Travel Update

Court Report

"Bein' a fush wouldna be bad," said Dougie

"if it wass not for the constant watter".

The Vital Spark

Those of you who have been following the route which I am tracing from Campbeltown to Glasgow will realise that we are now heading towards Inveraray. When I was thinking about that, it occurred to me that Campbeltown, Tarbert, Loch Fyne, Inveraray etc - man, they were aal chust the haunts of Para Handy himsel'. I dug out an old collection of Para Handy stories - in an inglorious school career I did not win many prizes, but I did win this - in primary 7 - and it has stayed with me for the intervening 40 years You can take it that I will now bore readers of the blog with copious quotations from the bold Captain. One I can remember after forty years, without even looking it up, is Para Handy at Campbeltown bemoaning the highly unusual very hot weather, "I wish I wass a fush"

Furnace

As you head towards Inveraray you pass through the village of Furnace. I illustrate this with a picture of one of the Furnace cottages. Some years ago a policeman and his wife lived in one of the cottages (not the one pictured). Obviously things were not entirely right with the marriage because one night in 1999 she killed him by shooting him in the head while he was asleep. She subsequently told the police that they had been attacked by masked intruders, but the jury didn't buy that and she was jailed for life for murder. Of interest to this blog is the fact that one of her grounds of appeal was that her counsel (Donald Findlay QC) was, during the course of the trial, the subject of substantial adverse publicity after he had been filmed apparently singing sectarian songs at a Rangers do. Her appeal was successful, though not on the Donald-does-karaoke ground - a re-trial was ordered - I don't know what happened at the re-trial. (if anyone knows they can leave a comment here). This was the most sensational event ever to occur in Furnace, apart from the time a cow escaped from a field and got half-way to Inveraray before being recaptured.

The Absolute Game Revisited - Part 13

The Forgotten Ones – No 13 – Willie Henderson Modem fashions in footballing injuries tend to run in favour of such medical esoterica as cruciate ligament damage, groin strains, and cartilage problems. The blight on Willie Henderson's career was slightly less glamorous - he suffered from a bunion! Chiropody fans will know that this involves an enlargement of the first joint of the big toe. Whilst this may not be a problem for other sporting heroes such as golfers, anglers, darts players and the like, it was a substantial handicap for a wee tricky ball-playing winger. By the time that bunion had become a regular newsworthy item Henderson's career was probably already in decline anyway, thanks to the emergence of Jimmy Johnstone as the archetypal wee brainless Scottish ned possessed of amazing dribbling skills. Pre-bunion, Willie had been renowned as the second coming of the "Wee Blue Devil", a nom de guerre previously applied to his Ibrox predecessor, Alan Morton. Willie had burst into the Rangers team as a teenager, causing the unprecedented situation where Alex Scott, then the Scottish team right winger, could not get into the Rangers first team. It was only a matter of time before Henderson replaced Scott in the international team as well. Even before the bunion Willie's physical condition did not exactly make him a candidate for Mr Universe. He was about 5 foot 4 with his boots on, he had a penchant for breaking his nose which eventually led to that organ being squashed flat across the entire width of his face, and he was so myopic that, without the aid of contact lenses, he would have been unable to see beyond the end of even that dramatically foreshortened proboscis. Despite these apparent handicaps, Willie was one of the leading flute players in the band which Baxter conducted to so many triumphs for both Rangers and Scotland. On form, Willie was quite irresistible, tearing defences apart with frequent and exhilarating brilliance. There were plenty of opportunities for Willie to be photographed in characteristic pose flashing a Churchill-type V sign, while simultaneously dragging on a Churchillian cigar. The bunion really spelt the end of the glory years, and although Willie went on to wreak his particular brand of havoc in such exotic locations as Sheffield and Hong Kong, it was as a Rangers player that his reputation was made. There we have it then. A wee, hen-toed, half-blind Lanarkshire bachle wi' a bunion on his toe and a nose like a pomegranate, who, for a few exciting years, could do extraordinary things with a ball. If he had thereafter faded into obscurity then it might have been possible to remember him with affection. However, Willie was a "character", and it was inevitable that he would re-appear in an alternative role. The first hint that he was making a comeback came years after he had retired. He made a celebrity appearance on Scotsport with Jimmy Johnstone. The contrast between them could hardly have been more dramatic. While Jimmy hadn't changed much, and still sported the gaunt features and shaven head of an Alcatraz inmate, Willie was balding, and, ahem, corpulent. He looked as though, either someone had inflated him with a foot-pump with a view to entering him in a Michelin-man look-alike competition, or else that bunion had spread to the rest of his body. Shortly after this triumphant re-appearance, Willie felt moved to favour us with his autobiography, which amongst other things, recounted the full sordid details of his life's sexual encounters. According to this worthy tome Willie had had several thousand lovers, and that was just the women! Frankly, I never read the book but it was nauseatingly serialised in the Sunday papers. It made compulsive reading if only because you couldn't believe a word of it. While there was no doubt some sexual kudos attached to being a Rangers player, it was difficult to visualise "birds" queuing up to be serviced by "Wee Willie" (according to the man himself this was a singularly inappropriate nickname for his off-field persona as a major Lothario of the twentieth century). Even if it was all true, the fact that it was published at all merely served to confirm that Willie was exactly the kind of cretin you'd always feared that he was. Not surprisingly, given this background, he apparently suffered some marital difficulties, which allegedly became so hazardous that he required to join the burgeoning expatriate Scottish community in the Spanish Costa Del Crime, amidst rumours of a warrant for his arrest being issued at Airdrie Sheriff Court. His swerve and side-step over to Spain was the latest recorded example of his legendary ability to beat a packed defence. Let me sum up Willie Henderson's career in less than 40 words: Wee Willie, big time, Wee Blue Devil, big cigar, wee bunion, big mouth, wee brain, big head, wee shit, big willie, wee liar, big bucks, wee ned, big deal. First published in TAG 27 - March 1992

