MAKING BLANKS –
What is the direct route to your father’s heart ? Normally through your mother, I’d expect and even that would be a form of diversion. Rarely through football but then again we don’t have ‘football’, we have Celtic and we are honoured to have Celtic. I don’t know about you but when I see the word Celtic I feel a sense of warmth and comfort – for some reason the e in Celtic seems to take a weird precedence, it jumps out at me. I just know Cltic wouldn’t be Celtic without it.
When I was five years old I already had two brothers and a sister. I’d been going to Paradise for about a year and was already addicted. It was the smell of the place that caught me. Neither of my parents smoked cigarettes or drank Bovril. Paradise reeked of a variety of vapour, not all pleasant but all intoxicating. On the greenest grass on earth shone the brightest team of Celtic’s history in the brightest sporting uniform there can ever be. There’s nothing like it, the cleanest sporting kit in the world. I had a baggy maroon tracksuit that I just loved taking off to reveal my Celtic strip beneath. Revie tried to emulate Real Madrid’s Persil look but our green hoops provided stark contrast. Green for Ireland and White for a purity of spirit – The Celtic Way. What else ? The wee shamrock on the corner flags, the red ash, the wee sky blue cars; everything. I’d do anything to go there, to be there.
Thursday was always a worry. If dad hadn’t mentioned the game by Thursday I’d doubt I was going. It would be a wee while before he encumbered himself with me at away games but, for some strange reason, we seemed to be at home more often in the late 60s. He was a steelworker and I would not impinge on his leisure. He went to the games and had a few pints on a Saturday night and a couple in Dawson’s before the match. I’d have some ginger and crisps but the bus could not come quick enough. Therein were all manner of characters – from the parish priest to the greatest rogues in Craigneuk’s long history of roguery. Roguery no doubt extended to the sweep. Twenty- two players numbered 1 to 11, the ref and a hundred blanks – the holder of the ticket (a tiny scrap of paper with something like C9 thereon) with the first goalscorer won the money. A goalie could win if he saved a penalty before the first goal was scored. The goal had to be scored by half-time or the ref won. In the late 60s we normally scored in the first ten minutes. The supporters club got most of the profit, the sweep doer would pockle enough for a couple of pints. I would achieve a lifetime’s ambition in years to come and continue the tradition – C7, C8, C9, C10 and C11 rarely left the clique; the luck of the draw as they say. How we cursed the introduction of squad numbers.
So come Thursday evening if dad hadn’t mentioned the game I’d painstakingly do a sweep with C1-C11, the forthcoming opposition 1-11, the ref and a hundred blanks. This took a considerable period of time. If he’d been dayshift my dad would occasionally look up from his paper and ask what I was doing. ‘Making blanks’ I’d reply, what else could I possibly be doing? I was pre-First Communion and in love with the smell of smoke and Bovril. And so, after much hard work, I’d have twenty-two players, the ref and a hundred blanks in my Celtic tammy – the dark green one with the two white hoops and and emerald green one in-between. One hundred and twenty three tickets between two people – my mum and dad. My brothers and sister were banned from the sweep. The sweep was for Celtic supporters only. Invariably my parents would draw blanks. The feeling of power this gave me was indescribable. For a child to wield such authority over his parents was unheard of. I’d save the C1-C11 and the ref and remaining ninety eight blanks in case I couldn’t be bothered doing them all again the next time and bin the opposition 1-11. I’d no time for those tickets in any case. For the most part the Opposition XI was worthless. Rarely would Celtic’s opponents open the scoring at Paradise, the Land of Smoke and Bovril.
Occasionally my dad would question the validity of the sweep. This would become a recurring theme among sweep buyers over the next twenty years. Every now and then I’d have to open between thirty and forty blanks to prove that some of the tickets had ink on. In time I would master the art of making blanks – I would have those paper rectangles more tightly folded than the players tickets. The tammy was a woollen blank sifting machine. I could tell a blank by the length of London Road. Even now if I showed myself a blank and a player I’d guess right every time. When we made slings from elastic bands at St Aidan’s and fired paper pellets I always thought of them as big blanks. If someone made a roach from a Rizla lid I’d think of blanks. My mind was a blank.
On two or three occasions mum or dad would draw a player which was a source of great concern for me if it were a Celtic player and moreso if he were a forward, The word Prize was never mentioned and no money was ever paid for a ticket but I would worry if either of them drew a player. Anything could happen. Own-goals counted. I seriously considered fiddling the sweep and withdrawing C7-C11. I considered it for all of two minutes and decided to go for it. The sweep would henceforth consist of seventeen players, the ref and a hundred and five blanks. C7-C11 were hidden in the inside of a rubber cat I called Whiskers – the toy cat had no whiskers, doubled as a Trojan Horse and carried a permanently guilty look which probably mirrored my own.
I made blanks in advance. I’d have a season’s worth of blanks in reserve even though I only parted with two every few days. Paper would disappear in our house and become blanks immediately. It wasn’t paper – it was a material for blank manufacturing. My life was a blank. It still is.
