This will surely go down in history as the most outrageous qualifying match ever. How were these teams allowed to compete in the same Olympics qualifying group?
Put simply, it is Scotland’s DUTY to throw the match against England to give those Scotland players who are good enough the opportunity to play in the Olympic tournament in a GB side that will of course be dominated by English women.
Anyone who accuses Scotland of lying down will be correct, but, and it’s a big but, the football authorities responsible for allowing this outcome to happen are the ones at blame, not the players or their managers.
There was a time, several years in fact, during John Motson’s pomp when I could call him a pal.
You see, John and I were in a syndicate with Terry Williams and Bob Sims. All four of us, at that time, big horse racing fans (National Hunt, not Flat – that’s not proper racing).
The Racing Post ran a sort of Fantasy Horse Racing competition at that time which we paid £5 each to enter a list of ten horses (I think we had five or six lines each) that accumulated points as the season progressed. The deal being that the loser (the total score over our six lines) bought lunch.
Well, I lost the first four years in a row, but this was in the mid 90’s when I was penniless with three children under five and a fledgling advertising agency to grow, as its start up Managing Partner.
We were all big boozers, so the lunch bill in itself wasn’t so frightening, but the booze bill potentially was, without evasive action.
So, for my loser’s lunches I always chose good restaurants that had a BYOB policy. A case of wine (old case size ie 12 bottles) was summarily dispensed with each year, and although my colleagues (not the assembled company) called me a skinflint everyone went to the airport happy.
Finally my luck changed, and as events would have it Motty lost in my place so it was all down to Redhill in Hertfordshire, where he lived, after a day out at Sandown Races, followed by dinner at his local Italian.
Because the dinner finished late and Redhill had no hotels I was given the spare room in Motty’s pad and we were automatically friends forever.
Motty was a highly knowledgeable racing man and encyclopaedic about football. But he was also a terrific raconteur and a great comedian. So those lunches are great memories for me. When I stepped out in the shadow of greatness.
He wasn’t just a football commentator, he was THE football commentator. The crown jewels of the game.
We lost touch after our halcyon days but I will forever think of Motty (no-one ever called him John) as a friend and a jolly good host.
RIP old fella. You’ll sure be warm in that old sheepskin jacket of yours.
And my condolences to Anne and Frederick who survive him.
It’s a shame there was no programme with this show because I can’t namecheck the cast.
Turned out, as it came to an end, though, that it was the writer, director and star, Nathan Scott-Dunn’s, 150th and final appearance in a piece of work that is triumphant in its conception and delivery.
From the start we are treated to gentle live music from the Hibs Strip clad guitarist who soundtracks the show, playing a random selection of post punk greats. It’s about the only moment of gentility that we will encounter in the two hours that we spent in a rough and ready Leith Arches, immersed in a performance that reflects the greatest moment in the mighty Hibernian FC’s roller coaster history.
The butt of every rival Hearts fans’ jokes, Hibs’ 114 years without Scottish Cup glory, was frankly a club embarrassment, but from a headed goal in the 92nd minute at Hampden in May 2016 by Sir David Gray it was all over.
The clock reset.
Dignity restored.
Unbridled joy brought to the streets of Leith.
So the Arches is a fitting venue, barely a stone’s throw from the hallowed pitch of Easter Road Stadium.
What Scott-Dunn does is use that story (the outcome of which every audience member knows) as a plot device around which to build a story of betrayal, family disharmony and working class poverty and violence that will be familiar to the readers of Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting. It’s not a rip off in any way, but it’s a world that was as real to Welsh as it clearly is to Scott-Dunn.
Indeed the vernacular applied by Scott-Dunn is very much that of Welsh’s pages, the humour too, so it’s not surprising that baldy Irv features on the show’s flyers with a 5 star endorsement.
I stopped counting the number of cunts in the script at around 100, so if you are squeamish about that sort of language, of overt sexism (it’s how lads talk) and extreme violence this is not gonna be your cup ae tea. But, if you can overcome that and see that it is the language of the streets you’ll be fine. In this case the streets, not actually of Leith but of Bonnyrigg – a town not much associated with literary greatness.
It is now.
It’s largely set in and around the Bonnyrigg Hibs Supporters Brigade, named because it sounds harder than Bonnyrigg Hibs Supporters Club. And these boys need to be hard because the main protagonist ‘Deeks’ (classic Edinburgh nickname) has just borrowed a grand off the town’s hardest cunt to buy four cup final tickets for his pals, none of whom have £250 to spare.
The loan gets called in quickly by the Rangers supporting Begbie type loan shark, “Sambo”, who looked me in the eyes in my front row seat and forced me to admit he was scaring me. It’s only theatre. But he was scaring me.
As you might imagine, this loan call-in sets off a chain of mostly violent events that I won’t spoil for you but range from the hilarious (there’s a magnificent, truly magnificent, gag about a Suntan salon) to the really quite sad. Poverty does not come emotionally empty handed.
It’s at this midway point in the show that the volume increases, the neck veins bulge, the perspiration pops despite the less than clement conditions.
A wee radge Cockney barmaid enters the fray and has us in stitches, but also close to tears. It’s a triumphant addition to the cast because without her the testosterone may have just about overwhelmed the show. It doesn’t.
This is not big-city, state-funded theatre, this is honest storytelling escalated to greatness through clansmanship, comedy, pathos and passion. The cast is uneven, but mostly brilliant. The venue is unexpected, but perfection actually. The spirit is indomitable.
“We are Hibernian FC, we hate Jam Tarts and we hate Dundee”. We got that in spades from 1902, but we also got what it means to live in an ordinary life with a lack of hope and what Hibs, a community club at its heart, who win two thirds of fuck all, means to its community.
It means everything actually and Nathan Scott-Dunn shows us why.
This show will live long. When you get the chance to see it (it took me 150 performances) see it with an open mind, and an open spirit.
And if you’re a Jambo or a Dundee fan, see it for what it is. Exactly the same as what you feel about your own club, your own community.
And like me, take your football-agnostic other half. In my case my wife, a Jambo. She loved it just as much as I did.
Liars, cheats, self-centred blowhards with empty promises and corrupt motives.
Each and every last one of them.
Right?
Well, actually, no.
Not if you have political ambitions in Leith that is.
First off, you have Deidre Brock, the sitting SNP MP for Leith and North Edinburgh and then there’s her closest competitor, Labour’s Gordon Munro.
A long term Councillor for City of Edinburgh Council I had the great pleasure to build on my Dad’s friendship with Gordon when I first met him as a fellow Board Director at The Royal Lyceum Theatre Company, one of Gordon’s many Council responsibilities (funnily enough that’s where I first met Deidre too).
I was immediately impressed with Gordon’s enthusiasm and contribution – so many of these posts are really statutory and lead to disinterested contributions, if any at all. Not Gordon.
It helps that he is a passionate lover of so many art forms, not least theatre. (Oh, and the mighty Hibees.)