Here's a View of Crarae Gardens

Advice for Tourists

Local News

Out of Lochgilphead and on to ...

.....Lochgair

Hoary Old Joke

The above is a true life variation of the old joke - "Would you like the Tartan Room, Sir?" - "No thanks, I'll just have the room, please".

How Politics Works

Bloggers have caught Republican Congressional candidate Howard Kaloogian falsifying evidence of the success of the war in Iraq. Kaloogian posted a photo from 'downtown Baghdad' showing how peaceful and calm things were there; bloggers investigated the photo and it was recognized as coming from a suburb of Istanbul -- something that could be proved by comparing it to web-based photo-albums showing the intersection and the surrounding area. Later Wednesday, Kaloogian admitted the photo was from Turkey but denied he had anything personally to do with posting it on his site. He replaced that Turkey photo with a photo of what he said was Baghdad--taken from a distant hill.

Not Baghdad after all

James Kelman

Let us return to the balmy days of the early 1990's when Jim Kelman was all the rage with the English literary chatterati - they just loved his Caledonian wild-man air, and all that four letter profanity - well, my dears, it's just so authentically , like, real and eh, you know, authentic. I'm sorry to inundate you with Private Eye stuff, but here's the drawing illustrating its review of Jim's 'How Late It Was, How Late'. Notice that the cartoonist makes the common mistake of believing that Glaswegians refer to their city as 'Glasgee' rather than 'Glesca'. As Jim himself would say, while taking a huge bite out of the hand that feeds him, "These southern softie bastarts ken fuck aw".

The Funniest Juxtaposition in History

News from Norn Iron

Once again, oldie readers who remember John Cole as the BBC's political correspondent will appreciate this Private Eye extract - otherwise it will hondootedly be hondetoit, said the teasack.

Swans Reflecting Elephants

I first saw this Dali painting hanging on the wall of the PFs office in Alloa. Please click to enlarge it to get the full startling effect.

Timetable News

Lochgilphead and Kilmory Castle

A mile and a half beyond Ardrishaig is the administrative centre of Argyll, located in Lochgilphead, and in particular in Kilmory Castle, where the Council has its headquarters. I worked here 1975-1981.