At primary school we had to do News every morning. This took varied forms and normally involved accidents involving family members or pets. It was boring for me listening to my schoolmates’ tales of domestic upheaval unless there was something like a fire being reported or tales that involved the police. Some of the boys’ News stories were obviously fabricated and fantastically conceived. No-one’s news was less enthusiastically received than mine. I wrote about Celtic every day I was at primary school – not much has changed in that department four decades later. Girls hated me. They yawned at my Celtic news, they criticised me for putting two bs in Hibbs, they despised my Jimmy Johnstone anecdotes and keyring. They thought of me as a lifeless fool: Blankbhoy the Celtic supporter. They never wanted to hear the Celtic latest even when Bobby Murdoch went to a health farm which I thought was an exclusive and not-strictly-on-the-park-related. Girls hated me for loving Celtic far far more than them.
Eventually the teacher cracked, He invited my mum to the school and asked her if I undertook all the Celtic-related activity I reported daily. She denied that I drank beer but verified the rest. The teacher looked at her with a glare that shimmered with pity mixed with abhorrence. I was special in his eyes. I was the first child he had ever belted in a most praiseworthy educational career. The day before he belted me (the first day he had our class) he said it was his proudest boast that he had never had to resort to belting a pupil. The following day he heard me singing The Merry Ploughboy in The Quiet Room and his iron will wilted in the form of two crosshanders. He was of Maltese extraction and I’d made him cross.
I was indeed The Maltese Falcon’s prey. He never considered me for the school football team even when I showed up well in the trials. He called me ‘an impudent little pup’ when I didn’t know what impudent was and when I asked my mum I got more of the same. My report cards were a treatise on insubordination – ‘not only is WG easily distracted, he easily distracts others’. My mother has these items saved for future generations. He would belt me a further twice.
The first time was during a lesson when he interrupted a game of bools just as the contest was getting to the critical stage. It was Chiloggy Checkers, the most prized marbles of all and me and Fagy were playing Twosy-Roll-Away as opposed to Threesies. I’d clocked him two and was rolling away when the Falcon shouted at us. Gemmell. Fagan. We totally ignored him and he screamed at us. GEMMELL. FAGAN. ‘Whut ?’ I answered wearily. Two of it and he could definitely draw it.
Serious lumps formed on my wrists and I decided I had to do something about it. I decided to start smoking and light fires.
In actual fact I started to light fires as a means of getting my Dry Cleaning business up and running. This was an early 1970s precursor of the Towel Retrieval Service. Mum had procured for me a brand new M&S grey school jumper and I’d virtually ruined it on Day One by slipping into a puddle as I tried to score a last gasp winner in the playground. I had to get the blasted thing dry before I got home so went into the woods and constructed a small fire and billowed the jumper around the flames and smoke. It all seemed to make perfect sense back then. Some bamboo-type plants made a brilliant crackling noise as they burned and an odd coloured smoke came from them. I snapped a bit off – it was about the width of a pencil and hollow throughout – and lit the end of it at the edge of the fire. When I inhaled the fumes I half blacked-out, my eyes were streaming with smoke, I felt like a red Indian – Blankbhoy, The Native American at one with nature. By the time I’d freaked out on the bamboo I somehow managed to lose the jumper. I never saw it again. Mum went off her head and asked me where the fire was as I was reeking of smoke and my breath smelled of burnt bamboo. It was just a normal schoolday in ML2.
Vadis And Black Babies
When I was about seven years old I got in tow with a character who would have a profound effect on my ability to start fires. The guy’s name was Vadis although Vulcan might have been more fitting. Vadis’s mother operated a different pocket money system from my own – I would get thrupence every morning with a penny for my Black Baby money which I diligently paid as there was an annual day of reckoning when the list of contributors was published. I named all my Black Babies after Celtic players even Dixie which seems a bit off looking back now. If the photographed Black Baby on the certificate was a girl I would still name her Kenny. I named one African baby girl Lou and the teacher put ise at the end of it which I scored out. I’d Black Babies of all Celtic descriptions – Evan, Bobby, Harry but the teacher refused to call one wee black boy Jinky. She said it was ‘inappropriate’ and wrote James on the certificate. I was outraged and complained to my mum who asked why I didn’t call the Black Babies after my brothers or sister. I reminded her that none of my siblings played for Celtic.
Vadis got two bob at the weekend rather than money for school each schoolday. His folks didn’t bother how he divided up his pocket money or how he used it which was probably just as well. Vad was barely interested in football although he was nominally a Celtic fan and has the most Irish name of anyone I’ve ever known. There was only one match in his life and that was Mr Swan Vesta. His other main interests were liquorice and Airfix model planes. On a Friday afternoon we’d go to RS McColl’s in the Main Street and Vad would acquire his weekend entertainment – a book of matches, a wee box of Vulcan matches with the globe or a ship on and a big box of Swan Vestas – for Vad SV was the Holy Grail of Sparklife. In the early days he completely eschewed safety matches, he abhorred them and avoided them unless there was absolutely zero alternative. However Vadis’ life reached fulfilment when the giant box of Cooks safety matches hit the high street. For him it was a personal vindication of his long held belief that more matches should be on the market. He was miserly with his treasure though and rarely parted with what he lovingly called ‘Raspberry Heids’ – I’d ask him for a couple of matches and he’d grudgingly reply ‘Do you think these grow on trees ?’. He never ever referred to matches as matches, they were always Raspberry Heids or Strikers to Vadis. In addition to the matches Vad The Mad would also purchase a tin of Imps – the hard liquorice pellets that tasted good at the start and then proceeded to burn holes in your tongue. The Imps had no detrimental effect on Vadis who loved them with the same intensity he accorded to Victory V lozenges. Vad’s affection for strange ‘sweets’ was in direct proportion to how much other people hated them. No-one ever asked him for a Victory V or a Fisherman’s Friend. Other kids were appalled at his insatiable taste for menthol, for Tunes and clove rock. When he finished the Imps he’d fill the tin with raspberry heids and the fun would soon commence…….
