Down By The Riverside with Phil Lloyd

SHEETS of rain from a leaden sky. Wind whipping up fallen leaves into a frenzy and penetrating every nook and cranny of buildings old and new. Soaked spectators sheltering under cold, steel girders. Huddersfield, late October.

Ay, it's grim up North. Few, surely, could find pleasure in a day out in such conditions.

That is of course unless they were fully paid-up members of the massed ranks of the Blackburn Rovers choir, belting out 'Uncle Jack's Barmy Army' to the rhythm of the drum.

For well over three thousand hardy Northern souls on Saturday, Huddersfield was the only place to be.

There will no doubt be those who'll say that my judgement was coloured, perhaps by the brief appearance of a rainbow during the first half that formed a glorious matching arc above the roof of the Panasonic Stand opposite. They will point out that pinching points from poor, penniless Huddersfield was akin to stealing a blind man's cane. That a side with no recognised forwards and confidence at an all-time low were there for the taking. That it was a steady rather than stunning performance by Rovers.

All these things are true. But they don't matter now and they didn't matter then. These are the games that can make or mar a season, so no one grumbled much about a 1-0 away win. Four straight victories. Closing the gap on those above. That'll do nicely.

I made a few observations from my McAlpine vantage point. It's still strange to be cheering a player who has more grey hairs than I have, but old Hughesy has certainly made a difference. Opposing defenders now know they've been in a game. They're just not sure whether it was a game of football or wrestling.

Like Bolton's Reebok, the McAlpine looks impressive, but the design does dissipate the noise from the stands. Either that or the Town fans weren't singing. It's also a problem for them that the home end offers little protection from the elements on a wet and windy day.

The only complaint from Rovers supporters on Saturday was the lack of any shelter behind their stand, meaning you were not only drenched but also drinking a never-ending pint of beer that tasted progressively more watery!

My friend, a stalwart supporter of the Town, refused to apologise for that: "We've given you the best end and three points," he said. "We wouldn't want to be too hospitable, would we?"