Code-Breaking News

WOW - Cryptography fans please note : There appears to be a genuine WW2 German Enigma machine for sale on EBay right now As the Wikipedia entry explains: In the history of cryptography, the Enigma was a portable cipher machine used to encrypt and decrypt secret messages. More precisely, Enigma was a family of related electro-mechanical rotor machines — comprising a variety of different models.The Enigma was used commercially from the early 1920s on, and was also adopted by the military and governmental services of a number of nations — most famously by Nazi Germany before and during World War II. The bidding is currently at £12,000 - go on, get in there.

This Is Why I Have Bought Private Eye For 35 Years

Mair Krapp fae Jimmy Knapp

From Today's Scotsman

LEGENDARY racing driver Stirling Moss has confessed that he won one of his most famous races while high on drugs supplied by his great friend and rival, Juan Manuel Fangio. Sir Stirling revealed that he had taken the pills - most probably Benzedrine or Dexedrine - before setting out on the famous Mille Miglia (thousand miles) rally from Brescia in Italy to Cologne in Germany in 1955. Not so much "Oot the car, Stirling" as "Oot yer heid, Stirling?"

Eye, Eye

See You, Jimmy

Those of you who remember the late, lamented Jimmy Knapp will appreciate this - those who don't will be entirely mystified/myshtified

1978 Magazine Bought Outside Earl's Court

Chaos and Confusion

Just Fancy That

Yesterday at 5.34pm the BBC web-site reported the following:- Dounreay makes discharge request The operators of the Dounreay nuclear site in Caithness are to apply for permission to release "low level activity" into the environment. At 5.53pm (nineteen minutes later) the BBC web-site reported:- Man's sudden death at Dounreay Police have been investigating the sudden death of a man at the Dounreay nuclear site in Caithness. The death was believed to have happened in the boiler house, which is not based within a controlled area of the site. Coincidence? Hmmm, I think not !!

How Things (Don't) Change

Click to enlarge the picture and observe the date - this was before Tony became PM

Expecting Rain

A Short History of Nearly Everything

I've been re-reading Bill Bryson's wonderful book of the above title. While Blogger restricts me to text only, I'd like to quote from some of the truly mind-blowing mathematics referred to by Bryson. Try this for size :- Avogadro's number is the number of molecules found in 2.016 grams of hydrogen gas. That number is 6.0221367 x 10 to the power of 23. That is a very big number. How big? That number of pennies (cents) would make every man, woman and child on Earth a dollar trillionaire.

Mid-Argyll

After Tarbert, we head for Mid-Argyll. Here are some views of Ardrishaig (through which runs the Crinan Canal). I stayed here 1975-1981.

Private Eye Outtakes

I've got 1000 priceless back-issues of Private Eye filed neatly at various locations around the house ('a right bloody nuisance cluttering up the whole place' says Ann). As I run out of things to put on this blog, I may, from time to time, resort to shameless plagiarism of the kind of stuff which has made me laugh over the last 30-odd years. Starting,at random, here:

My Old School - Extract 7

Twiggy Strikes Back So, despite his initial exterior appearance as a timid, anonymous nonentity, Twiggy was in fact a really evil twisted wee bastard. When it came to sport he was a complete no-hoper, though to give credit where it's due, he did participate in the sporting life of the school as best as he was able, and with great enthusiasm. I don't think he even knew the rules of rugby when he came to the school, but with commendable zeal he came to be in charge of the "Colts B" team, and was refereeing matches in a singularly incompetent fashion, against other schools, within a fortnight of his arrival. He was the type of person, who, once he is a member of an institution, becomes a totally committed supporter of that institution. His strong sense of allegiance to the school manifested itself, in rugby terms, in some very strange refereeing decisions which cynics might have interpreted as being grossly biased against the opposition. But half the time I think he just had such an imperfect understanding of what the rules were that whenever a particular situation arose which flummoxed him he would fall back on the tried and tested remedy of giving our team a penalty kick.

