Quiet Days in Glasgow

As I suspected, the Traynor couldn't find Gordon Smith anywhere inside Hampden and indeed, found no trace of any phantom so who knows what George Peat is talking about? I popped over there yesterday evening to ask Peat what he thought of the Traynor's findings but when I got there I found that contractors had been re-laying the car park and somehow Peat had cycled into the middle of the wet tar and was quite stuck. I'll come back later, I thought but then as I was leaving I was sure I could hear the sound of singing somewhere in the basement.

I paid a visit to BBC Scotland on my way home and found Richard Gordon sitting typing furiously on his laptop while Pat Nevin hopped around his desk clapping his hands in excitement. 'What are you pair so animated about?' I asked. Gordon looked up at me and smiled, one Rangers hater to another and told me that it was their turn to spit roast Jackie Bird and that Pat was very excited about it, having never seen a woman naked before. I shuddered at the memory of when it was my turn and Matt McGlone and I struggled to work out what to do with her and where to put everything and then I wished them luck and toddled off to see if I could catch up with the Reporting Scotland bhoys. It didn't take long to find them, I just followed the sound of sniffing - they all suffered horribly at work from the effects of their prime Columbian intake every night in the Chip - but none of them could spare me the time for a chat as they were all working hard on keeping a lid on the Rangers league victory on Sunday and trying to find denominational schools from where they'd film Labour candidates gushing about education. 'We're under strict instructions not to mention you know what,' one of them told me. Oh well, seems like Lawwell hasn't completely lost control.

Later on I got home to the flat and found the wife in a cheerful mood, quite unlike her really but curiously I noticed she had red wine stains down the front of her blouse (that's the last time I'd get to wear that, dancing around the flat to Elton John while holding my Martin O'Neill scrapbook to my breast) and that she'd taken to wearing petticoats and stockings - this was odd, I wonder what she's up to? She was quite drunk but pleasant with it but then she started making lewd suggestions so I quickly picked up my laptop and bolted out the door before she could get her hands on me. As I strolled down Byres Road I noticed King Bastard coming towards me, pushing pedestrians out their way spitting on shop windows. I quickly crossed the road before they could see me and ducked into Bonhams and who was sitting in the corner with a pint of red wine, some of it spilled down his front, but Professor Tom Devine. He noticed me but didn't beckon me over as he was holding court over a bunch of local Labour activists, all wearing red rosettes and emerald green shirts. I stayed for a moment or two until I was sure King Bastard had passed and then I was off again, down Byres Road, whistling a gay tune and thinking that sometimes in life, nothing much happens.

Of course that's when it all kicked off.