Oh Mist Rolling in from the Sea

Have you ever seen fire in zero gravity? It comes at you in waves. I was fortunate because once the Inquisition 4 began to burn up thanks to some conveniently placed incendiary devices left there by Souness and his Rangers 80s Squad Space Commandos, I was grabbed by Stuart Munro and plonked unceremoniously into the baggage area of their re-entry craft and we hurtled towards earth while Inquisition 4 fell to bits behind us and with it Peter Kearney's latest plans for a Catholic insurrection.


We ditched in the sea just off the Mull of Kintyre and as usual there were jeeps waiting for Souness and his men while I was left to walk, soaking wet to civilisation but after experiencing Campbeltown I found that I preferred being in the sea. I didn't linger there then - too many furrow browed Rangers fans eyeing me up, trying to figure out how they recognised me so I bolted before they remembered and I received a thrashing. Not sure if news of my failure to support Kearney's last plan had reached Lawwell yet, I decided to keep a low profile and took lodgings in a cottage just outside Machrihanish and this is where I spent all of December in case you're wondering what happened to my diary over the past month or so - well I could hardly write it while fleeing for my life around a space station or stuck in an old farmhouse by the sea which was lucky it had electricity never mind the internet.

It was while holed up in the farmhouse that I decided to put my time to good use and pen my magnum opus on Scotland's sectarian problem or 'anti-Catholic bigotry' as we've all to call it according to the Catholic Media Centre and by extension, the Scottish Government. The problem was though, that without having my friends from Celtic, the Labour Party, the Green Brigade or the Republican Girls around to tell me what I think, my masterpiece stalled at the first page and I took to the bottle, getting drunk on Cinzano Bianco every night until one night and I think this was around mid-December when I was lying on the floor sobbing to myself and I heard a sound from outside. Being jumpy in case it was disgruntled Rangers fans or a Lawwell assassination squad, I dimmed the lights and scurried around the floor, peeking out of the windows every now and then in case I could see anything but although I heard the occasional bump, there was no one to be seen and I settled down for a sleepness night in a corner, listening to the wind howl and the snow battering the windows. The next morning I went outside to take in some fresh air and found foot prints in the snow.

That unnerved me, I can tell you. I spent a worried day pacing around the house until night came, too early in the day for my liking, it seems to get dark here two hours after it gets light! Not having slept much the night before, I figured that it wouldn't be a problem this time since I was exhausted and I was just settling down in bed and looking forward to a good night's sleep although I admit I did miss my Martin O'Neill scrapbook, when I heard noises from outside. It was a shuffling noise, a wet shuffling noise with every now and then a scraping sound like metal being dragged along stone. I sat shivering under my bedroom window and listened as foot steps passed me outside and carried on around the house and then there was silence. I refused to move until I was sure whoever it was had gone and was just building up enough courage to look out the window when the back door handle started turning. I heard it from the bedroom and panicked, not knowing if I had locked it or not and ran through to the kitchen where I saw the handle turning quickly from side to side. It was locked, thank god. Unable to resist, I had to know who was trying to get in, I approached the window and peered out but could see nothing and then it stopped. After another sleepless night I ventured outside at sunrise and found more foot prints and wet patches in the snow and alarmingly, seaweed lying around the back door. I felt a little more at ease now as this indicated that it wasn't Lawwell's goons but who was it? Or what was it? I never used to believe in the supernatural but hanging out with the Celtic Minded would make you believe in anything what with their holy ghosts and conspiracy theories not to mention demons doing Lawwell's dirty work for him, superheroes fighting in the skies above Glasgow, journalists and QCs turning into monsters, Neil Lennon managing Celtic and the mere existence of the Green Brigade - all of it quite extraordinary and beyond the realms of reality.

That night I decided to hide in the barn and keep watch for my night time visitor. It was a bold move and quite unlike me but it had to be done - if I was to stay here out of the reach of a vengeful Catholic church then I couldn't do it while scared out of my wits every time the sun went down. Oh how I wish when Kearney had shouted to grab Graeme Souness I had at least attempted it instead of pulling a Hugh MacDonald and soiling my space suit. It was too late for what ifs now though so I spent an hour in the barn in the daylight and then waited as it got dark and kept a watchful eye on the farmhouse and its surroundings. It was bitterly cold and the sound of the wind competed with the roar of the waves just over the sand dunes and almost drowned out the noise of a figure approaching from the sea. I spotted it glistening in the moonlight as it approached the house, dark and only just recognisable as a man, seaweed dripping from it and carrying chains which dragged along the paving stones as it eventually reached the house. It paused as it passed the barn and I almost vomited at the thought that it might know I was here but then it carried on and walked around the house before rattling the back door and to my horror, the door opened, bathing the thing in light and I nearly screamed as I recognised who or what it was - it was the ghost of Stuart McCall returned to exact revenge on me for betraying the Rangers 90s Squad Marines.