But as time went on I started to stumble upon him all over the shop. In art galleries, at gigs, in the theatre. And then I called on his help to find a new home for Forth Children’s Theatre.
Boom!
He was straight in there, scouring Leith for us, putting forward all sorts of suggestions (including a disused car park under the Banana Flats).
I read some of his work in The Leither. I chatted to him in corridors. I quickly formed a deep respect for a man who wears his heart firmly on his sleeve and makes no compromises with his political beliefs.
To say Gordon is left of centre would be to downplay his passion for the Labour movement. An all-consuming passion that manifests itself in all the values of Labour that I love (although I vote SNP).
This is what politics should be about. A man of the people who cares wholly in his rage against the machine.
I love that about him. I love that about great politicians of any hue (and actually there are a lot of them that aren’t what I painted in my opening paragraph).
But, if you want to see what integrity looks like in flesh and bone, look no further than Gordon Munro.
An actual hero in my book. (And the only other person on earth I know that likes the outstanding Yasmine Hamdan.)
Now read about his heroes.
And, come the revolution. Back Gordon.
My Favourite Author or Book
Victor Serge. I first encountered Serge in 1983 when I bought a battered second hand copy of his ‘Memoirs of a Revolutionary’ published by Oxford books in 1963. It’s a great read and a fantastic insight into the tumults of the first half of the 20th Century. When the New York Review of Books brought out an edition which included material omitted from the edition I knew I bought it right away. I was not disappointed its still a great read. NYRB have also brought out his notebooks which cover 1936-1947 and his humanity shines through despite recording the murder and deaths of several friends. A threat that he constantly lived under too as Stalin’s GPU kept him under observation. They also publish some of his fiction too. His writing is superb and his volume of poetry ‘ A blaze in the desert’ is worth seeking out . “ All the exiles in the world are at the Greek informer’s café tonight,” is a line from his poem ‘Marseilles’ written in 1941 and a film script in one line. But don’t take my word for it here is what Susan Sontag thinks of Serge : “ Serge is one of the most compelling of twentieth-century ethical and literary heroes”. She’s right.
The Book I’m reading
As always I have several on the go. ‘Paint Your Town Red – How Preston took back control and your town can too’ by Matthew Brown & Rhian E Jones’ is essential reading. ‘The Divide – A brief guide to Global Inequality and its Solutions’ by Jason Hickel infuriates and illuminates in equal measure.’To Mind your Life- poems for Nurses & Midwives’ is life affirming. ‘ The way to play – coaching hints and technique’ by Inverleith Petanque Club is to hand as I’ve taken up this sport during Covid. ‘ Fixture List season 2021/22 Hibernian FC is essential year round reading for me as a lifelong Hibs supporter.
The book I wished I had written
Is still locked in my head and unlikely to make it out .
The book I couldn’t finish
Funnily enough I had a conversation recently with Ian Rankin where we both said we started but could not finish ‘Confessions of an English Opium Eater’ by Thomas de Quincey. Turgid.
The book I’m ashamed I haven’t read
‘The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner’ by James Hogg. I know, I know it inspired Stevenson , it’s a classic etc but life gets in the way. Maybe one day.
My favourite film
Too many but if its one only then it has to be ‘Casablanca’.
My favourite Play
It has to be Peter Brooks ‘ Mahabarata’ in Glasgow . 3 nights in a row of the most sublime theatre I’ve ever seen. The whole audience, which included a chunk of Scottish Actors, were on our feet shouting for more.
My favourite podcast
I don’t do podcasts but I do recommend the blog ‘Stand up and Spit’ by the poet Tim Wells. Great stuff and always interesting.
The box set I’m hooked on
‘American Gods’. A great cast and a good realisation of a favourite book.
My favourite TV series
Tiswas. It just broke all the rules and was great fun too. Chris Tarrant , Sally James , Spit the Dog and the Phantom Flan Flinger along with some cool music . What more do you want.
My favourite piece of Music
‘Teenage Kicks’ by the Undertones. Perfection. When Peel left us and Hibs adopted it for a while as our tune part tribute and part due to the boy band look team we had at the time I was chuffed.
My favourite dance performance
I’ve been lucky enough to see Nureyev, Wayne Sleep, Ballet Rambert, Michael Clarke but it has to be Carlos Acosta with ‘On before’. He has this amazing ability that some football players have of being able to hang in the air. His company will be worth catching when we get the chance to enjoy live performance again.
The last film/music/book that made you cry
Film – Motorcycle Diaries – Walter Salles. I know that’s Guevara’s companion in the last scene watching the plane take off. Alberto Granado at 84 was not allowed in to the USA for the premiere at Sundance despite Robert Redford’s best efforts.
Music- Kathryn Joseph at Pilrig Church Hall. Go see here at Edinburgh Park in August.
Book- Notebooks 1936-1947 Victor Serge. So many deaths.
The lyric I wished I had written
‘Happy Birthday’ – not the Altered Images one. Imagine the royalties (and yes I know there’s a story to this lyric).
The song that saved me
Not a song but a request to dance the Gay Gordon’s at a wedding in 1985. We’ve been together ever since.
The instrument I play
The voice. Badly.
The instrument I wish I’d learned
The piano.
If I could own one painting it would be
‘Nighthawks at the Diner’ – Edward Hopper. I have had a print of this up on the wall since 1983.
The music that cheers me up
A whole bunch of 45’s from season 1977/78. Punk Rock shook things up and even Bowie upped his game with ‘Heroes’. We were lucky.
The place I feel happiest
Home with our family our two daughters , son in law and the best thing to happen during lockdown our granddaughter Ada.
My guiltiest cultural pleasure
Alcohol. It’s got me in and out of trouble. Seen me on my hands and knees outside a nightclub in Tangier. Arrested in Burnley. Stealing a Police hat from the back of a Police car outside a Police station. Chased by a knife wielding pimp in a Miami hotel. And I keep coming back for more.
I’m having a fantasy dinner party. I’ll invite these artists and authors
Dead – David Bowie, Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart , Frida Kahlo, Jesus so the wine would flow , Oscar Wilde.
Alive – Brian Eno, Marianne Faithfull, Annie Lenno , Jan Gehl, the Singh Twins, John Byrne.
And I’ll put on this music
Bessie Smith, Yasmine Hamdan, Calypso Rose, Ludovico Einaudi, Max Richter.
You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose family.
Well, I got lucky because Alan is my brother in law and I count him among my best friends.
He lives in England, he supports a shite football team and he’s clean living and thoughtful.
So, why do I like him so much?
I’d say many of my longest and most enjoyable deep into the night chats over the last 20 years have been with Alan, once we’ve dispensed with our wives.
Music leads the conversation, followed by sport.
We both golf badly and we both cycle. We both just love sport full stop.
But we also like contemporary literature, the movies and good TV.
So many great nights have been spent in Alan’s company, and great experiences too, on golf courses, bikes, boats, footpaths, pubs, restaurants but, most of all, gigs.