…. Not that Vadis was interested in using any of his matches. He procured them for life. We’d walk to a piece of wasteground and he’d produce a sheet of brown paper and a magnifying glass and work the sun on to the paper till it caught fire. If we’d had time he’d have done the two sticks thing instead. He learned all these lifeskills in the cubs (9th Wishaw, St Ignatius of Loyola) after I’d been booted out for an incident involving The Akela (I called her The Atilla) and my fingers. This was before I’d even achieved my Bronze Arrow or got any of the red triangular badges down my sleeves. I remain the most undecorated cub scout in the history of the youth movement.Vadis was the epitome of the Scouting Movement whose motto is Be Prepared. Whenever he travelled to pieces of wasteground he was armed with upwards of two hundred matches and a myriad variety of fire raising essentials. It was like a Last Aid kit. Vad left nothing to chance. And that’s more or less where I came in. The Lookout. I’d to look out for the following in order of importance:
Matches
Brown Paper
Ginger bottles
Embassy coupons
Bee hives
The police.
Vadis wasn’t so much a leader of men as a leader of me, we didn’t require an n at the end. Where Vadis’ torch blazed I would follow and when I followed that’s when he generally smelled smoke. Vadis had an antenna for far-away flames, an innate ability to find the wrong place at the right time. He was the antithesis of Bobby Moore. Vadis’ whole outlook on life was a mistimed interception, a search for temporary joy at the expense of just about everything else. He sought an unquenchable flame, he wanted to light fire with fire. Nothing pleased him more than finding an already lit inferno – this saved him Raspberry Heids and for Vadis the Tinder Economy was all.
Our travels took us to Hunter’s Garage in Kitchener Street, a veritable Alladin’s Cave for all things Vad. Here the haulage drivers and grease monkeys would drink copious supplies of Irn Bru and give us the empties. We’d buy Raspberry Heids and Sports Mixture with the bottle money, Vad loved the liquorice ones and so when he asked for two ounce he’d always say ‘maistly blacks’. He’d also ask for the matches last as if he’d suddenly just remembered that he needed them ‘ oh aye…..and a box of Swan Vestas please’. He adored the strip of sandpaper at the side of the box and rarely blemished it by striking one of the contents thereon. He was a walking education on Match Etiquette, an authority in his field of flame. The garage also contained what Vadis would refer to as Items of Interest – virtually any flammable object, old oily rags, petrol, tod books, nudey calendars, spark plugs etc This was Vadis’ Celtic Park, all his dreams were fulfillable here.
And so we came to be together regularly at the fire that always seemed to be burning at Hunter’s Garage. Vadis had particular affection for it as it cost him nothing to enjoy. The haulage guys got used to seeing us around and thought of us only as Hectors – bottle collectors. Initially they would warn us of the dangers of stuff in ginger bottles that wasn’t ginger and to stay away from the eternal fire where old tyres would smoulder and burn. Vadis and I would see figures in their melting forms. As the days went past the workies took less notice of us, we became part of the oily neighbourhood, The Harmless Hectors. Inevitably by this time we were virtually IN the fire. It was thus deemed opportune for Vadis to up the stakes. There were a few empty canisters of spray paint and stuff lying around and Mad Vad decided on some experimentation. He threw one of the aerosols into the flames and we waited for the outcome. Nothing happened for a long long time and then, just when we were about to give up, there was one almighty explosion. I remember it clearly as if it was yesterday – everything went orange then black, it was like July turning to August - the marching season in Wishy.
The whole of the front facing part of me was singed from top to toe. I touched where my fringe had been and the crisp curls came away in my hand like bits of Spanish Gold coconut tobacco. My eyelashes and eyebrows were history. Hunter’s wasteground was now a stockyard for me and Vadis’s burnt DNA. Our faces were blackened like Black & White minstrels, all we could see were our teeth and the smoke-drenched brown ‘whites’ of our eyes. We were like two Black Babies on a Holy Childhood certificate. I wondered what names some white schoolboy would give us. Our clothes were ruined beyond repair..Meanwhile the workies were tearing towards us, calling us all the wee Bs of the day. We were wee Bs all right, wee Bobby Lennoxes and the greasers never stood a chance of catching us. It was only when we bent double with laughter and exhaustion that we realised that worse lay ahead in the very sanctuary we sought.