He would rush around, blowing his whistle, shouting things like, “That’s a drop down. Scrum it. Move away green. Nine yards please. Line it out. Twenty. No pulling. Last warning reds. Scrum it up. Kick or touch, Captain? Three ins and no pushing. Straight in. Straight out. Penalty. Accidentally onside. Scrum it ten or kick? No wides, penalty. Knocking. Watch your blind, green. Forward back pass. Scrum it. Put in, captain? No hooking. Penalty." Although he did not understand the rules of rugby (and let’s face it, who does?), many of his decisions were based, not on ignorance, but on pure malevolence. On one occasion I was playing for one of the school teams against Glasgow High School. The score was fairly even, by dint of Twiggy having disallowed a number of legitimate scores by the High School. There were only a couple of minutes left and the Glasgow team were firmly encamped on our goal-line, with no prospect at all of the siege being broken. I think the score was 10-6 for the GHS side at that point. A number of non-playing boys from the High School were standing on the touch-line as interested spectators. They were entranced by the ridiculous figure of Super-twig running about the field with his tiny spindly legs encased in pre-war blue shorts extending to his knees, while continuously blowing his whistle and issuing instructions in his harsh Gestapo voice. The fact that he was blowing his whistle completely unrelated to any action which was taking place on the pitch merely added to the fascination. The Glasgow boys were having a jolly old time, giggling like schoolgirls at the richly farcical scene. This enjoyment reached its zenith when, following one of Twiggy's barked decisions, the spectators were hilariously mimicking his voice and laughing loudly about it.

Pheep! Another blast on the whistle. Imagine the consternation amongst the players on the field when Twiggy announced that due to the behaviour of the spectators he was awarding a penalty try to us, notwithstanding the fact that the play had been centred on our goal-line for the preceding ten minutes. That made the score 10-9 (only 3 points for a try in those days), but the conversion attempt was to be taken right in front of the posts.

Of course, although the GHS players were greatly aggrieved by this unexpected turn of events, their spectator colleagues were by now weeping with mirth and rapidly making their way to the other end of the field to view the conversion attempt. Up stepped our bold place-kicker. To the accompaniment of hooting and jeering his mighty kick propelled the ball nowhere near the goal-posts, far less between them. This served to greatly multiply the unrestrained glee of the spectators whose howls of laughter were by now positively thunderous.

Re-enter the Mighty Twig. With a sense of righteous indignation he ordered that the kick be re-taken due to the continuing rowdiness of the onlookers, some of whom were now collapsing with hilarity. On this occasion, our boy was able to lift the ball over the appropriate part of the crossbar. 11-10 for us. Twiggy made sure there would be no come-back by GHS by immediately blowing for full-time. Some of the High School players gave the impression of "wanting a word" with Twiggy, and they made for him, with less than benign looks on their faces. A rather alarmed looking Twiglet appeared to realise that there was a significant danger of him being rent limb from skinny limb and he scarpered pretty sharpish while a rather undignified scene took place as the players on both sides joined in a running battle. Twiggy legged it towards the school at a very impressive lick, later claiming that he had an important business appointment to attend. On one occasion Twiggy sent me off in a rugby match. I had been playing for the "Colts B" in a match in which we were comprehensively thrashed by a much superior opposition. Even Twig's outrageous manipulations of the rules were of no avail in that game. As we trudged off at the end of the game an enraged Twig raced over to us in full Old Testament mode. He roared "If you ever play as badly as that again I'll put you all on two periods of detention". I genuinely thought this was a joke, and entering into the spirit I opined that he couldn't do that as rugby had fuck all to do with detention which was a punishment purely for academic shortcomings. Twiggy was well out of his box by this time and, to my surprise, he screamed "Off ... Off, Get Off, I'm sending you off .. get off". Some of my surprise was due to the fact that we had already left the field and this exchange was taking place on the lane leading back to the school. When I pointed this out to the crazed Twiglet he merely moved onto another plane of madness altogether and began a spirited impersonation of an epileptic fit. He raved on about impertinence etc and demanded that I report to him in the workroom at 4.30 pm. I pause here to observe that the work-room was by no means a room wherein any work was to be done. Not unless by work you mean belting boys hands with a tawse, for that is what happened there. I got six of ‘the best’ for my crime.

Night Fever

http://www.worth1000.com/cache/contest/contestcache.asp?contest_id=9637&start=11&end=20&display=photoshop#entries The above web-site is devoted to manipulation tricks using photoshop or similar programmes. The current contest is to redesign fine art with a modern twist - my favourite is this 19th century impressionistic scene by Renoir of a night at the dancing - Moulin de la Galette with added 20th century extra.

