Secret Diary, Tuesday 24th November

I couldn't sleep last night. Ever since the wife left me I've not had a good night's sleep. Even although I initially thought her leaving was testament to my unwavering duty to my journalistic integrity, I still miss having her beside me in bed. Still awake at three in the morning, I got up and took a wander round to her flat and stood outside in the rain, wind blowing against my face as I gazed longingly at her flat. Then my mobile phone rang and a strange voice on the other end told me that Satis House was expecting me.

I caught a cab over to the southside where I was shown through the same dusty corridors as last week to an audience with Wendy Alexander who sat in her corner chair, covered in cobwebs, spiders and dust. 'Your task isn't finished young Estella,' she croaked. 'You may have helped destroy Station X but there is a new danger on the horizon, Section 21 is abroad again and if you value the future of your country then it demands your attention. All I can tell you just now is that John Street is not all that it seems, take a trip there after midnight and you will discover all.' And with that she rang a small bell sending mice scurrying from the banquet table and bringing her butler in to usher me from her presence. As I left I could hear her humming a melancholy tune softly to herself.

Since I wasn't sleeping anyway I decided to take a trip to John Street to investigate Alexander's mysterious comments. Strathclyde University looked empty but on the top floor burned a solitary light and the faint cackle of maniacal laughter blew in the wind down George Street. I tried the doors but they were locked so I picked them, a trick I learned from hanging with the republican bhoys. I cautiously climbed the stairs until I reached the top floor and crept down the corridor towards the sound of laughter. I peered around the open door and there in the room was Professor Tom Devine sitting drunkenly in a corner with another tart by his side, both of them quaffing red wine from buckets while Devine dictated to an odd scarecrow looking man who pounded feverishly on a keyboard. 'I can see you Spiers, come in!' Shouted Devine without even looking up.

I sauntered in trying to act nonchalant and the scarecrow man stopped typing and looked up at me. Devine laughed. 'You really do get around, Spiers, eh? Have a seat. Bucket of wine?'
I declined his offer. He nodded towards his tart, 'This is Fatima Uygun, otherwise known as Agent FatimaCeltic67, anti-sectarian campaigner and mad Celtic minded bigot, don't mind her, she's drunk. And this fellow is Gerry Finn another catholic lunatic trusted to write on sectarian issues within Scotland. Of course when you consult these two morons on sectarianism then you're only going to get one side and it ain't the side of that other mob, bwa ha ha ha ha ha!' He burst out laughing and spilled wine down his front while his laughter disturbed Fatima who looked up from her drunken stupor and burped.

'Join us Spiers,' said Devine. 'We're putting the final touches to the new STUC report on sectarianism, I'm sure you could help us. See, we're in the process of icing the cake with a few choice uncorroborated statements on why it's all a one way street. Let's see Gerry just made up some story about catholic firemen not being allowed into a burning protestant household and before she passed out, FatimaCeltic67 here, suggested we mention that old perennial, Donald Findlay. I'm just considering whether or not we should be so bold as to concoct a lie about anti-catholic banter in the workplace leading to murder most foul. What do you think, you got any old stories lying around we could stick in? I'll make it worth your while.'
I thought about this. Obviously it was sinister that these crazy catholic bigots could be left in charge of a report on sectarianism but everyone knows that catholics can't be guilty of bigotry - there's no evidence to support this but it is a fact commonly understood.
'I can't help you Tom.' I found myself saying, giving even myself a fright!
'Sorry Spiers, did I hear you correctly? When did you grow a pair of balls? If you're not part of the solution then you're part of the problem. Are you a bigot Spiers?'
'Yes! Yes I am!' I babbled. 'I'm an anti-protestant bigot and so are you and all you vicious b*stards working in this sectarianism industry! If only you'd all stop for a moment and see that you're all so eager to tar the protestants with the bigot brush that perhaps there's an underlying reason - that you hate the poor bloody fools and that hatred is as much sectarianism as any idiot story you care to make up to get your damned report onto the front page of the Herald!'
Devine glared at me. 'Why this puppy has teeth after all - well done Spiers, didn't know you had it in you. This makes what I do next more easy to live with.' And he motioned to the scarecrow figure of Gerry Finn who rose from his chair, produced a knife and ambled towards me, giggling.
'Listen Spiers,' continued Devine. 'If you're no longer useful to us and our continuing campaign of demonising protestants then you're no good to me alive. Gerry here has dispatched more worthy opponents than you and I'm pleased to say that I've been waiting to see this happen for a long time.'
I looked around for a way out but my route out was blocked by Finn who suddenly pounced, his arm raised ready to bring the knife down on my chest. Suddenly he jerked in mid air and landed in a heap on the floor, a dart sticking out of his neck. Then from the shadows of the corner rose Graeme Souness, dressed all in black, gun in hand. Devine tried to make for the door but in stepped Chris Woods and Ray Wilkins barring his way.
Souness looked at me and smiled a strange smile, raised his gun and shot Devine and Agent FatimaCeltic67.
'You monster!' I cried. 'They didn't deserve that!'
'They were about to kill you Spiers, and you'd let them off?' Sneered Souness. 'Don't panic, they're only darts. They'll wake up with a bigger sore head than usual and wonder where they are for a while.'
'And where will they be?' I asked.
'The same place as the McConnells. Exactly where we want them. There's a bigger story here than you could ever imagine Spiers. A war is being fought between good and evil and no one knows precisely whose side you are on - you seem to come down on the side of the Celtic minded but they're always trying to dispose of you, why do you think that is?' He laughed and left me there in the empty room, Woods and Wilkins having carried the prone bodies of my assailants out of there and towards the unknown. I was left with Gerry Finn's computer still blinking in front of me and there on the screen was their report on sectarianism which contained all the lies and exaggerations those monsters could concoct during a drunken orgy of bigotry. What was I to do with it?

I walked home in the early hours of the morning having emailed the report to the Herald, my old employer who I knew would just love to run it on the front page. Any opportunity to have a pop at the prods, they couldn't ignore it. For all they keep trying to bump me off, I know that they have the good of mankind in their hearts and that the only evil in this society is that of the protestants who are perpetually trying to keep the good catholics down. All these machinations of the Celtic minded are obviously just self defence after hundreds of years of oppression. It wouldn't be like them to become the oppressors. Just as I was thinking this, Neil Lennon pounced on me from a dark alleyway and dragged me in and gave me a right good oppressing before sneering, spitting on me and leaving me lying there in a great big oppressed heap.