Secret Diary, Friday 13th November Evening

Dear Diary,

It's been an interesting evening so far. I'd been invited to two parties tonight; one by the Labour party and one by the SNP. The Labour party gig is at the Royston Knights of Saint Columba club and is to celebrate the Labour victory at the Glasgow North East by-election. All the big Labour nobs are there, there's a band playing - Charlie and the Bhoys, there's a special guest appearance by the Lisbon Lions and the whole thing is quite wonderful to behold as everyone celebrates their diversity by singing Irish republican songs.

I'd popped into the SNP party earlier just to be polite. It was held in the hall of the St. Josephs RC church and it was just as loud but not quite as busy. The SNP had booked the hall in anticipation of victory and decided not to cancel it once the results had come in because they'd already paid the deposit. David Kerr was there, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here and looked uncomfortable as he constantly scratched at his thigh where his celice was obviously bothering him. Alex Salmond was sitting in a corner, nursing a half pint and looking about as welcome as a Turk at a christening, while on stage was Nicola Sturgeon dressed head to toe in leather and according to Kerr, hogging the karaoke. That the karaoke machine was pre-programmed before the results came in, with only celebratory songs lent an even greater air of bathos to the proceedings. The place was so depressing even the barman had packed up and gone home leaving a note for the three of them to help themselves.

At the Labour shindig however, I was attracting a lot of attention due to the fireworks in Jordanhill the night before. Charlie Gordon approached me and told me he was surprised I had shown my face considering what had he'd been hearing. Apparently Peter Lawwell had the entire press pack in his office all day doing sit ups and they were still at it now except Ronnie Culley who'd swooned after two and had to be carted off by Tony Mowbray.

I had a civilised glass of wine and was just about ready to leave when I spied Michael Martin picking a fight with his successor Willie Bain who he'd mistaken for Martin Bain. After a bit of pushing and shoving Martin was calmed down by two burley stewards who then stuck him in his car to be taken home but his driver got confused and drove him to Parkhead as that's usually where he takes his boss when he's drunk and surly.

So a rather uneventful day after the excitement of the past week. I'm going to finish my column for tomorrow's Times (Scottish edition, circulation: two fish suppers) and then have an early night.

Oh, and the wife has left me.