The Magisterium Club

What a frabjous day it has been! It's like a great weight has been lifted from me since Sunday when I foolishly and briefly supported Martin Bain and Rangers but once I got back on the pro-diocese bandwagon, my life has changed for the better! Not only did I have a terrific early afternoon getting drunk with the republican ghirls and then getting high with the Reporting Scotland and Scotland Today bhoys (getting a few digs into Raman Bhardwaj in the process, I've been dying to get back at him since he called me a turncoat bastard in the toilets of Firebird ten years ago), but I'm just back from a private party in my honour at the Magisterium Club at a secret location in the southside. This was by invite only and was to heap plaudits on me for my return to the fold. The spider was there, sitting on his own in a corner keeping a malevolent eye on everything and Lawwell even came up to me, looking splendid in his Luftwaffe Lounge Suit and shook my hand telling me it was good to be able to rely on me once again.
I spied Tony Mowbray sitting at a table on his own looking mortified and loafed over to join him. He didn't look too pleased to be here and I told him that. 'Yeah, well, it's not really my scene,' he said. 'Plus I'm still smarting from the bollocking I've been taking for the Wilo Flood thing - it wasn't even my fault! It wasn't even Gordon Strachan's fault, he told the board that being Irish and looking like a potato was no criteria on which to buy football players but they over-ruled him and bought the dolt anyway. Now I'm offloading him and you didn't hear this from me, I've been accused of anti-Irish racism! You know me Spiers, I don't buy into any of this west of Scotland rubbish and here I am, booting out a guy who can cross himself better than he can cross a ball and I'm being accused of being a racist and a bigot!'
'By whom?' I asked, astonished at what I was being told but before he could reply, Lawwell was over and having Mowbray manhandled out of the club by a couple of burly bouncers. Lawwell smiled at me, 'He's had too much to drink, Spiers. Just ignore what he was saying. We'll make sure he gets home okay.'

Apart from that, the afternoon was a great success; I was made a Papal Knight in Secret for Perpetuity, was congratulated by all the movers and shakers of Scottish public life and then driven home in a GCC chauffeur driven car. On the way home I got the chauffeur to stop at Broomhill and I tried to get the wife's attention by chapping on her window but a neighbour came to the door and told me she had moved out and the flat was being let to someone else now. Oh well, can't have everything I suppose.