We went to Glastonbury together in 2015 or so and we had tickets for the big one in 2020. Covid Glasto. The 50th.
But we got to keep them for 2021, and now for 2022. It will be epic by then of course, no longer for his 60th, but it will be for mine.
I look forward to that very, very much but in the meantime you’ll just have to content yourself with his cultural highlights. Thanks Alan. Thanks Bro.
This is an impossible task. Ask me the same questions tomorrow and I’ll probably give you a whole different set of answers .. except for favourite dance performance.
My favourite author or book
I’ve always enjoyed exploring Scottish fiction so Ian Banks or Ian Rankin would be up there, and some quality American storytelling (which often comes on recommendation from Mark). I’ve never read enough John Updike – and should – but if there’s one author it would probably be Cormac McCarthy, and the Border trilogy.
The book I’m reading
I had my usual burst of reading after Christmas and worked my way through Shuggie Bain and two of the Kate Atkinson Inspector Brodie tales. I wanted something different after that and I’m slowly working my way through Robert Macfarlane’s ‘Mountains of the Mind’.
The book I wish I had written
Nothing specific, but I’d love to have put together a collection of short stories. Check out ‘Children of Albion Rovers’ sometime.
The book I couldn’t finish
Updike, the Rabbit trilogy. I stupidly bought the big version with all of the books compiled together and the smallest type known to man.
The book I’m ashamed I haven’t read
Haven’t read or can’t remember reading? That’s too long a list…
My favourite film
This is a bit like asking for your favourite song. It changes all the time, so it could be ‘Three Billboards..” or anything in that ilk, or it could be a Tarantino choice, maybe ‘Django Unchained’ but one film that always makes me laugh is Mel Brookes’ ‘Young Frankenstein’, a classic of its kind. “Hump, what hump?”
My favourite play
Not my specialist field, and when we’re in Edinburgh at Festival time we tend to go to see more comedy than anything else, but I really enjoyed ‘The Incident Room’, which is all about the investigation into the Yorkshire Ripper.
My favourite podcast
Probably the ‘Desert Island Discs’ archive on BBC Sounds, but I don’t know if that counts as a podcast. I don’t listen to many but enjoyed the first two series of ‘That Peter Crouch Podcast’.
The box set I’m hooked on
‘The Bridge’! How did I miss this first time around? Easily the best crime thriller of its kind, the storyline is so well put together and the characters are amazing. Lockdown was also put to good use by watching every episode of ‘Schitt’s Creek’.
My favourite TV series
Nothing in particular at the moment, but looking forward to a new series of ‘Peaky Blinders’, although I hope they make this the last before it gets too far out there. Trying to follow the first series of ‘Killing Eve’ is a good example of why you should quit when you’re ahead.
My favourite piece of music
An impossible question. What day is it, what mood are you in? I’d find it easier to answer the best live performance I’ve ever seen. (Prince – twice – if you’re interested.)
My favourite dance performance
Mark trying to get into Tom’s white jeans.
The Last film/music/book that made me cry
Driving alone and listening to ‘The Dark Island’ when we were putting together the music for my Dad’s funeral.
The lyric I wish I’d written
A Beatles lyric, maybe “Though I know I’ll never lose affection / For people and things that went before / I know I’ll often stop and think about them / In my life I love you more” (In My Life). A close second would be a line or two from Buddy Miller’s ‘Don’t Tell Me’.
The song that saved me
I haven’t heard it yet, but I’m still listening.
The instrument I play
I took piano lessons when I was young but then they clashed with Wednesday nights at Tynecastle and I gave up. Right now the instrument I regularly hold, but can’t really play, is the guitar.
The instrument I wish I’d learned
The guitar. I’ve been lucky enough to work with some amazing musicians and watching them pick up a guitar and produce something of beauty with such ease is something I’ve always wished I could do.
If I could own one painting it would be
Anything by Jackson Pollock or Mark Rothko. There’s 2 opposites for you!
The music that cheers me up
I have a Tuesday Morning playlist that was set up for my Tuesday morning class while they waited on Zoom for the session to start that always cheers me up, but if there’s one song that stands out it would be George Harrison ‘What Is Life’.
The place I feel happiest
Zermatt on that first day of skiing, just before you push off for the first run. A quick nip from the hip flask usually sets it up nicely.
My guiltiest cultural pleasure
Classic rock. There’s no thinking going on, just raw noise and aggression.
I’m having a fantasy dinner party, I’ll invite these artists and authors
I’d want to laugh, so probably Billy Connolly, Sir Alex Ferguson and my first boss, Bruce Findlay. I think we’d all have enough in common to talk about.
I know Duncan through his fellow love of the greatest football team on earth. Hibernian Football Club.
With the greatest team song in the world.
We;’ve been to several, mostly heartbreaking events together where we have inevitably Hibsed it.
Aside from that I bump into him from time to time at gigs.
He also works in my industry on the PR side and our paths have crossed here too.
He’s probably best known, though, for his most excellent podcast The Terrace that has spawned a hit TV programme on BBC Scotland.
Duncan is nothing if not enthusiastic, an avid buff in music, football and literature if not more.
He’s an enthusiast, a statto and a thoroughly nice bloke who I wish I could have spent more time with over the years. His best mate, Mark Atkinson, also happens to be the son of one of my best mates, Will Atkinson.
So all things considered he’s the very man to share his cultural secrets.
My favourite author or book
A few authors who I will read anything by: Simon Kuper, Wright Thompson, Erika Fatland and David Keenan.
The book I’m reading
I annoy my fiancée Sarah because I never just have one book on the go. I’ll have one in the lounge, one upstairs, one on the Kindle. So currently I’m reading Michael Crick’s biography of Alex Ferguson, a book about the final season of football in East Germany and Kelman’s The Disaffection.
The book I wish I had written
To be able to write like Gay Talese would be a privilege. Imagine being able to do profiles like Frank Sinatra Has A Cold?
The book I couldn’t finish
Gorbachev’s memoirs. Maybe it was the translation, maybe it was my age, but gave up a fifth of the way through. I’m getting more ruthless as I get older, why waste time reading bad books when there’s so much good out there?
The book I’m ashamed I haven’t read
Oh plenty. Only in more recent years have I started to read more and more fiction. So a lot of the classics are unknown to me.
My favourite film
Probably 24 Hour Party People. If I could bottle how I felt leaving the cinema after seeing that age 17 I’d be solving the world’s problems.
My favourite play
Not the world’s biggest theatre goer but very much enjoyed Mary Stuart when it ran at the Duke of York’s Theatre a few years ago.
My favourite podcast
Feels indulgent to include one I’m involved in, so I won’t. The podcast I’m most excited to see show up in my feed at the moment is Puck Soup, an ice hockey podcast. I find the three voices on that show both really soothing and entertaining.
