The venue for the Lancashire Shield Final was situated in this now famous thoroughfare. In 1967 the first XI had qualified yet again and a large party of boys were transported there to support the team. Any boy who had played for a school soccer team during the year could go. Despite my agonising year in the Lambda left-overs I had played twice for the shockingly piss-poor under 12s (how is another story). Thus I went with many others for what turned out to be a memorable day.

The School had hired about three or four Liverpool Corporation buses to take us to Penny Lane and for the return journey to Prescot. And these were real pre-Atlantean buses. Passengers boarded and alighted from a decent rear platform. No OMC and no fancy doors.

Bus Nuts out there can whip themselves into a frenzy by recalling those green classics we so took for granted; AEC Regents and Leyland Titans. [On the subject of buses (and I'm no nut by the way) does anybody remember the 'bell' on the upper deck of those St Helens Leyland double deckers? A rubber strip running fore and aft on the ceiling. Made a kind of 'mee-meep' sound like the Road Runner.]

Anyway, after the Final we all piled onboard and headed back to Prescot. Our bus set off, packed full of excited and uniformed PGS reprobates. We were upstairs on a front seat when a couple of us noticed the panel to the destination blind control handles was unlocked. Well, what followed was inevitable. Using our combined encyclopaedic knowledge of Corpy bus routes we proceeded to put up numbers and destinations appropriate to our location and direction of travel. I can' t remember all the numbers and routes we managed to clock up. Correct me if you wish or can but I think we squeezed in the 61 to Seaforth, 40 to Huyton, and once we hit East Prescot Road the 9D to Longview and then the 10 to Prescot.

What hilarious fun we had all the way to Prescot. The tension increased as we approached each bus stop. Queues of people waiting saw us approach, put their hands out to request a stop and then watched, slack-jawed, turning to follow us as we rocketed past. They must have seen upper deck windows full of sweaty, red-faced youths laughing, holding their bellies, mocking and yelling out various forms of derision. Women with babies, men returning from work, old couples with bus passes, blokes who'd fought in two World Wars for the likes of us, they all fell victim to our cruel and heartless fun.

My! How we laughed!

We missed our full quota of fun by putting up the 510 for a couple of incorrect limited stops. Groans of disappointment ensured a return to being the 10 for a joyful remainder of the return leg up the hill to Prescot.We alighted in Prescot exhausted and aching from the mirth. What a day out!!

Oh yeah. And the First XI won the Shield.