My mother invoked just about every Saint in the Litany when she clapped eyes on us. The usual maternal monologue kicked in when mum would ask and answer her own questions like a machine gun spitting bullets.‘Where in the name of God have you two been ?’ ‘You’ve been at that Hunters’ ‘How many times have I told you not to play there ? ‘I’ve told you a hundred times not to play there’‘What exploded ?’ ‘You two must have put aerosols in Hunters fire’ ‘Did you two put canisters in that fire?’ ‘I knew it, you put aerosols in that fire’ ‘You could have died’ ‘Your dad will kill you’ ‘Vadis, your mother will kill you’ ‘What kind of mother will your mother think I am if I send you back to her looking like that ?’ ‘She’ll think I’m a terrible mother’ ‘Who stole your eyebrows ?’ ‘You haven’t an eyebrow between you’ ‘Hunters must be littered with the eyebrows of children’‘You look like two black babies without a holy childhood’. And on and on and on she raved while I made peanut butter pieces and covered the white pan bread with soot and ash. And she started up again but her eyes were laughing with a love that was a hot water bottle round my heart.
As usual mum looked after Vadis’ welfare first, he got dumped in the bath and furnished with a tee shirt and shorts and a bag for his burnt clothes and his selection box of carefully packaged incendiary devices. By the time he got to his house he was in a far better nick than when he’d left it whereas I got The Brunt of The Burnt when my old man got in. At the end of the day, when the ash had settled, only one thing was certain. Aerosol cans had gone to the very top of the Vadis Wishlist and I was the very bhoy to supply them.
On the rare occasions when Vadis was not intent on raising hell we’d catch bees. My trap of choice was a Hartley’s jam jar with a lid with Martin Peters on. This particular jar was the perfect size for my hand but I particularly liked it because the lid didn’t just snap on – you had to twist it around the grooves at the top of the jar which gave the bees the chance of escape and the opportunity to sting me. It was my way of levelling the playing field. Coffee jars were anathema – they were mostly orangey brown glass (which reminded me of the identically-coloured pokes of chocolate buttons you got in Easter Eggs) and you couldn’t see your prisoners very well. Where was the joy in that ? I also pointedly rejected pickle jars – the smell of Branston and onions never left those jars no matter how often you washed them out with bleach or disinfectant. I truly believed the smell of onions would upset or antagonise the bees and I honestly couldn’t put them through that. I considered all bees to be allergic to anything of the onion family, even onion aroma. From my current vantage point I can see that I was projecting my own likes and dislikes on to the bees but I can say proudly and sincerely that no bee of mine was ever incarcerated in an onion-fumed environment.
I loved bees then and I still do although I was very bad and cruel to them back in the day. There were various types – bakers (white bum, yellow or black nose), hymies (the ones that didn’t sting – small, orange bum, yellow nose), red hot pokers (brown and furry with the sorest sting) and queenies ( a rare but wonderful sight and a truly prized capture). We’d entice bees into our jars by putting some ‘food’ therein – I always chose the same flowers, pink and blue lupins. Bees went loopy for lupins,. Their brilliant colours lured the insects throughout the summer, nature’s honeybee honeytraps. I loved the feel of the lupin florets, there’s nothing quite like it in the world. If I was attracted to the flowers no wonder the workers and bakers went ‘ape’ for them. The only problem was the lupins were not wild flowers which meant we’d to invade gardens to stalk our quarry.
I’d normally settle for three or four bees tops in my jar – the more you captured the more likely an escapee when you unlidded to snare yet another. The ultimate disaster was a sting to your jar-holding hand when you would likely drop and smash the container , lose your prisoners, possibly incur further stings from the newly liberated and be left with Martin Peters . Consequently you had to trudge back home for a replacement – this invariably meant I’d to finish off what was left of the jam as a wee bonus. However, as with all things flammable, Vadis preferred quantity over quality. If my bees were humanely treated and more-or-less ‘free range’ Vadis preferred the battery approach. This meant a huge coffee jar, zero ‘food’ for the inmates (as the flowers would use up precious bee accommodation) and a missionary zeal to fill the jar to the brim with bees. Vadis refused to fork his lid so the bees could get air. He might have been Patrick but he steadfastly refused to pierce.Nothing was sacred or off-limits as far as he was concerned. His jar would tussle with mine to snaffle a bee. If his oversized jar was almost full of bees he’d beg me for a ‘transfer’. This was a hazardous transaction where I would endeavour to switch the few bees from my wee jar into The Buzzing Black Hole of Calcutta that was Vadis’ teeming swarm without losing a single bee from either prison. Further he’d freak if any florets fell into his apiary – ‘no food, no food’. When he was satisfied that he couldn’t possibly fit another bee into his jar he’d declare The Moment as being imminent. The Moment was when Mad Vad threw his jar high into the air while we scarpered before it smashed on the ground and the bees were released. It was madness but it seemed the natural thing to do for the propagation of the species. Some of the bees in the hell that was The Vadjar were already dead but I was pleased that the rest were free. The last thing we needed was a bee shortage for the remainder of the season on account of Vadis’ manic monopolising.
