SOMEBODY once told me that Preston boasts the highest number of pubs per square mile in the country.

Following last Saturday's visit to the town, I can confirm that it holds another, less palatable record - namely the highest number of potentially violent screwballs per square mile in the country.

Allow me to elucidate. Having spent the early part of the afternoon watching United and Liverpool in a pub just outside the town centre, we began our trek to Deepdale. Had we known what was waiting we would have stayed in the pub.

We hadn't been walking five minutes when, from nowhere, a pair of 10-year-old boys appeared on a shop roof - each armed with a catapult. After showering us with a highly eloquent barrage of obscenities (some of which were unfamiliar even to your wordly correspondent), the little darlings pelted us with shot before making good their escape.

One of our number contemplated giving chase. He was quickly dissuaded from the idea when it was pointed out to him that the assailant's brother might be round the corner. Or more pertinently his eight foot skinhead brother with a list of previous convictions for GBH might be round the corner.

On we trudged, laughing and joking about the incident. The laughing and joking ended abruptly as we looked up to see 30 or so Preston fans lurching menacingly towards us.

On the plus side they didn't have catapults. Then again, they were substantially older than ten and did extremely convincing impersonations of Piltdown Man. "Where are you from?" mumbled Piltdown. "From wherever you want," I thought. "Preston" I answered, and kept my fingers crossed. Piltdown swallowed it, calling me a "good lad," before telling me in graphic detail what he would have done to me had I been from Burnley.

Having survived the twin onslaughts of the Brothers Catapult and Piltdown Man, we thought we were safe. But then we hadn't counted on Mr Mobile Phone, who emerged from a side street feverishly clutching his mobile, asking "are you Preston?"

I toyed with the idea of replying "what, all of it?" before deciding that witty rejoinders might result in a visit to hospital. "Too right," I replied. Satisfied, Mr Mobile hared off down another side side street.

Somehow we arrived at Deepdale unscathed to watch the Clarets gain a deserved point. But next time I think I'll check out the town's record number of boozers, rather than its record number of losers.

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.