The box set I’m hooked on
Spiral. French crime drama. Moody Parisians. Slowly watching the final series as I don’t really want it to end.
My favourite TV series
Arrested Development Seasons 1-3. I don’t think I’ve watched a show as much as got more enjoyment on every viewing, finding jokes I’d missed. And let’s know acknowledge what happened to the show when it went to Netflix ok?
My favourite piece of music
Probably the piece of music I’ve heard the most in my life and still love is The Weight by The Band. My dad was a massive fan and we used to hate it as kids listening in the back of the car on long trips to Elgin but suddenly as a teenager something clicked and I’ve loved it ever since.
My favourite dance performance
Sorry to be a philistine but I don’t think I’ve ever gone to a dance performance.
The last film/music/book that made me cry
Finding Jack Charlton. I think I cried about four times watching it. Having lost a grandparent in the last year to dementia it hit close to home too.
The lyric I wish I’d written
“When I finally find the words,
I’ll be coming back for you.
If I decide to rule the world,
I’m still coming back for you”
Somewhere Across Forever by stellastarr*
The song that saved me
Music means a lot to me, but I don’t think I’ve been saved by a single song. It’s helped me immensely and get through things, but nothing has “saved” me.
The instrument I play
The guitar, badly and not for several years.
The instrument I wish I’d learned
Piano. Or an ability to sing well enough that other people would want to listen to me rather than put fingers in their ears.
If I could own one painting it would be
It’s not very sophisticated but The Runaway by Norman Rockwell. It’s one of my enduring memories of my grandparent’s house in Elgin. I was fortunate enough to visit the Norman Rockwell Museum in Massachusetts and see the original in the flesh. It was a lovely moment.
The music that cheers me up
The day I can’t be cheered up by Hey Ya by Outkast will be the day I shuffle off this mortal coil.
The place I feel happiest
Waking up anywhere on holiday, anywhere in the world with Sarah.
My guiltiest cultural pleasure
I’m against the notion of guilty pleasures, but undoubtedly mine is professional wrestling. Yes I know it’s contrived, problematic nonsense but it fascinates me.
I’m having a fantasy dinner party, I’ll invite these artists and authors
I’m always wary of meeting your heroes and idols but I think it could be fun to have Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash and the McIlvanney brothers for company. And it will be in a lighthouse.
And I’ll put on this music
A deliberately curated playlist from my iTunes catalogue that I’d spend many hours agonising over more than the food that was being served.
Of course our lifting of the Scottish Cup, the big one, was far more recent , and far more important. But this photo of Paddy picking up the League Cup has a beautiful quality about it to reflect the Hibees’ beautiful game.
I hope we draw St Johnstone because we will in no way underestimate them.
They have jinxed us all season so this would be a good time to get one back.
It’s been a great, but frustrating season. But to finish third and aagin lift the Scottish Cup would make it a truly memorable one with a terrific squad and a magic manager.
Will, or Gramps as we now know him, has been a friend for quarter of a century.We first met at Hall Advertising where, instead of working, Will went our for long liquid lunches, and I got jealous.
You see, Will was a star copywriter and I was a jumped up greasy-haired fanboy with a lot to learn, but a willingness to do so.
Subbuteo nearly cost both of us our jobs as we did constant battle on the creative floor for what was affectionately known as The Linpak Cup (a polystyrene trophy of zero value or consequence).
Will was better in the morning.
I usually took revenge after lunch.
Will worked with Nige Sutton. Fuck me, they were an intoxicating (intoxicated more like. Ed) and an unlikely duo, but they were awesomely talented and taught me an awful lot as I lugged fridge freezers into Rob Wilson’s basement and they looked on.
Our love of football extended to Hibernian FC and our office bromance gradually filtered out into weekend boozing, bookending the weekly disappointments of another Easter Road humiliation, although we did witness Frank Sauzee, Stevie Archibald and Russell Latapy in green and white; not to mention Gazza, Laudrup and Larsson. Heady days.
Over the years though our relationship has grown and now stretches to a shared love of politics, music, theatre, contemporary fiction and, yes, a beer or two.
Will also shares with me the luck of the Irish. We both have wives that love us no matter our faults.
And I’ve been lucky enough to get to know his three wonderful kids, one of whom, his son Mark, is now the bestodian of the Gramps moniker for Will.
Congratulations Mark.
So here we are. The inimitable Will Atkinson.
My favourite author or book
It’s weird isn’t it, your favourite book isn’t always by your favourite author. Well mine isn’t. So to the book – Earthly Powers by Anthony Burgess. The first line alone is acclaimed as one of the best ever written – “It was the afternoon of my eighty-first birthday and I was in bed with my catamite when Ali announced that the archbishop had come to see me.” This leads you straight into a wonderful voyage of fictional biography that crosses oceans and decades, with every sentence and paragraph as powerful as the first.
So to the authors. No, Burgess isn’t among them. But there is Kate Atkinson, John Irving, John Gierach, William Boyd, James Lee Burke, John Le Carre and Patti Smith. Recent discoveries include Colson Whitehead, Sebastian Barry and Attica Locke. To name any one as my favourite would be a complete impossibility.
(This is the copy I have. I too loved it.)
The book I’m reading
Mr Wilder and Me by Jonathan Coe. His books are on the face of it quite comedic, but beneath the humour often lies some very dark observations – about human nature and the society we pretend to aspire to be part of, Middle England with its examination of Brexit for example.
But whatever I’m reading I always have a John Gierach volume close to hand. He writes essays on fly fishing that are about so much more than (as he puts it) standing in the middle of a river waving a stick.
The book I wish I had written
Either A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving or Life After Life by Kate Atkinson. If you put a howitzer to my head Life After Life would just nick it. It’s a piece of high wire writing with a construction that few other writers would be able to maintain.
(This is the copy I have. I too loved it.)
The book I couldn’t finish
Like many readers I feel incredibly guilty about not finishing books, but then I mostly can’t remember the ones I put down early, so there’s probably a moral in there somewhere.
The book I’m ashamed I haven’t read
Moby Dick – true of a lot of people I suspect.
My favourite film
I think one way to make a long list shorter is to include only those films you re-watch time and again. No Country for Old Men is brilliant, and also one of the few films that actually stand comparison with the book they came from. I love the magic realism of Beasts of the Southern Wilds. The Godfather Trilogy and Apocalypse Now always accompany me on long plane journeys. American Honey is one of those great films where nothing much happens but loads does really. Ditto the Straight Story about an old man crossing America on a lawnmower. But probably my favourite film of all time (this week anyway) is Bugsy Malone – joyous.
My favourite play
When I was at school I was a member of the Young Lyceum or whatever it was called then. Back then I was seriously into anything by Harold Pinter. These days I rarely go to the theatre, which is a shame because I love it as I love all live performance. Favourite play? The Importance of Being Earnest. (Note to self – when the theatres open again, go more often.)