We had long convinced ourselves that the yellow-orange pollen baskets on the bees’ legs were in fact honey. Although neither of us was particularly keen on honey we needed experiential evidence that the buttery pouches were in fact honey. We therefore captured one of the pollen bearers and executed it a la Madame Défarge – we carefully removed the lid but covered most of the mouth of the jar. When Mr Honeybags got his head to the rim Martin Peters cut it off. We were therefore spared any guilt, Catholic or otherwise. Peters and Bee - we turned a blind eye, it was nothing to do with us. If only the England legend knew of the atrocities he carried out in the name of medical science. However, as they say in the best thrillers, ‘the beheading was the easy part’. Trying to remove the pollen bags intact from the bee’s legs was an impossibility – we managed to amputate the legs but couldn’t take the amputated leg from the pollen sack, it was harder than removing a hair from a bogey but a similar operation in many ways. There was nothing else for it - we ate the smudges of pollen, bee legs and all. It tasted of nothing. A measly lunch of bee leg pollenaise had proved unedifying. We would have our revenge……
The fact that bees could fly was a problem that beset us for several days.
Vadis had come up with the concept of a Bee Olympics , the highlight of which was an insane pentathlon in which his team of bees (Team B) would compete against mine (Team A) – Vadis wanted Team B because of Bee. In any other insect competition he would most definitely have demanded Team A. The five events were to be sprint, cross-country, diving, swimming and weightlifting. However before the Olympic Torch could be lit (and, believe me, he constructed a traffic-cone based whopper for the Opening Ceremony) we had to ground our teams for these surface events. In a typical piece of out-the-(match) box thinking Vadis decided we should empty a ten-bee-strong jarful into a puddle in order to wet the creatures’ wings and render them flightless. A couple of prescient bees escaped so we were reduced to two teams of four. We pulled the wings off the eight competitors and conducted the pyrotechnically-advanced Opening Ceremony – national anthems et al - whilst the pentathletes dried out in the sun. I recall rarely feeling happier. I was taken by Vadis’ ingenuity and attention to detail. I also knew deep down that Team A had as much chance of winning the Bee Olympics as a flying hornet.
The sprint track was initially the length of a rectangle of baking pavement but the bees were so slow Vadis, in an eerie preview of Souness, changed the dimensions of the sprint arena to the breadth of the pavement and then to the length of a brick. Vadis’ bee won over the shortest distance so I thought my bhoys might be better suited to the more-demanding cross-country event.
Between each sporting segment Vadis was careful to water his team as he didn’t want his lads suffering from too much sun or dehydration. My team was not allowed any refreshment which I found strange as the pool events were imminent anyway.
For the cross-country Vadis arranged an ornate matchstick-based assault course which included a slippy crisp poke and other bits of twig and stuff. Despite his methodical preparatory work, pep talks and vocal encouragement both teams were already showing signs of exhaustion and not a single bee finished the cross-country event. Already Vadis was beginning to dilute his hyper-enthusiasm of thirty minutes earlier. The Olympic Dream was falling apart at the seams as the bees obviously weren’t up to the marathon tasks demanded of them. Vadis quickly designed and constructed the diving arena, setting an upturned brick at the side of the puddle and flicking each bee off the top with his fingertip. He deemed his team to be the best divers and that was fine by me. I had long settled for silver.
We ferried the teams to another puddle for the swimming event but the selected bees only succeeded in giving a foretaste of what would later be described as synchronised drowning. I told Vadis I was disappointed as I’d always wanted to see a bee do the butterfly. He laughed and I was proud of my joke. I was nurturing my growing ability to relate things to other things and words to other words and this would form the basis of my sense of humour and patter from childhood to the present day.
All that remained was the weightlifting. Vadis emburdened my team with big ruckies and his boys with tiny pebbles – my early introduction to handicapped racing. The bumblebees and the bonhomie were dying and the afternoon was too. I felt the day begin to expire as Vadis began to construct a podium for the medal winners from some matchboxes. Team B won the Bee Olympics and, in a two-bee race, my charges had come second. Most of the years that followed would continue the two-bee race format but that was in my other world of football which , in the early Seventies, had only one king bee, CELTIC.
I wore my Celtic top everywhere and this was to become my undoing where bee torture was concerned. A few days after the Bee Olympic Flame had been doused the woman who owned The Lupin Garden finally decided she had had enough of our raids on her precious and beautiful blooms and came out to chasten the pair of us. To her abject horror she caught Vadis and myself ironing a few wingless bees on a washer board. For a spell Mrs Lupin was dumbstruck as she pointed open-mouthed at the rusty old iron and a group of flattened de-winged bees. Such apoplexy was shortlived as she let loose with a volley of moral indignation
- How dare you raid my garden to steal my flowers and torture those lovely creatures of God.
What has God got to do with it ?, I wondered as Vadis gazed way beyond Mrs Lupin and right into the eyes of his next adventure somewhere far from The Lupin Garden. Mrs Lupin was rambling on about All Things Bright And Beautiful and I truly believed I’d never touch her bright and beautiful things ever again. I loved those luscious lupins with a fierce passion and I didn’t know where the next-nearest lupins were likely to be found. Vadis’ forte was more for fire and fauna than fir and flora so I doubted he would know. Mrs Lupin, Madonna of The Bees, then turned her attention to my beloved green-and-white hoops –
- And you a Catholic too, I’m ashamed of you. Have you never heard of Saint Francis of Diseasy ?
