The Road to Holyrood

As I sat on the Justice Committee, sweat soaking through my pants, face like a beetroot, neck burning with embarrassment at not only having been shown up as an idiot in front of people I once thought my peers but turns out are my intellectual superiors (except Pat Nevin of course who thinks that because he once saw Echo and the Bunnymen at the Queen Margaret Union that this makes him an intellectual), I wondered if I’d have been able to concentrate my argument more effectively and not blurt out nonsense like ‘I think some thoughts should be criminalised’ if I hadn’t been dressed as a leprechaun.

I wouldn’t have been dressed as a leprechaun had a black van not run us off the road on the way to Holyrood. They came at us from a side street as we made our rickety way down the cobbles of the Royal Mile, Souness driving, whistling away happily as if he knew something about the Justice Committee that I didn’t until the van rammed into our side and forced us off the road and through a shop window. Two men dressed in black and wearing crash helmets jumped out the van and ran towards us waving pick-axe handles as I fell from the passenger seat, ripping my corduroys on the jagged end of the broken car door and buried myself under some clothes scattered by our collision with the shop. Souness however stood fast and as the first thug swung his pick-axe, Souness ducked, stuck his palm under the guy’s chin and punched him once in the chest just as the other thug came up behind him, lunging with his weapon only for Souness to spin to the side as the thug’s blow came down on his friend’s helmet while Souness kicked and broke his shin sending him screaming into a pile of fairy dresses until Souness shut him up by kneeling on him, forcing off his helmet and punching his face until he went quiet.
‘Who the devil were they?’ I bleated.
‘Could be anyone Spiers, you wouldn’t believe the amount of people who don’t want you showing your face at this committee.’ I blushed at this, thinking that the power of my great contribution to the sectarian debate might make things difficult for them.
‘Yes,’ said Souness. ‘It could be someone from Celtic or Nil by Mouth but my money’s on the Scottish Government.’
‘Eh?’ I yelped. ‘What do you mean? Not at all, they’ll be glad to have me there, fighting their side. Surely these guys are Rangers supporting, Protestant bigots trying to silence the truth about sectarianism?’
‘Look at me, Spiers. What do you see? A Rangers supporting, Rangers legend. If Rangers wanted you silenced, do you think I’d be ruffling my moustache trying to get you down there? Now behave yourself and for goodness sake, put some clothes on.’
I looked at myself and my corduroys were in tatters from the crash and from my crawling through glass. A crowd was gathering outside now, peering in to see what had happened so we were up against time to get out of there before someone called the police although Souness seemed to think the police were already here, lying silent among the tutus.
‘What will I wear?’ I was almost hysterical now, looking around at all the mannequins sprawled across the shop floor and seeing nothing but fairy outfits – we were in a fancy dress shop! Then just as I was eyeing up the fairy queen in extra large, Souness threw a costume into my arms and grabbed me by the arm and dragged me down to Holyrood and that’s how I fetched up looking like a complete moron in front of the world at the Justice Committee and that was without even considering the fact that I was dressed as a leprechaun.