My favourite podcast
I don’t listen to many to be honest. A couple of advertising based ones – Stuff from the Loft and Ben Kay’s one. However, recently I’ve been following Jeremy Paxman’s The Lock-In – chats with people you’d never normally hear. Paxman is his usual contrary self. It would be an experience meeting him, but I’d probably run a mile in fear.
The box set I’m hooked on
I’m not really. But for the sake of punning into the question, Mortimer and Whitehouse Gone Fishing.
My favourite TV series
Ever? Wow. For my sins I’m quite involved in the world of politics -so Yes Minster and The Thick of It are good, sharp takes on how silly it can all become. Fleabag and Killing Eve obviously. University Challenge – another Paxman outing. Sorry, I don’t know.
My favourite piece of music
One of the good things about getting older is you collect more and more stuff from more and more places – well I do anyway. It’s like curating your own cultural archive, infinite in its vastness. Musically it’s taken me from an early obsession with blues and folk into reggae and country and African Funk/beats and Malian divas and sweaty rhythm & blues and…and…and…and…the rabbit holes are deep and endless.
You get to add new stuff (eagerly awaiting new St Vincent album) and stumble across dusty but still perfect artefacts (over lockdown rediscovered the amazing Basement Tapes by Bob Dylan and the Band.)
Taking the question literally as a ‘piece’ of music as supposed to a ‘song’ I could plump for something like So What by Miles Davis, King of Snake by Underworld. Or Peace Piece by John McLaughlin. But the one piece I go back to is the mind-boggling reach for the heavens that is Dark Star by the Grateful Dead from the Live Dead album – all 23 minutes and 18 glorious seconds of it.
My favourite dance performance
When I was a student at Stirling Uni in 1974 I was transfixed by the Ballet Rambert doing open rehearsals in the coffee area of the Macrobert Centre. A male and a female dancer improvised together to Tommy by the Who, I was totally lost in the moment. Then the moment eluded me until years later I started to go regularly to the ballet. Highlights have been the Rambert again, Nederlands Dance Theatre, anything devised by Michael Bourne and our own Scottish Ballet. Favourite? I’m terrible at remembering titles so I’ll cop out with Bourne’s Swan Lake.
Also, my favourite too. Seen them several times and adore them.
The Last film/music/book that made me cry
I’m not a great one for weeping over films, books, music but one song did help me through a period when my best mate was dying of cancer. Sailing Round the Room by Emmylou Harris is an uplifting affirmation of death that kind of reflects what I think happens after you die – not a smidgen of Christianity to be found. While we’re on the subject the same artist’s Boulder to Birmingham is one of the best songs about loss ever.
The lyric I wish I’d written
Like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in some midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free
By Leonard Cohen of course. I want the whole song to be read as a poem at my funeral.
The song that saved me
Again, not sure a song has ever actually saved me but in another dark time I listened a lot to Speed of the Sound of Loneliness written by John Prine. It’s been covered by loads of people but my favourite is the Alabama 3 version where they changed the lyrics to the first person. Gives the song another whole new emphasis.
Come home late, come home early Come home big when I’m feelin’ small Come home straight, come home fucked-up Sometimes I don’t come home at all
What in the world has come over me? What in heaven’s name have I done? I’ve broken the speed of the sound of loneliness I’m out there running just to be on the run
The Rolling Stone’s Moonlight Mile would come a close second.
The instrument I play
Believe it or not I tried to learn the French Horn at school. Got as far as Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
The instrument I wish I’d learned
I can strum a guitar but really wish I could play properly.
If I could own one painting it would be
It would either be a Caravaggio – maybe this one:
Or a Joan Miro, maybe this one:
If I couldn’t have both I’d settle for the Miro.
The music that cheers me up
Music always cheers me up. At the moment it’s At Home (Live in Marciac) – Roberto Fonseca & Fatoumata Diawara.
The place I feel happiest
I’m lucky to have travelled a bit – rainforests really raise my spirits. But then so does being in a special spot in rural Languedoc-Roussillon. Or on a river with a fly rod, or a boat on a loch teeming with broonies. But actually where I am truly at my happiest (apart from with my family) is with friends. I am blessed to have met many people I have truly grown to like and count as good friends. Yep, that’s when I’m smiling, with them.
My guiltiest cultural pleasure
Hot Chocolate playing at the Usher Hall.
I’m having a fantasy dinner party, I’ll invite these artists and authors
I’d need a big table: Hunter S Thomson, Keith Richards, Lee Miller, Kate Atkinson, Cerys Mathews, Kevin Bridges, Yoko Ono, Bjork, John Gierach, Jeremy Paxman, Michael Palin, Caravaggio, Boy George.
And I’ll put on this music
The Best of John Renbourn. Hunter would hate it.
If you liked this there are many more to read now.
Ahhhh. David Reid. My longtime compatriot and co-founder of 1576 Advertising Limited where we did seriously great work and had seriously good fun.
David was never shy of a lig. Most famously perhaps in his Schlitz days when he got all pissed up with Lisa Bonet and Johnny Rotten.
My favourite memory is around his kitchen table, planning 1576 when his Dad (Normski) uttered the ludicrous conclusion on reading my business plan “You’re not seriously considering going into business with this wanker are you David?’ He was. He did. We rocked. Normski later redacted.
David and I regularly attend PrimaveraSound in Barcelona.
I regularly embarrass him with my lack of finesse as he peacocks to my tramping.
We are pretty much chalk and cheese, but we love one another nevertheless.
Here’s his shizazzle.
My favourite author or book
I always look forward to a Robert Harris novel coming out. He rarely misses the beat. Other authors I like are George Orwell, Graham Macrae Burnet, Ernest Hemmingway, Aldous Huxley, Donna Tartt, Ray Bradbury and William Boyd.
The book I’m reading
I’ve got a few on the go at the moment but the one you need to know about first is definitely the weirdest – We All Hear Stories in The Dark by Robert Shearman. Nothing quite like this trio of books has ever been attempted before. The premise is that stories always change their meaning dependent upon the order in which you read them and as you work your way through the peculiar tunnels of the 101 short stories he has written, the odds against anyone else ever treading the same path as you become exponentially unlikely. In essence, every reader’s journey through the book will be entirely unique and you will be the only person who ever reads your version of the collection. I’m also reading the classic book about positivity – Learned Optimism by Martin Seligman as well as the fantastic Mayflies by Scots author Andrew O’Hagen.
The book I wish I had written
If I’d written a set of books about a Boy Wizard I’d like to think I’d have spent my earnings wisely. As well as very unwisely.
The book I couldn’t finish
I’m not a quitter – I never start a book without completing it. My patience was really tried recently however with a collection of EM Forster short stories. They were crashingly dull.
The book I’m ashamed I haven’t read
I’ve never read Catch 22 by Joseph Helleror Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck.That’s a pretty poor show, I know.
