DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE With Phil Lloyd

I NEEDED those three months.

Like the man who joins the Foreign Legion to forget and soon after can't recall what he was supposed to be forgetting, I seem vaguely aware of a distant nightmare that may have happened in late April and early May.

But, for the life of me, I can't remember any details. Most doctors know that if they prescribe abstinence the patient will probably ignore them, but this time avoiding football seems to have cured my malaise -- whatever it was.

I've spent my summer doing other things. I even went to Burnley, to wander around its chic boutiques and trendy wine bars -- you know, it's so easy to think of the area as the Chelsea of the North, isn't it?

I also read a book, a story about a man who was so infatuated with TV and movie stars that he wanted them to come and work for his business, just turning up when they wanted, for vast amounts of money. And still they turned him down!

I watched a few soaps on TV. There was one early in the summer that reminded me of 'It's a Knockout', but without the manic Stuart Hall commentary.

The English clearly hadn't learned the rules and were playing a totally different game to the rest. They got knocked out early, though there were a few comical fight scenes involving some of the crowd.

The German team were very amusing, as they were even worse at the games than the English. Someone said the French team won, but I'd switched off well before then.

There was another soap about a fat Geordie lad, who was all washed up (again) in the North East when this kindly Scotsman offered him another chance and all the bar-owners on Merseyside cheered. I didn't watch that through either. You could see it's bound to end in tears.

So I've avoided football right through the summer -- apart from renewing my season-ticket of course. The announcement of the new fixture list passed me by, though I gather people elsewhere in Lancashire got very excited. It's only now that I'm beginning to catch up with the summer's comings and goings at Ewood.

Someone told me that Callum Davidson has gone, but I seemed to think he'd left just recently. As far as I was concerned our star golfer hadn't played seriously for Rovers for around 18 months. And I'm yet to meet a Rovers fan sorry that our Great Dane has doggedly retraced his steps to Bolton.

I confess I had expected a few more new faces, but Messrs Curtis, Bjornebye and Hignett are no less welcome for that. I've a sneaking feeling those names will receive a few more mentions in this column in the weeks ahead.

The manager was surely right to refuse to pay silly money for Brian Deane, but I'd feel happier with another name in our forward line.

From the little I recall of last season, I don't think we troubled the opposing keeper overmuch.

My weekend newspaper quoted Rovers at 3-1 favourites to go up, so maybe we didn't perform badly last season after all. Perhaps we were just unlucky.

The memory does play tricks, doesn't it?

So maybe, just maybe, if Flitcroft and Short can stay fit, if Dunn and Jansen can fulfil their promise, and if Dailly and Duff can be the rock and the spark, Ewood will be the place to be.