American Justice (No 1 in a series of Oxymorons)

Many aspects of American law are pretty well anaethema to us - in fact, in general terms there are a number of features of the US legal system which we could fairly say fail the test of a civilized society, eg 1) People own and carry guns (and guns are sold to children in the Post Office and the children then blow each others heads off) 2) Creationism is taught in many schools as though it was equal or superior to evolution theory. 3) Abortion is illegal in many states 4) Execution of prisoners is routine 5) Detention of prisoners without trial is routine 6) Torture of prisoners is routine and confessions thus obtained are admissable as evidence 7) Kidnap of foreign citizens from foreign countries is routine 8) Bombing of foreign countries in pursuit of foreign policy objectives is routine 9) Invasion of foreign countries is routine etc etc Much of the blame for this lies at the door of the US Supreme Court. That Court is, in particular, directly to blame for the fact that the current President Bush is in office at all, it having ignored the wish of the Florida electorate and awarded victory to the lunatic Bush. If one agrees with the famous dictum that, with the election of Dubya, the global village acquired its own global village idiot, then the Supreme Court was the idiot's sire . As a consequence, the current violent state of the entire world is partially attributable to that Court. One of the leading judges on the court is Justice Antonin Scalia, and he was pretty instrumental in electing Bush. The Supreme Court (including Scalia) will this week have to rule on matters involving the rights of Guantanamo detainees. Against that backgound, I was interested to read the following on a US law website: Just over two weeks ago, on March 8th, Justice Scalia gave a speech at the University of Fribourg in Switzerland. Justice Scalia is characteristically combative and provocative. For instance, in response to a question about Bush v. Gore, he responds: "Come on, get over it." He states that the real question in the case was whether the election was to be decided by the Florida Supreme Court or by the U.S. Supreme Court -- "not a very hard question," in his view -- and "there was no way we could have turned that case down." He then states that the Florida Supreme Court -- but not the U.S. Supreme Court -- was "politically motivated." And in response to a question about affording constitutional rights to Guantanamo detainees, he states unequivocally that "foreigners, in foreign countries, have no rights under the American Constitution" and that "nobody has ever thought otherwise." Of potential relevance to the current docket, in answer to one question from the audience, Justice Scalia expresses incredulity at the notion that detainees captured "on the battlefield" should receive a trial in civil courts". It is, he says, a "crazy idea." To a follow-up question about the Geneva Conventions and other human rights treaties, he responds with evident disdain: "What do they mean? They mean almost anything." The questioner then refers again to a hypothetical Guantanamo detainee, at which point Justice Scalia interjects: "If he was captured by my army on a battlefield, that is where he belongs. I had a son on that battlefield and they were shooting at my son. And I am not about to give this man who was captured in a war a full jury trial. I mean it's crazy." This coming Tuesday, the Court will hear arguments in Hamdan v. Rumsfeld, a case in which the questions include, among other things, whether a detainee held at Guantanamo can be tried for an alleged violation of war in the Pentagon's military tribunal instead of in a civilian court or by court-martial, and whether and to what extent the Geneva Conventions protect Guantanamo detainees. I don't think Mr Hamdan can place too much reliance on getting either the sympathy or the vote of Justice Scalia.

Oh, no - shirley no' the McKie case again !!!!