My favourite film
This is such a hard question because different films equate to different moods and times. I could easily make a case for Jaws, The Third Man, Duel, Once Upon A Time In America, Pan’s Labyrinth, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest or Blade Runner. I’m going to go with Sleuth. The original film made by Joseph Mankiewicz in 1972. I was lucky enough to enjoy a drink with Michael Caine, one of the only two actors within the film, back in 1997 and he confirmed it was one of his most joyous acting experiences.
My favourite play
The Royal Lyceum Theatre’s production of A View From The Bridge by Arthur Miller. It was absolutely outstanding.
My favourite podcast
The Spectator has some excellent podcasts. Coffee House Shots provides really incisive political analysis. At the other end of the spectrum, but no less important – Scarves Around The Funnel is a podcast for fans (like me) of Heart of Midlothian FC. They were also Sir Walter Scott’s team y’know.
The box set I’m hooked on
I’m on a box-set break at the moment – but the original Russian version of To The Lake is exceptional.
My favourite TV series
I used to love watching University Challenge, but I’ve completely lost interest in it now for some reason. I like watching documentaries on art, literature and music – usually on Sky Arts. In terms of making a conscious decision to sit down and watch something regularly – that would nearly always be for unbridled escapism. Real mainstream stuff like Strictly, GBBO, Top Gear, Antique’s Road Show, Fake or Fortune and Poirot would fall into that category.
My favourite piece of music
La Wally from the opera by the same name by Catalani. In 2018, I went to Vienna with my daughter to see it being performed.
My favourite dance performance
I can still vividly remember seeing Michael Clark and his company performing at the Edinburgh Festival in 1988. Supported on stage throughout by The Fall, I am Curious Orange was a bizarre mash-up that featured dancing phone boxes, an enormous Big Mac, a gay Old Film football match and several risqué costumes by Leigh Bowery. It was glorious.
The Last film/music/book that made me cry
It doesn’t happen very often. I may have had something in my eye at the end of A Star is Born.
The lyric I wish I’d written
From Neil Young’s Cortez The Killer
He came dancing across the water With his galleons and guns Looking for the new world And the palace in the sun
On the shore lay Montezuma With his coca leaves and pearls In his halls, he often wandered With the secrets of the world
And his subjects gathered ’round him Like the leaves around a tree In their clothes of many colours For the angry gods to see
The song that saved me
Being saved sounds a bit dramatic – but I remember the moment I heard New Rose by The Damned and being really excited about its rawness and energy. I had just turned 13 at the time and, up until then, wasn’t really into music. Punk and New Wave changed all that. Forever.
The instrument I play
I can’t play anything. I was in a post punk band from 1979 – 1983 and I had to sing because I couldn’t play anything. I couldn’t sing either – but I was quite happy taking centre stage.
The instrument I wish I’d learned
The electric guitar, although I have never even tried.
If I could own one painting it would be
Generally I am more drawn towards modern art, but the two paintings I’m struggling to decide between are The Balconyby Edouard Manet and Nichols Canyon by David Hockney. I’m going to go with Manet.
The music that cheers me up
Unquestionably Reggae. I love the classic Jamaican stuff by Toots & The Maytals, Lee Perry, Culture and of course Bob Marley. On balance however, I prefer the more political English reggae of the 1970’s – Misty in Roots, Steel Pulse and Mikey Dread.
The place I feel happiest
My perfect day would be art gallery / pub / football match / restaurant / show or gig.
My true happy place is also where I have had some of my saddest moments – Tynecastle Park.
My guiltiest cultural pleasure
Pretending to work, but actually reading The Spectator.
I’m having a fantasy dinner party, I’ll invite these artists and authors
Very difficult, but here goes:
Jah Wobble
Pablo Picasso
Oscar Wilde
Marilyn Monroe
Agatha Christie
Phoebe Waller-Bridge
And I’ll put on this music
It would have to be instrumental so everyone could listen to what everyone else was saying. Jazz from the Dave Brubeck and Sonny Rawlins era.
As the old millennium drew to a close the newly formed Sky Scottish TV channel (I was the Account Director that ran it at my Agency, 1576) had a launch event at a Hampden Park that was half demolished, readying itself for the soulless bowl that resulted.
On one side the cranes were disassembling the old stand.
And so I took to the field (in defence rotating with Terry Williams) for a Scotland Media 11 against an English team that had flown up that morning.
Our resolute back line held out for a 7 – 6 victory. ( I think Stuart Bell scored the winner from a penalty deep in stoppage time.)
That’s me, back row, second from right (if you ignore the ref).
It was awesome.
I was preposterous and pretty much had a heart attack with the exertion. (Terry will probably share that memory.)
(I am, however, extremely grateful to Caroline McGrath for digging the photo up and sharing it with me. Something to treasure.)
I was listening to the radio last night to hear of Brendan Rogers cheering on Leicester City’s first win as their new manager.
What the Brendan Rogers that is manager of one of the biggest clubs in the world, Celtic FC?
The team that’s on the verge of a historic treble, treble under his management?
The club that is on the verge of a historic ten league titles in a row.
To go to a mid rank English team that spanned a Championship win a few years ago before returning to mediocrity?
Nah, can’t be him. He was managing Celtic, one of the world’s biggest clubs two days ago in a 4 – 1 win over Motherwell.
And then I heard that Neil Lennon, whom I admire greatly as a manager but have severe concerns about his mental health, a problem that led to him being fired from his previous job for calling the club MD, my club, a ******* ****, is taking over till the end of the season.
A man who incites massive sectarian hatred in Glasgow.
He’s taking over?
Nah, he said he couldn’t handle that sort off shit any more.
Must have been a dream.
If it was real the Celtic fans would all be going daft.
Had it not been for my good friend Tim Maguire I would never have stumbled across this wonderful anthology of odd little stories from the underworld of Scotland. By underworld I don’t mean seedy, just slightly off the beaten track.
The titular hero is a fan of Partick Thistle. (Glasgow’s third football team – the one that people who don’t support football support – actually you might argue that it’s the one that people who DO support football support, because ‘The Jags” don’t come with the baggage of the Old Firm.)
Harry Bingo is 97 and has supported The Jags since 1945 – his passion.
The stories are written in a peculiar style, impossible to replicate, the best I can describe them tonally is a like like a reverential Scottish Louis Theroux. I like Theroux, but some of his documentaries are seriously taking the piss out of his oddball cast of characters. Peter Ross has similarly collected together people that at times could be mocked for their unorthodoxy, but while Ross writes with a twinkle in his eye that never turns into a sneer.
We meet a Sikh Pipe Band, The Burry Man, a man that protects the River Clyde dragging the bodies of the dead ashore, a wall of death rider, a bunch of bitchy (butchy) drag queens, The Naked Rambler, The Clavie King and we visit circuses, poultry shows, sex shops, car boot sales ,The Barrowlands Ballroom and the World Crazy Golf Championships.
Each short story, 5 to 10 pages long, sets up an indelible image, some familiar – most not – of characters that care deeply about something in their life – it may even be their job.
