintain the site. Then, to my  delight, he told me that my  team, Burnley F.C., had agreed to take on the facility and that representatives from Burnley F.C. in the Community would be visiting that  afternoon to discuss how the project would be developed. It just seemed too good to be true: the club that I have a huge affection for was going to ensure that future generations of kids from all kinds of backgrounds would have the chance to form the kinds of memories and enjoy the kind of experiences that I did. I'm aware that BFC in the Community is involved in many important and socially beneficial enterprises, but this one just struck a chord with me - a relatively privileged old fool with a bike far too good for him.

Overnight on15th-16th July, I will be riding a 50k route round the streets of Liverpool, the city that unwittingly hosted my dissolute and decidedly enjoyable University years. I still live near the city and I also have a Season Ticket in the old codgers' (Bob Lord) Stand at Turf Moor. It's the only place I know where numerous people leave every game early because it takes them so long to get down the steps. So, my participation in this event has a kind of neat, if somewhat self-indulgent symmetry to it. If you can see your way to sponsoring me in the name of BFCITC, I would be very grateful, as indeed would any kid who visits Whitehough in the future.

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