Dr. Evadne and Dame Hilda Entertain

"Graham, dear, we've been invited by that awfully nice man, Mr Lawwell to his party to celebrate his promotion to the board of the SFA."  This was Tom English, my old spinster friend as he arranged the lavender in the kitchen of my Ayrshire cottage.

"Oh Tom dear, that's magnificent.  I think we should celebrate with a song" I replied, sitting down at the piano.

"Hit it Graham," said Tom.

"What from here?" I replied.  Oh how we laughed!

 

The party wasn't what we expected, in fact we hadn't been invited to join in the celebrations; no, we were there to provide the entertainment and before we'd even settled down to a small sherry at Schonhausen - Lawwell's country pile - we were whisked off to a changing room and put into black dresses and then plonked in front of a piano to sing a few Gilbert and Sullivan tunes, not forgetting Ivor Novello (dear old Ivor).

"Let's play them the one that wowed them in Bearsden" suggested Tom and I agreed and struck up on the piano, singing

 

"We're a pair of cards from Byres Road

We think we are so droll

Some say it doesn't make us big

On Twitter being a troll.

 

We're two old fashioned journalists

Some say we're two has beens.

The only fan base we have left

Is three tired lesbians."

 

I could see Tom sweating as he swayed, hands clasped by the piano, gazing out into the audience who sat stoney faced, refusing to smile at any of our gay wit and repartee and just as I thought Lawwell was considering taking his horsewhip to us for the line that went

 

"So hush now baby don't you cry

Mamma's gonna take you to Milngavie."

 

something strange happened: the doors flew open and in came Stewart Regan.  Lawwell's guests formed two lines and forced Regan through the mill, punching and kicking him until he staggered to the end and collapsed in front of Tom who gasped and called for me to sing "Comes a Train of Little Ladies" but I was too caught up in events and my piano lay silent as Andrew Waddle cleared his throat and demanded an audience.

 

"Gentlemen, Knights, Celtic Men all, I give you our newest board member: Peter Lawwell" and the room erupted in applause and cheering and Vincent Lunny choking on a vol au vent.

"It's taken a while to make it official," continued Waddle.  "I mean, I know our press in Scotland are hardly the most inquisitive and we really thought we'd gone too far in the annexation of Hampden three years ago but there hasn't been a squeak, not one awkward question, and now we come to the end of the beginning of our plan.  Sure, not everything has gone our way - sure, Rangers are still here" and at this point Lawwell shot an evil glance at Rod McKenzie who ducked instinctively.  "But they're years away from challenging us at the top of the SPFL - talking of which, good work there lads in swallowing up those SFL wallahs - and the way their board is behaving, like a clown troupe of galloping morons, I don't expect they'll even be challenging us seriously again until we've made it ten in a row!"

There was a huge roar of approval, Rod Petrie shouted hip hip hooray and Stewart Milne called for more whisky in his sippy-cup.

"So," went on Waddle.  "As I stand here before you a humble man," (cries of "no" and "shame").  "A humble man who sent off Rangers players for fun when I was a referee..."  ("hurrah!").  I'd like to thank two men on behalf of our master: Stewart Regan and Neil Doncaster.  Admittedly, Neil had to be held against a wall with a cattle prod lighting up his chin for ten minutes before he caved in to our will but ladies and gentlemen, how about Stewart Regan?  He did it simply because he wanted to.  I give you Stewart Regan" and at that the room clapped and hallooed and Lawwell tossed a bottle at me and Tom to get us to start up the music again.

 

And that's how Peter Lawwell and the great and mighty of the SFA celebrated Lawwell's ascension to the pinnacle of Scottish football and  I was just beginning to play some Noel Coward when I spotted out the corner of my eye, a shape in the corner of the room; standing in the shadows, obscured by cigarette smoke.  It was Jorg Albertz, Demon Hunter.