In places it is laugh out loud, but never mockingly, we laugh WITH these wonderful people. The people that make up the rich tapestry that is Scotland’s culture.
They were all commissioned by Scotland’s leading newspapers, mainly Scotland on Sunday but also The Guardian, The Big Issue, The Times and The Herald.
I am celebrating the centenary of WWI’s Armistice Day with some ‘enthusiasm’.
Peter Jackson’s ‘They Shall Never Grow Old” which premiered at The London Film Festival got the ball rolling to incredible effect a couple of weeks ago. It is a must see.
And on Sunday I shall be attending a virtually sold out Far From Ypres at The Usher Hall in which my good pal Gary West will be taking to the stage as part of a celebrated ensemble.
Last night was the turn of theatre in a site-specific production held at Tynecastle Football Stadium.
As a lifelong Hibs fan attending a period drama that ‘celebrated’ Heart of Midlothian’s incredibly altruistic past had a degree of challenge. It was clear that I was surrounded by a largely partizan audience. But I’m bigger than that. If these men could face ‘The Hun’ in the French trenches, I could pay my respect alongside my rivals.
And I’m very glad that I did.
Paul Beeson and Tim Barrow’s play is a very fine thing indeed. It was performed on the Fringe and has been timeously restaged in its original form for this monumental anniversary.
One of the potential problems this show faces is the way that some Hearts fans celebrate their team’s mass act of courage as a comparator. No other team so unselfishly released their players from their contracts in such a way (13 players enlisted together to serve in McCrae’s Battalion, the 16th Royal Scots).
And that’s only part of the story.
Hearts were top of the league, having won 19 of their 21 games, when the mass exodus occurred. They continued to play for the team, but on the back of strenuous army basic training that included long forced marches. Their form inevitably slumped dramatically, through sheer exhaustion, and what should have been one of the greatest celebrations in Hearts’ history was dashed.
But what Beeson and Barrow have created is brilliant in this respect. That achievement is duly noted but not at the expense of the competition. It is far from vainglorious and largely avoids comparative narrative (indeed the contribution from other clubs is articulated clearly); rather it takes you into the souls of these young lads who fought for King and Country, sacrificing glory on the battlefields of Tyncastle, Ibrox, Celtic Park and Easter Road.
It’s beautifully acted throughout (although sadly no programme was made available so I have no idea who the cast was).
A central character, one of the players and the narrator, leads us through the build up to the mass enlistment, glorying in Hearts’ impressive form. This takes place in the new main stand to the sound of radio commentaries of the matches, before we traverse the stadium. One scene is in the Home Players dressing room, another in the bar, several in the stands themselves before culminating in an achingly beautiful finale underneath the Gorgie Road stand in a makeshift bunker. The final moments play out by the poignant War Memorial.
I’m sure, for many, this is an intensely moving experience. I found it highly dramatic and sympathetically presented.
There is no tub-thumping in this play. There is a great deal of humour and the sound design and violin accompaniment by the sole female cast member is excellent and highly redolent of the time.
Hearts, Hearts, Glorious Hearts features subtly (#HHGH) and is appropriate, without dropping the show’s standards..
The performances are roundly laudable, especially the leads but the ensemble do their part with merit.
This is another must see reflection on the Great War. It has wonderful provenance, it’s superbly written and directed in what is both a stirring but challenging location.
Highly recommended. But you’ll have to move quick if you want a ticket.
PS. The Last Days of Making featuring the Tiger Lilies at Leith Theatre (from Saturday) also looks pretty special.
Can you even begin to imagine the excitement I felt when I popped into Whitespace today and was met with this canvas of our dearly beloved Charlie Robertson created by fellow advertising guru, none other than MT Rainey, herself.
It’s one of the canvases I’ll be auctioning next Thursday at the NABS Art Auction (it has 76 compatriots, with plenty more in transit, many of which have outstanding artistic merit, but none of which quite hit the emotional trigger quite as effectively as this one does, created, as it was, less then ten days after Charlie’s untimely death.)
I’m hoping it will be something of a centrepiece of the auction and that it might attract some fairly hefty bidding. Indeed I will specifically take bids on it if you email me direct at Markgorman@btopenworld.com.
I’ll let bidders know what the state of play is rather than playing this one out in public.
It’s called “Charlie is me Darlin'” and it’s beautifully printed direct onto the canvas. The words that make up the image conjure up, for me, the eloquence with which Charlie thrilled and seduced the world of advertising for forty years.
I believe it deserves to be shown somewhere that Charlie’s many admirers might be able to see it for themselves and I hope it can play its part in a memorable night at Whitespace next Thursday 25th October, from 6pm. There will be a bar and a lively evening of badinage and bidding. Please let me know if you’d like to attend.
MT. You’re amazing. What a superb memory of Charlie’s life.
Our extremely good friends, Will and Ann, have lived in Howard Place for many years and last Saturday they had a leaving do that got a little bit, well, refreshed.
Anyway, as I left I kissed goodbye to Howard Place.
We regionistas should hate it ‘cos it’s Lundin, innit.
But nah; it’s just great. the fastest three minutes in advertising you will see in a long time.
What I particularly love about it is that it twists the ULTIMATE regional yarn – the Four Yorkshireman sketch from the 1970’s by Monty Python – and makes it relevant to both London and 2018.
Every sport, every exercise, every trope explored with wit and excellent cultural mixing.
Those of you who, like me, support Hibernian; Edinburgh’s most stylish football team and forefathers of the rather more successful Celtic FC, will be feeling that slightly sick feeling after once again victory was the more likely, more deserved and more bearable outcome on Sunday afternoon at ‘Scotland’s National Stadium.’
But we were Hisbsed.
We snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.
Consequently, a petition has been set up by a Mr Rudolph Skakel on Change.com begging the Oxford English Dictionary to add ‘Hibsed’ to their content.
It has a smell of schadenfreude about it.
For the uninitiated, to be Hibsed means ‘to be ahead in your pursuit of something, only to mess it up before you cross the finish line’.
And we’ve been Hibsed many times. On Sunday particularly so, and Liam Fontaine, arguably the man of the match, must feel especially Hibsed as it was he who teed up the winning goal for a team that could best be described as diddy.
I mean, you could fit the population of Dingwall, from where they bide, into the back of a camper van and still have room for a couple of tents.
Many have argued that we shouldn’t be so down on ourselves because it was only the diddy cup we Hibsed. But we Hibsed it in 2004 against the mighty Ferranti Thistle playing under the pseudonym of Livingston (a town so small it has an Edinburgh postcode).
We Hibsed it every time in living memory that we played in Europe and we’ve Hibsed it so many times against the other team in Edinburgh that I’ve simply lost count.
By Thursday morning there’s every chance we’ll have Hibsed it against that other Highland League powerhouse, Inverness Caledonian Thistle, in the big cup (that we put that other team from Edinburgh out of a few weeks ago), and we’ve already Hibsed it in the Scottish Championship having been in a great position to overtake long term leaders Rangers just after Christmas.