- Who ?
- St Francis of Diseasy
- No
- That’s because you probably don’t go to school or chapel. Instead you’re out here thieving and causing harm and suffering to God’s creatures….
I observed at this stage that I was the sole recipient of Mrs Lupin’s ire. Vadis was somewhere in space on an Apollo mission and, as he wasn’t wearing a Celtic strip, she probably thought he wasn’t a Catholic so I was solely het. However my feelings were hurt and I felt duty-bound to retaliate
- I DO go to school and chapel. I’m an altarboy (Ten Hail Marys for pride).
- You’re a what ?.......... You’re a toerag.
- I serve on the altar at St Ignatius chapel. Ask Vadis. (Trying to drag him into the fight like an unwilling tag teammate on the safe side of the ropes)
- I’ll give you St Ignatius chapel……
And she took off again like one of Vadis’ flame-propelled space rockets but I was too busy worrying about what kind of disease Saint Francis was going to inflict on me for torturing God’s precious creatures and stealing Mrs Lupin’s lupins.
I asked my mum about Mrs Lupin’s lupins, bumble bees and St Francis of Diseasy. She pointed out that Mrs Lupin probably grew her special flowers to attract bees into her garden and worried that I was chasing the bees away. St Francis of Diseasy was the Patron Saint of birds and bees and all of Gods creatures. Diseasy was a town in Italy. As usual she managed to soothe all my concerns and answer all my questions. She wasn’t keen on me keeping bees in the house but I was allowed to do so that night. I had them in three separate jars (bakers, hymies and red hot pokers) on the windowsill of the bedroom I shared with my younger brothers and when the sun woke me a few hours later they were still there. But the night seemed to have drained the life out of them. They looked listless and sweaty and mum explained that it would be the same for me if someone made me stay overnight in a glass house far from my own family and friends. ‘But they’ve got friends in the jars with them’ I offered weakly and unconvincingly but mum had made her point with a gentle logic that taught me more than any Teacher or Saint or Ten Commandments could.
My life as a beecatcher was entering a new, more-thoughtful stage and it seemed Vadis was once again more interested in pursuing his apprenticeship as an arsonist. I was struck with the good press bees seemed to have in the grown-up world. They compared more than favourably with the universally despised wasps. Wasps now became the enemy of the bee aficionados and I was as inspired as any convert to The Cause of Bee Welfare. With Vadis in tow we embarked on The Wasp Offensive when we would meld our talents for the greater good. We executed any wasp we came across. The Yellowback Genocide was underway and disaster was inevitable.
Not far from Hunter’s Garage were some derelict houses we called The Oul Hooses, they were situated beside The Shirt Factory and opposite a large building we called The Barracks which was next to Mrs Lupin’s house and garden. I don’t know if soldiers ever resided in The Barracks but I never clapped eyes on one in all my time living in the Main Street flats. All kinds of stories were told about The Barracks mostly following the Hansel & Gretel template. There was rumoured to be some grotesque old man (kids called him Willie Wassle) on the top floor who captured and kept any child who entered his room. In this room was a piano or so the story went. And in truth sometimes when playing near The Barracks I could hear distant soft piano playing or maybe my imagination did. I resolved to find out the truth of the matter. I told my friends in confidence that I had heard the piano. Blankbhoy became Pianobhoy. The existence and possible threat of Willie Wassle took on a secondary importance to me having to vindicate myself. My day would come.
I would rescue household objects from the Oul Hooses and present them to my mother as trophies. The only thing she ever accepted and used was the skiffle platter that had served as an ironing board for wingless bees. With the proximity of The Shirt Factory I gifted my mother around twenty cards of shirt buttons per sunny day. I still don’t know what she did with them.There were scraps of material everywhere and we’d make bunting and stuff out of the colourful cloth. Vadis set aside the rags we deemed as worthless for burning on his ever-present pyre at Hunter’s. He saw himself as providing a public service for free but the synthetics would sometimes spout technicolour flame and smoke or melt in ever-widening brown or black holes. Vadis and I were experiencing psychedelic lightshows daily that Lanarkshire-based Pink Floyd fans could only fantasise over.
No-one bothered us. We’d broken into every derelict house with our wee torches and wandered through the dark damp rooms in search of treasured legacy. Sometimes others had beaten us into the houses and left legacies of their own – evil smelling foul turds obscured by flies, Rubber Johnnies with slime oozing, scampering rats and mice, all manner of spiders and insects but never any bees. Now and again a bird would flap from a hidden perch and scare the bayjesus out of us. I never had much luck with birds (some things never change) and never got the same kicks out of nesting and herrying that others did. I loved the pale blue colour and warmth of the eggs (a blackies in three, a stuckies in four) but, invariably I’d startle the mother and have her fly right into my face. Tippi Hedren had a better record in human-bird relationships than me.