Today's Scotland on Sunday makes for interesting reading. It reports that Cathy Jamieson declines to publish the 'John McLeod Report' (a report prepared for the executive by an 'independent fingerprint expert'). She advances as her reason that "Publication would undermine the basic principle of Scots Law that neither party to litigation is obliged to disclose reports commissioned for the purposes of the litigation". Poor Cathy - she's obviously being fed this horseshit by a first year trainee in the Scottish Executive. "...neither party is obliged to disclose..." means that they cannot be compelled to disclose - it DOES NOT mean that they are prohibited from disclosing. It is a basic principle of Scots Law that neither party to a marriage is obliged to disclose communings between each other during the subsistence of the marriage......but I can reveal that last night I said to my wife "I thoroughly enjoyed that lovely meal, darling". There, I was not obliged to tell you that, but I wasn't prohibited from telling you either. It's dead easy, Cathy. More sinisterly, what Cathy is actually, but unwittingly, referring to is the well-known legal principle that if, during litigation, you discover something to your opponents advantage or to your own disadvantage then you are not obliged to tell your opponent - the only exception to this rule is in Criminal proceedings where it has traditionally been the case that the prosecution are bound to tell the defence of anything which assists the defence case or undermines the prosecution case. So for example, say hypothetically that the Executive were involved in litigation, and during the course of that litigation the Executive commissioned a report from an independent expert, and that expert concluded that the Executive's case was total bollocks - then the Executive could conceal that report from their opponent and proceed as if it didn't exist. Legally sound. Morally and ethically repugnant. Very particularly untenable when it is the STATE against the individual, because then it becomes almost exactly like criminal proceedings, where a much higher standard of disclosure is expected from one side. But it is this repugnant legal position of non-disclosure behind which Cathy now shelters. Scotland on Sunday quotes Jack McConnell on his appointment as First Minister in 2003, "I guarantee to be open and transparent in government.....". I don't want to make any comment about that because it would involve the use of emotive language like 'lying' 'deceitful' 'hypocrite' etc and I don't want to use such violent language. But, when Jack describes the McKie affair as an 'honest mistake' and arrogantly waves away demands for an inquiry from all of the opposition parties, from an ex-Lord Chancellor, from an ex-Senator of the College of Justice, from a spokesman for the Faculty of Advocates, from editors of all the significant newspapers, from countless correspondents to these newspapers, and from every person of reasonable intellect who has given the matter any thought, is he being 'open and transparent in government'?

Earl's Court, London - June 1978

This is the picture on the front of the programme for Bob Dylan's Earl's Court shows in 1978. Yes, alright, I've been in the loft and found a whole lot of old stuff like this. Coming soon - Neil Young and Crazy Horse, Rusted Out Garage at Wembley Arena

Deja Vu

1974 was a long time ago. Martin, do you remember this? Well you won't forget hitch-hiking from Campbeltown to London, stopping at each hostelry on the way, .......... but somehow making it to Wembley stadium just on time, albeit slightly over-refreshed. I particularly remember the strong rumour in the stadium that all 4 Beatles were present for CSNY's show - a rumour which was strengthened by Stills introducing a song by saying 'This is from the American fab four to the British fab four', and then launching in to 'Blackbird'. Great days

Loch Fyne

As you continue your journey north of Tarbert you will be accompanied for a long distance by Loch Fyne. Here is a picture of the loch.......

.....and here a picture of its most famous product

The Absolute Game Revisited - Part 12

This is from TAG 45 - October 1995 To those of you who will have unpleasant memories rekindled by this article - my sincere apologies To those of you who never saw this programme in the first place - you lucky b***ards. In the words of Kurtz in Heart of Darkness - "The horror. The horror"

