The Adventure of the Eight Lawwells

Well that’s another season over and since no one was paying much attention, I assume that Celtic won the league, whatever it’s being called these days.  No one in my crowd of west end BBC dinner party elite took much notice which was odd considering they’re all mad Celtic fans but all became clear when I realised that they were too busy spinning the handbags incident at the end of the Motherwell Rangers play off as another Rangers shame game.  Even as I sat in the Chip with Tom Devine and the Pacific Quay CSC I knew that something was afoot when the phones of the BBC boys went off as one and they all grabbed their backpacks and rushed off into the evening on their bikes.  “Some skilful editing of the Rangers game needed in a hurry,” snorted Devine as he gathered up the drinks they’d left behind and poured them into his bucket. 

We’d been camped out in the Chip ever since our quest to locate the eight replica Peter Lawwells ended ignominiously when Donald Findlay called it off as everyone had lost interest after the first search.  “They’ll make themselves known when the time is right” said Findlay, puffing on his pipe and looking as bored with the mission as I was after days of monitoring Mumsnet in my capacity as Codename Chipmunk.  The only problem was that no one had been able to get a hold of Souness to tell him so he was still out there, working his contacts on the waterfront.  “He’ll come home soon enough too,” said Findlay.  “There are only so many fingers he can break before he realises that no one knows anything about the eight Lawwells.” 

So instead of spending the end of the season embroiled in some new and fantastic adventure, I fetched up sitting with Tom Devine recounting some of the more splendid scrapes we’d got into over the past few years.  “Remember when I sailed off with your wife and you came after me with the Rangers 80s Squad Navy?” he roared.

“Well I do like to forget about that one, Tom, it’s better for our friendship if I do.”

“Ha!  Friendship, you are a funny one, Spiers.  How about when I shot you in the belly at Lawwell’s highland hideout?  That was a cracker!”

“That was my wife and again…”

“Was it?  Oh dear, me old memory is playing me false again.  Didn’t we play shooty-in for the honour of your missus once?”

“Tom, please!”

“Oh alright.  Get ‘em in, Spiers.  Mine’s a bucket of port.” 

And so it went on for the rest of the night until Pat Nevin turned up and broke the monotony by telling  us his two stories.