One day Vadis’ younger brother, Bo, decided to indulge in our mischief making. It remains difficult to quantify exactly what he brought to the team but his debut was spectacular. Our inventory of The Oul Hooses was just about complete when Bo noticed a locked door on what must have been a coal cellar. He was convinced there was either a dead person or a German POW or both behind the door. Within seconds Vadis had the cellar door off its hinges to reveal that what lay behind it was a vinyl-covered cot mattress. I still wonder to this day why anyone would put a cot mattress into a coal cellar and lock the door. Perhaps it’s best I don’t know. Vadis and Bo hauled the cot mattress out and fed it into the greedy mouth of our fire. The results were beyond our wildest imaginings. Yellow, blue, pink, green and purple flames erupted from the mattress amid hissing pops and squeals and sizzles and splutters and gurgles. This mattress hated being burnt and seemed to be putting up one hell of a fight. I stood enraptured by the ever-changing kaleidoscope of enflamed fury whilst Vadis and Bo panicked. They rushed into the Oul Hoose to get water to fight the inferno but settled on some ‘ice’ that happened to be around some big old batteries and threw it on the fire. Within minutes they were howling as the acid burnt through their skin. I still don’t know why they thought there would be ice lying around old houses in summertime but they still have the souvenirs to this day. The irony of Volcanic Vad sustaining severe burns from a non-fire source was lost on no-one and it would be a couple of weeks before a Bo-less Vadis was allowed a return to my bit to complete The Wasp Offensive. Bo had popped his burn cherry at the first time of asking, he was scored on his debut. We played with fire and got burned but only we could do it in such an unexpected fashion and Bo was happy to bow out already. The Young Pretender surrendered all claims to the throne of King Vadis of Fireland and rarely visited Hunter’s again.
Whilst waiting for Vadis’ hands, arms and pride to heal I caught bees and followed wasps. Eventually I found their nest.
Vadis marked his long-awaited return to Hunter’s by going completely over the top and surpassing his Personal Best. Having grown tired of exploding aerosols he decided to go one better when he put a fluorescent strip light bulb into the fire. The thunderclapesque explosion was so loud that it brought parents from the flats over to the wasteground on a search for maimed progeny. ‘A rebel hand set the heather blazing and brought the neighbours from far and near’ – Boolavad ! The Pat Riot Game. My sister cites this as her first experience of Vad In Action. We were truly fortunate to escape with minor cuts but I sensed we were taking things too far. There was talk of petrol and Molotov Cocktails. Fun was turning into Danger like the time on the ghost train when I wasn’t quite sure if we were going to get out just before we did. There were fume-filled places I would rather not go and I was getting rows from my parents for my obsession with fire, smoke, detonation and explosion – my clothes were a dead giveaway for my pyropastimes.
It was around this time that I became a Feen Yin. Not that I volunteered or aspired to be one, it was foisted upon me unexpectedly like a bone comb or cough medicine. I’d become accustomed to police (one in particular who I called Understand was never off my case) and neighbours calling me a Bad Yin and Wanfur The Watching and thought that a Feen Yin was simply one step badder than a Bad Yin. A few days later I realised I was only one of a whole range of Feen Yins. There seemed to be hundreds of us and we were all Catholics as well as Feen Yins. I readily decided I didn’t want to be a Feen Yin.
The Samuel Irons Memorial Hall was just around the corner from Hunter’s Garage and, Celtic top and all, I’d watch the orangemen and orangewomen marshall and the bands assemble themselves into ranks. I loved to see the big banners unfurled and studied the paintings thereon :
King William Crosses The Boyne – and there she was on a white horse, sword aloft whilst the white horse seemed to be going in a different direction from the way she was looking. How could King William of Orange be Queen at the same time ? Little did I know I wasn’t that far off the mark.
Victoria: The Secret of Britain’s Greatness – an enormous treble-chinned woman being fed fruit by Black Babies. She was holding a bomb in one hand and an iron bar in the other. I’d rather have fought King William of Orange than Victoria any day.
Most of the kids I played with at the flats were there with me getting more excited by the minute as their heroes in purple began tapping on their drums and testing their flutes. I still see these guys – Simpsons, Shearers, McDougalls and Jardines – and they remain friends to this day.
And then, after an eternity of waiting, we were off. Boom boom boom…… boom boom boom, flute and accordion bands all in step. The guy I admired most was at the front of the Purple Heroes Flute Band – he trebled as a gymnast and juggler and tossed a red, white and blue mace high into the air while he capered and cavorted all over the road. He was called Wee Boabby and what he could do with that baton was nobody’s business. Everyone, especially me, cheered when Wee Boabby hurled his stick high into the sky and Wee Boabby would shake hands with his fans as he waited for his stick to re-enter the Earth’s atmosphere but he never shook my offered hand because I was a Feen Yin. He manipulated that mace like an orangeman possessed; overarm, underarm, overleg, underleg, around his neck, under oaxter, over shoulder then back into orange orbit. Wee Boabby had never been known to ‘drap the stick’ . His fans told me that if Wee Boabby ever did ‘drap the stick’ he would give up the stick altogether such would be his shame. Apart from Wee Jinky I only ever wanted to be Wee Boabby.
