Secret Diary, Monday 21st December

Surprisingly the week has started well; although Celtic lost to Hearts on Sunday, there wasn't the usual summoning of every sports writer to the office of Lawwell for thirty strokes as a reminder that the party line should be pursued. No, there was no summons because Lawwell is in South Korea buying the latest new star from the east. He insists this is to open the market over there to Celtic merchandise in spite of the fact everyone keeps telling him the rest of the world isn't like Scotland where Celtic supporters buy up any old tat as long as it's green and white. Still, he wasn't here to administer the usual pre-emptive punishment for not reporting that Celtic were magnificent and that the only reason Hearts won was because of masonic conspiracy. This allowed some writers to report simply on the game although most stuck to the Lawwell line out of fear of his return. The other odd thing about his absence was that Rangers received quite a few positive reports for their win against Motherwell. If Lawwell had been around then that would never have happened; instead it would've been all about the singing - the usual Lawwell distraction from a good Rangers performance.

So things have been pretty merry in the Scottish sports journalism circle, especially now that Craig Levein looks to be joining Peat and Smith over at the SFA. I paid them a visit yesterday for an update and found Smith hopping around his office howling after Levein had knocked over Peat's blunderbuss which had gone off and peppered Smith's arse with buckshot. Peat was chasing Smith around the room trying to throw a bucket of soothing water over Smith's smoking backside while Levein stood there trying to look intelligent with his glasses on but fooling no one except Smith and Peat. This was enough for me, if Levein has taken to their antics so quickly then it's certain he's going to fetch up as the new Scotland manager.

I left Hampden and trudged through the snow to Heraghtys where I had a lovely candlelit lunch with Matt McGlone, him fondling my leg under the table, pulling his hand away anytime one of his rough types came over to say hello but then once they'd gone, the hand would reappear on my knee. He's such a tease.

Afterwards I caught a bus back to the west end where I accidentally bumped into the wife. She was embarrassed to meet me since she was arm in arm with her latest gallant, my fellow Sunday Times journalist Jason Allardyce! I was appalled, this squirt is a bigger queen than me and here she is stepping out with my wife! I was pulling off my corduroy jacket, ready to scratch his eyes out when he whispered in my ear that if I let him alone with the wife then he'd give me a few exclusives from the Archbishop - everyone knows that Allardyce is Conti's arse puppet so this seemed like a good way to further my ambitions within the church so I calmed down, got the corduroy back on and flounced off down Byres Road and headed home in a bad mood to write another column about the RST. In a moment of mischief I added something about my mole in the RST. Of course I don't have a mole there, I just pick my information up from the Rangers website, Followfollow. I'm sure my mention of the RST mole will have them ranting and raving though and that's exactly what I want, I'm such a scamp!

Later on I sat down and thought about Lawwell and the strange events of last Christmas. I'm going to have to write about them eventually but truth be told, I'm scared to...