A GAME OF FIVE HALF-WITS Q. How do you stop yourself laughing at Jim White? A. Watch him trying to be funny. In his letter to TAG 44 Alex Horsburgh said that STV's 'A Game of 2 Halves' was crap. Alex was being far too charitable. The programme has in fact plumbed hitherto unknown depths of cringe-inducing embarrassment, and makes 'Blind Date' look like a production from the Open University. I don't claim to have seen every edition, but the briefest glance at a couple of episodes was enough to persuade me that this was yet another half-baked dish of sewage from the Cowcaddens sports kitchen. Alex Horsburgh correctly observed that AGOTH was sired by 'Have I Got News For You' out of 'Fantasy Football', with the resulting illegitimate bastard having not a fraction of the spontaneous wit of its parents. For starters, the whole show seems to be based on the single premise that the viewers will derive endless amusement from ‘quizmaster’ Jim White's supposedly 'secret' allegiance to Rangers (the referee's always on Rangers side - get it). Just to reinforce this 'joke' the two teams are usually split along Rangers/Celtic or Protestant/Catholic lines. What fun we have in spotting the supposedly impartial Jim's clandestine bias towards the Proddy team. This theme was introduced in the first edition via a passably amusing cameo featuring a 'mentally-focused' Andy Goram claiming that White had left his jacket in a night-club frequented by Rangers players. Goram simultaneously handed over an Orange bandsman's jacket to the bold Jim, who was meanwhile performing a dire impression of a person who was completely mortified by this 'spontaneous' and 'unexpected' revelation. OK, some viewers might have got a minor chuckle out of this. However, ever since then, with a dogged determination amounting to monomania, the very same 'joke' has been continually dragged out and been beaten senseless by endless repetition. Thus, Jim dishes out points to the proddy team at random. Masonic handshakes all round. Jim deducts points from the Catholic team. Whines from the oppressed Catholic moaners, Masonic handshakes all round between Jim and his Orange brothers. Conceivably all this could be construed as biting satire on the first occasion. Thereafter, it's just been fucking pathetic to the point that rather than parodying mindless bigotry, they seem to be positively encouraging it. Similarly, one very quickly tires of Jim referring to Graeme Souness as 'a very nice man' every time he's mentioned (about 4 times per programme on average). Even the studio audience have given up laughing at that one. Calling Souness 'very nice' is supposed to be heavily ironic, emphasising the fact that many journalists are arse-lickers extraordinaire (prime example - Jim White). However, Jim uses the phrase with such gusto that it's apparent that he's entirely missed the point of the joke. He thinks that the irony resides in the fact that Souness is, in fact, not very nice at all. Is There a Doc in the House? The two resident team captains are Denis Law and Tony Roper. What can one say about Denis? His contribution was perfectly summed up in an article in the Falkirk Fanzine, 'Rupert's Roar' by Colin Main who said, "He has no knowledge at all of anything that's happened in Scottish League football in the last 20 years and has a sense of humour that begins and ends with a hairstyle". Maybe Denis needs the work, but for Tony Roper there's really no excuse. Apparently he's partly responsible for the 'script', thereby instantly forfeiting any street credibility he gained with 'Only An Excuse '. It Rhymes with White The reasons why it just doesn't work are many and various. Firstly, as one of the most naturally wooden and non-spontaneous presenters ever to appear on the box, Jim White is simply not cut out for rapid-fire repartee. You can actually see him reading the 'witticisms' and 'bon-mots' directly off his idiot-cards and teleprompters. Whatever humour there is just passes serenely over Denis Law's head. For example, one simply had to marvel at the look of mystification on Denis's face when Tony Roper referred to Andy Ritchie as 'Mabozza'. (Mabozza Ritchie – get it, get it – Denis didn’t). Denis even managed to fuck up the only scripted reference to Dumbarton that I've detected so far. It was the old chestnut about which Scottish team tried to sign Johann Cruyff. Of course, in real life, Denis hadn't a fucking scoobie, but a jokey answer was provided for him on the teleprompter, which he succeeded in mis-reading and buggering up comprehensively. Tony Roper is, however, a genuinely witty man and he should really be the question-master if the idea is going to work at all. As it is, he seems so depressed at the hopelessness of the whole thing, and so imprisoned within the pre-scripted format, that it's only very occasionally that his true wit is given free rein. The other celebrity guests are just so predictable that watching the show becomes a sort of Caledonian groundhog day, in which the same banter happens over and over again. Chick Young is bald, Derek Johnstone is fat, Tommy Burns is short-sighted, Tommy Docherty's had more clubs than Jack Nicklaus, Graeme Souness is a very nice man, Maurice Johnston always wanted to play for Falkirk, Andy Goram wears women's underwear, Jim White is a Rangers supporter. Masonic handshakes all round. Talking of which, one of the regular guests on the programme has been Rangers vice-chairman, Donald Findlay. It is totally beyond me how we have managed to reach the stage where directors of football clubs are considered to have something worthwhile to say. I much preferred the old days when club directors were cloaked in anonymity for fear of being beaten to death by a howling mob if they dared show their faces in public during daylight hours. Donald Findlay reminds us all why that valuable old custom should be revived. Have I Got Nothing New For You The vital role which Protestants and Catholics play in the programme really gives the lie to any notion that this show has got anything to do with SCOTTISH football. They should have just called it 'A Game of Two Teams' and been done with it. The producers probably think they're being really daring in allowing overtly sectarian chatter amongst the participants. This conveniently ignores the fact that most football supporters couldn't give a flying fuck about the Pope or King Billy. STV seem determined to pander to the diseased bags of shite whose empty lives are filled with tricolours or sashes. The fact is that STV think that the Old Firm ARE Scottish football and this programme merely continues their long dishonourable history of ignoring everyone else unless they can work in a Parkhead/Ibrox connection somewhere. One of the major ironies of the whole thing is that there exists an enormous fund of amusement within Scottish football which could easily sustain a series of properly presented programmes. One need only consider some of the old clips of film which have been featured on AGOTH. For example, a slow-motion reply of Martin Buchan clearly scooping a net-bound shot off the Scottish line with his hand, accompanied by a deadly-serious Arthur Montford commentary to the effect that "as you can see, the ball bounced up and struck Buchan on the chest". One can only imagine what Angus Deayton or Frank Skinner might have made of that. Oor ain Jim White ruined the effect by shaking his head in mock astonishment and proceeding to read directly off his prompt card, "Hit him on the chest. Oh dear, oh dear, ha-ha, ha-ha, nice one, Arthur ". Time after time the raw material is inherently funny (film clips, photographs, old interviews, quotes etc), but the potential for really original, imaginative and, most of all, spontaneous humour is destroyed by participants with the comic ability and timing of Mr Blobby. No, I'm afraid the whole thing is a grotesque missed opportunity. Given the wealth of available material and the undoubted public appetite, a successful and highly popular programme should have been just a tap into the empty net from two yards out. Instead, they've blasted the ball over the bar and right out of the ground. The whole mess reaches it's sadly predictable nadir with the final round karaoke competition. Just what is this all about? It is hard to think of any more undignified and unamusing spectacle that Donald Findlay and Denis Law attempting to croon along to some ditty that they've plainly never heard before in their lives, while Jim White pretends to be stifling stage guffaws prior to awarding them 55 points for being members of the Springburn Lodge. Masonic handshakes all round. Somebody should give these guys a non-Masonic handshake round the throat. They think it's all over? I wish to fuck it had never started.

