Post:        Now we have another worry.  Our hero twisted his leg (or ankle) quite badly it seemed, whilst playing football in the field outside the cafe.  He complains of his leg shaking like billy-ho whilst laying on the bench outside the tea place, which has to be a worry, but somehow he gets back home.

Saturday, October 10                            Millington       CTC run

Turned up to Four Lane Ends at 2.30pm this afternoon, with Ben, for the CTC run.  A goodly crowd was out, for it was a beautiful afternoon.  In the lanes around Atherton, Joe turned up for his first ride with the CTC.  The run out across Chat Moss developed almost into a blind, for all were intent on a game of football before tea.  At Heatley I punctured, and two stayed with me, but we were soon off again, and reached Millington just after the crowd.  Sides were picked, and a game of football started.  The very first kick of the match, I twisted my leg, and went as sick as a dog.  Every time I got up I felt dizzy, and I wonder to this day how on earth I got to the room at Boothbank.  The room was stone-cold – I lay on the form for almost an hour, my leg twitching like billy-ho, but I pulled round just as the club rolled in, and in the jollity of the tea-table all traces of dizziness disappeared.  I still had misgivings about my leg, which I could hardly move.

Boothbank has deteriorated as a cyclist’s tea place, for it has become the custom to keep us waiting and attend to motorists who have arrived after us.  They get the best room too; we must be content with a cold, damp place lit with candles.  I know a better place not far away, and am only awaiting a chance to introduce the club to it.  It is a pity that cyclists have become unwelcome at Mrs Duncalf’s, for it is an old world house with a beautiful garden and a good playing field nearby.

When we left Millington, my leg was not so painful, and a lot easier riding than walking.  All the way home we made the air hideous with songs of a jazzy character, conducted ably by Mr John Leigh, and rendered, (above the rest) with greatest gusto by Miss Ethel Jolly, who is known as ‘Some child’.  We met a mist crossing Chat Moss, one of those kinds that come in solid chunks.  Altogether it was a ride that reminded me of the winter runs of three years ago, when only eight or nine used to turn up for the run, and make a merry party.  By the time I reached home my leg had almost ceased to pain me, and I had great hopes for tomorrow after all.                                                              38 miles