Secret Diary, Tuesday 17th November

Dear Diary,

After the intrigue of the previous night it was good to be back covering a simple football story and the sacking of George Burley was like a breath of fresh air. I popped round to Hampden to speak to George Peat and Gordon Smith and found them in the corridor leading to their offices where they were trying to change some lightbulbs. Smith was up a ladder changing the bulbs while Peat was holding the ladders and passing up the bulbs.
'Hello George, Gordon.' says I startling them. Smith dropped a lightbulb which landed with a pop on Peat's head. Peat beckoned Smith down off the ladders, took off his bowler hat, placed a bulb in it and then stuck it back on Smith's head before bringing his fist down on the hat, popping the bulb underneath. Smith looked at me in exasperation, reached into Peat's bag and produced another bulb, placing it carefully under Peat's chin before bopping him on the head causing the bulp to pop all over Peat's tie. Peat looked at Smith for a moment then at me, said 'excuse me' and opened a cupboard door, bringing out a tin of paint. He took it over to Smith, pulled his trousers out from his waist and poured the paint into the gap sending it running down Smith's legs. Smith then calmly took the paint from Peat who watched as Smith produced a paint brush, dipped it into the paint pot, took off Peat's bowler hat and proceeded to paint his head white, putting the bowler hat back on once he was finished.
This could go on forever, I thought and interrupted, 'Gentlemen, I'd like to ask you about the Burley situation and who the next Scotland manager will be. First though, can I ask just who precisely is in charge here?'
'Well, we both respect each others positions and duties...' began Smith.
'I am!' interrupted Peat.
'We have a strategy and both of us have different approaches which combined, gives us a better chance of success...' continued Smith.
'I've got the bigger office.' growled Peat, interrupting again.
'I played football and was a respected pundit and expert in the field, what have you ever done?' squawked Smith.
'I've got six lines on my phone, how many do you have?' cried Peat.
I left them to it and wandered off looking to speak to someone else about any names that might be in the pot for the new manager and who did I bump into but Darryl Broadfoot. 'Spiers! What are you doing here?' he shouted down the corridor.
'I was just talking to Smith and Peat.' I replied.
'Oh dear, are they both covered in tar yet?'
'No.'
'Either of them up to their neck in water inside a barrel?'
'No. They're covered in white paint and broken light bulbs.'
'Shit, this is what I have to deal with. It's preventing me from doing my real job which is...'
'Laying into the Rangers?'
'Of course. Now, let's make this short, what do you want to know?'
'The new manager for a start?'
'Well, there's Gordon Strachan' he suggested.
'Just gone to Middlesbrough, you won't get him.'
'Martin O'Neil?'
'Happy at Aston Villa.'
'John Barnes?'
'Ahem!'
'Tommy Burns?'
Errrrrrrrrrrrr.....'
'I know, we could ask Wim Jansen! Liam Brady? Billy McNeil! Jock Stein? Hold on, I've got it - Lou Macari!'
'Forget it Darryl, I'd be better talking to Laurel and Hardy down the corridor, I'll see you around.' And with that I sauntered off to write my article which would need to make do with lies and conjecture. Then again, what's new?