Section 18

I’ve been looking for a new job recently. Not as many might wish, that I am in danger of being sacked from the Times – no, that’s not going to happen, not with shaky old Magnus Linklater still at the helm and I’ll get back to the reasons why the old bluffer puts up with my astonishing lack of original talent, football knowledge and self awareness, never mind the golf outings while missing exclusives, adventuring so much that the janitor and cleaners take it in turns to write my reports on occasions and of course, my personal hygiene. First though, I need to record my encounters during some casual job hunting as the way News International is going, you never know what might happen.
So I was interviewed for a job with the Guardian. Asked if I could handle a weekly gardening column I told them that the closest I’d got to horticulture was lurking in Kelvingrove Park of a night looking for rough trade but how about I use the column as a forum for my thoughts on how vile Rangers fans are? The panel looked at each other in bewilderment and asked if a television review piece would be best suited to my talents and I replied that I don’t own a television but I could report on Rangers fans’ singing during live matches from the television in Tennents bar on Byres Road. That got a collective sigh from the panel who in exasperation asked me if food was my thing and I said yes, I could review restaurants with a fourteen paragraph story dobbing Rangers to UEFA with only the final paragraph mentioning how the succulent lamb tasted at the Chip between lines of coke with the Pacific Quay CSC. That’s when they said the interview as over and that they weren’t even going to thank me for my time, calling for Matt Dickinson to explain himself with his recommendations.

Talking of Pacific Quay CSC otherwise known as BBC Scotland, I was given an application form for a job there but didn’t get very far. I got to section 2 after my name and address and it asked simply, ‘Are you a Roman Catholic? If yes go to section 3, if no go to section 17.
Section 17 asked, ‘Are you at least a Celtic supporter? If yes go to section 3, if no go to section 18.’
I went to section 18 where it told me, ‘Thank you for interest in BBC Scotland but unfortunately we have no vacancies at this time.’
So no luck on the jobs front this week but no matter, there was still time to pursue my current employment and saunter along to Parkhead where I chanced upon Lawwell, back in his glory wearing a pristine Wehrmacht uniform and brandishing a cosh at Pansy Paul for being so stupid as to allow his thoughts on songs sung and words used by the Celtic support to get into the public forum where it could be used by the mainstream media.
‘Do you know how long I’ve spent kicking the arses of every editor in Scotland to make sure your opinions didn’t make it into the papers? How many free VIP days at Parkhead I’ve had to promise to dolts who in the old days I’d have had across the rack instead? Damn this resurgent Rangers under Whyte, it’s not bad enough they have an owner willing to take the fight to us now but you have to go and score an own goal of spectacular proportions – what, were you promised a shot at someone’s arse for that little interview?’
I left him to his ranting and Pansy Paul to his cowering although from where I was standing he seemed to be enjoying the horsewhip when it appeared. So I sloped off and caught a bus back to the west end and considered old doddery Magnus Linklater and how he came to employ me in spite of all my faults.