Stonefield Castle

Shortly after leaving Tarbert you pass the imposing presence of the very plush 5 star Stonefield Castle Hotel One matter not included in the glossy brochures for the Hotel is the unfortunate incident some 25 years ago when a Hotel gardner, who was mentally deranged, strangled a young girl in the grounds of the hotel. If my memory serves me correctly he was acquitted - the main evidence against him being his confession, which was found to be inadmissable because of his mental condition. I should therefore have said that he 'allegedly strangled' the girl. In fact, I should make it clear that I could not find anything about the case on the internet, and I am entirely reliant on my memory, which may not be accurate as to detail. A girl was definitely murdered in the grounds of Stonefield - that much is definitely true. The only reason I mention this rather tasteless episode is that the current owners of the Hotel (the Stonefield Castle Group) own a number of Scottish hotels at which a major attraction is their 'murder mystery evenings'. Fortunately, good taste seems to have prevailed and such evenings are not on the agenda at Stonefield Castle itself.

Medical Bulletin

Since the purported purpose of this blog is to provide updates on my medical condition, here is an update: I feel quite well and have been out walking round the cul-de-sac over the last few days (not today though because it's pouring). I had to get the GP here this morning because I have a slight infection in my surgical chest wound, and some of the internal stitches have sprung loose (this sounds disgusting, but it is more uncomfortable than painful - the GP assures me that I am not going to unravel from the inside out.) I am awaiting the District Nurse coming to cut the protruding nylon stitches and I am to take antibiotics for the infection. Hopefully that will put things right. Otherwise, I feel perfectly well, and as long as I obey the strict medical instructions to do absolutely nothing but a bit of gentle blogging, some football watching and some listening to jazz and blues, then I should continue to get stronger.

Scottish National Anthem

From yesterday's BBC web-site :- McConnell calls for anthem debate The first minister has stepped into the debate on Scotland's national anthem. Jack McConnell said the question of which song to adopt for sporting and other events may have to be resolved to strengthen Scotland's global brand. He said his own favourite Scottish tune was Highland Cathedral, but said that politicians should not lead the debate. Might I suggest the Paul Simon song "MYTH OF FINGERPRINTS" to be found on the LP 'Graceland'

Tarbert

These are views of Tarbert, Loch Fyne Tip for Tourists - do not confuse (as I saw one female backpacker do with tragic consequences) Tarbert, Loch Fyne with Tarbet, Loch Lomond