So, go on, Mr Skakel. have you schadenfreudey moment. the awful truth is, you’re right.
Yesterday was yet another nightmare for Hibs fans. Despite being the better team we inexplicably lost the with of our last ten cup finals. The 12th of 15 in my life so far.
Arguably the man of the match Liam Fontaine had this to say after the game when he was involved in the losing goal.
Advertising supremo, Iain McAteer, of The Union was climbing Arthur Seat on a chill but not Arctic New Year’s day.
The hike was an attempt to wash the bitter taste of the defeat (and too much red wine) of his beloved Chips’n’cheese-eating, potato picking, football team to the (ex) purveyors of the beautiful game, the mighty Hibernian FC from his mouth.
He turned to take in the glorious view and was rewarded with this stunning vision.
We are in the hole we are in for one reason. Craig Levein’s tactics.
We could easily have beaten the Czech Republic home and away, after all since 2005 they have steadily slid down the rankings from 2nd to 42nd. We’re 47th and incidentally sit 5 places behind Lithuania.
However, we played in the Czech Republic with no striker, gambling on a 0-0 scoreline that failed to materialise.
On Saturday, forget the refereeing shenanigans (the Czechs had a stone wall penalty denied too after all), let’s focus on how Scotland set up. They were crap in the first half and sat back both at 1-0 and 2-1. Every time we had to push forward we threatened, including in the 92nd minute. But had we played the way we ought to the game would have been done and dusted. So that would be 5 more points than we have and 4 less for the Czechs. We’d pretty much have qualified by now.
One hard luck story (3 – 2 defeat to Spain) when the game was to all intents and purpose over (so the Spanish went to sleep) does not make us a great team and don’t forget we very nearly lost to Lichtenstein – a country with a population smaller than Falkirk and a football reputation worse that Fred West’s.
Levien contradicts himself more than the House of Commons. He says he won’t play players that are out of form or not playing for their teams and then he does.
He falls out with his players (shame our best striker is watching from home for no good reason) and he has the worst competitive record (including Bertie Vogts) over his opening 5 game tenure than any manager in the last 25 years; to Andy Roxburgh to be precise.
Yes, we have a bunch of talented players exposed to the Premiership, better than for a considerable time I’d say.
So why not believe in them and let them express themselves properly.
Me, I’m going to watch the Mercury Prize. (We’ve got a chance of winning that – Come on King Creosote!)
Having thought about Calderwood’s signing of 31 year old “Junior” Agogo (he’s not THAT Junior at 31) for the Hibees I am wondering if it is worth a trip to Easter Road; if only to hear the Einstien Agogo riff when he scores.
I don’t think anything has put as much of a smile on my face , as a Hibby, for many a month. (Sorry; year.)
But you didn’t have to be an Einstien to work that out.
“Lennon is currently serving a four game suspension imposed earlier in the season and will sit out the second of those games against Inverness Caledonian Thistle on Wednesday night. It was widely believed that the fresh punishment would take effect when the current ban was completed but Celtic’s statement confirms that they do not believe that to be the case.
Taking into account the SFA’s rules and the date the most recent ban was imposed, Celtic are claiming that both suspensions will be served simultaneously from this point on, meaning their manager will be in the stands for four more matches including the Inverness game and not a further six as would be the case if suspensions were served consecutively.”
I am not jumping on the anti-Lennon bandwagon, I simply can’t be bothered and I do have sympathy for the way he is treated in his private life. No, this is all about the SFA and their continuous bottling it. If Lennon has erred his sentences should not be commuted, like the last one was or run simultaneously. No wonder Celtic are not appealing. If they did even a commuted sentence would begin after the current one.
The fact is that Arsenal were miles worse than Barcelona who totally overran them.
Sure Arsenal took their chances when Barcelona dropped their concentration for ten minutes or so. But there really is no comparison. Messi is just amazing.
However the comparison to the travails at Easter Road and pretty much anywhere else on Scotland’s embarrassing football soil was quite monstrous.
After defeat to Motherwell yesterday this very odd man said…
“There are aspects of the game I enjoyed. Problems are there to be solved so that’s what I’m looking forward to doing.”
On Tuesday night after Hibs went out to a team two leagues below the odd bod Calderwood commented…
“We had so many good opportunities, the goalkeeper’s had a number of good saves, we’ve had efforts cleared from the line and I think they defended their goal excellently.
He has so far won 2 out of 15 games.
Being, at best, an armchair fan I have not seen him in action but I am told he stands impassively, hands in pockets, barely involving himself in games and certainly not leaping about like the madman Yogi Hughes had become.
It all just seems like he’s going through the motions.
Remarkably he claims to be “really enjoying it” at Easter Road.
Inevitably, the fans’ ire tends to turn to the manager or the Chairman in these sorts of situation. And Rod Petrie’s extended honeymoon is certainly looking to be over at this moment in time.
The sale of Stokes and Bamba appears to be hitting home now and our lack of action in the transfer market is becoming notable. I’m a great admirer of what Petrie has acheived at Easter Road but it feels like he has made an extraordinarily bad appointment in Colin Calderwood and his earlier reputation for canniness is in danger of becoming one for penny pinching (for which I am told he has a strong internal reputation.)
Lastly, of course, there’s the team itself; some say it is a shadow of its former self, one of the worst to have played for Hibs in many years (if not ever), but I saw Zemamma, Miller, Riordan, Wotherspoon, Murray, Stack and McBride (all in the squad yesterday) play Dundee Utd on 3rd October 2009 and destroy them before drawing 1 -1.
At that point the table looked like this…
A month later it looked even better…
And even by mid January Hibs (with this team) were in touch with the top, so my contention is not that it is the players themselves that are poor but the way in which they are applying themselves.
It feels to me that there is a cancer somewhere in Easter Road that is permeating the team and turning good players into bad. Yogi lost them, and Calderwood has never had them bar one freak night against Rangers.
The truth is, in my view anyway, Scotland huffed and puffed tonight.
Spain were not in top gear. Need they be? They were playing a team who had just lost to a team who had just lost a European Qualifier at home to Lithuania.
They gradually worked out a way to get through against the great blue wall.
Two up.
Job done.
Tools down.
And then; oops.
A wee Spanish banana.
Could the worst happen?
Could they really lose to a team who had just lost to a team who had just lost a European Qualifier at home to Lithuania.
Don’t be daft.
Supersub.
3 – 2.
Cue Lionheart. Cue whatever. It’s always like this.
Some good performances (Naismith, Fletcher, Bardsley) and a corker of a baddie. Whittaker will want to erase tonight from his memory forever. Run ragged, 100’s of mistakes, gave away the penalty just before halt time, got sent off. Doh!)
This was not a new dawn for Scottish football. It was just another close defeat to a huge team that nearly took their eye off the ball. But it was at least exciting.
gibberish 