Occasional thoughts

It's been repeated to the point of cliché that football grounds are the new cathedrals, and for a quarter of a century I've attended, albeit with varying fervour, and carried the cross of my creed. Two generations after a Catholic married a Protestant, I was raised under no belief system that abdicated responsibility and power to the inexplicable, except the odd refereeing decision. However, there's a building in Bolton that inspired my devotion long before the ramshackle charms of Burnden Park, one which from pre-school age I visited at least once a week come shine or shower, impatiently dragging parent, grandparent or elder sister to the shrine, the place where I became something more than myself, where I attained a higher state of consciousness. Breightmet Library opened in the 1930s, that great age of social provision despite recession. Typical of the time's architecture and ethos, it was quietly grand without being overly fussy: well-wrought wooden doors opened ont