My time as an Orange Juvenile lasted approximately fifteen minutes, even shorter than my cub scout career. The parade route took the lodges and bands past the flats where I stayed and I stood out like a green-and-white-hooped thumb among the orange fish fingers. To her horror my mother spotted me from our living room window and raced down the stairs of the building to rescue me. I was in tears :
- Ah waant a scarf wi fringes
- You want what ?
- A scarf wi fringes
- Ah’ll gie ye a scarf wi fringes
- When, mum ?
- Don’t be daft, son. You can’t get a scarf wi fringes. You don’t qualify
- Is it because I’m a Feen Yin ?
- No, it’s because you’re my bestest boy
- Ah waant tae be Wee Boabby
- Who is Wee Boabby ?
But before I had the chance to tell her all about the perpetual-motion circus act that was Wee Boabby the police were battering on our door.
It was my good friend, Understand, Constabulary Confiscator of Matches and Flammable Materials. He had another policeman alongside him and my mother immediately went on the defensive saying I was only a child and too young to know about The Religious Divide. I knew this was something to do with the chapel and sums all at the same time. But Understand, for the first time in weeks, wasn’t interested in me. He said that someone called Persons Unknown was throwing objects at the orange procession from one of our upstairs bedrooms. My mother clambered up the stairs to discover that Persons Unknown was in fact my sister, Shelley, who was gleefully throwing her dolls down three storeys onto the irate loyalists. ‘For Dolly’s Brae and Derry’s Walls She Couldn’t Give A Fig’ Apparently I was lucky I had not been clobbered by Tiny Tears whilst I was giving Wee Boabby Byney cheers. As is their want the orangers were enraged by this affront to their civil liberties and were baying, not for the first or last time, for Feen Yin blood. Understand was delivering a lecture to my mum and using the word Understand at the end of every sentence when news came through that there was further trouble brewing in the flats across the road from ours. The Feen Yin family over there were flouting pictures of Pope Paul The Sixth and Johneff Kennedy from their window and the orangers were going out their heads with fury. Understand and his buddy left mum, Shelley and me with a variety of fleas in our ears, and returned to The Queen’s Highway, Wishaw Edition.
More or less from that day onwards Shelley and I engaged in a lifelong role reversal with me at the forefront of the anti-orange movement and her accumulating a succession of loyalist boyfriends and husbands – The Protestant Succession !. The most outrageous and hilarious piece of anti-orangeism I ever witnessed took place on Wishaw Main Street the same summer as Wee Boabby & The Doll Shower. Some bold bhoy who was working for ‘The Burgh’ parked his bin lorry across the Main Street and tipped the rubbish out just as the parade was turning up the corner of Dryburgh Road. He promptly left the lorry there and walked away – from his job as well no doubt. I never discovered who that legend was but he retains my undying admiration
I decided to teach myself how to be a true Feen Yin by learning the words to some Feen Yin songs. We had some Irish records in the house which we played when my aunt Mary, uncle Tam and my cousins arrived from Craigneuk. My favourite album wasn’t a rebel one but another called Irish Country Style by Tony Walsh & The Little People. What I liked best about Tony was that he could yodel as well as sing. He was to be my Role Yodel for singing Irish Country Style. If I was singing a Beatles song I’d do it Irish Country Style. If we were singing hymns in the chapel I’d do it Irish Country Style. If we were doing Singing Together at St Aidan’s I’d sing like Tony Walsh & at least two of The Little People by self-harmonising. I particularly admired how Tony would yodel at the end of I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen. People thought this was the way I actually sang - they didn’t know I was impersonating Tony Walsh. They wondered why I yodelled softly during the solemnity that was Soul of My Saviour but no-one said anything about Yodelbhoy. At least he was prepared to sing. I’d listen to Tony Walsh & The Little People at least nightly and The Boys From The County Armagh became my signature yodel and a song I sing to this day using my other voice.
The other records featured covers with Irish flags and neckerchiefed peasants holding their arms (limbs not rifles, ….not yet) aloft and got the blood stirring. Irish rebel songs were my self-introduction to Irish History and The Feen Yin Movement of which I now considered myself to be in the vanguard. I would stop-start-stop-start the records and write down the lyrics of the songs or, rather, I would write down what I thought were the lyrics of the songs. I would then learn the songs and deliver them a la Tony Walsh & The Little People. This would result in some hilarity for my parents and relations. One Christmas my uncle Tam asked me to oblige the company with an Irish song. I got into full Tony Walsh mode and started belting out The Irish Soldier Laddie and yodelled the following
“My young brother cannot talk and my friend attends the Scotchy “
They were in tears laughing at me. Something obviously got mistranslated between vinyl and paper. I also loved a single we had by Brendan Shine that had The Merry Ploughboy on one side and Come Down From The Mountain, Katie Daly on the other. I loved the trumpets on The Merry Ploughboy, a precursor of the mariachi beauty that is Love’s Forever Changes. When I sung the line ‘I’ve always hated slavery since the day that I was born’ I thought of Fat Victoria and her fruit-offering Black Babies. I wanted to join the IRA and marry a rebel’s wife and preferably do it all tomorrow morn but mum would make me go to school instead.
I saw a strange title of a song on one of the albums – My Old Fenian Gun. I had no idea what kind of gun a Fenian one was but I intended to find out. It was probably one of the machine guns I saw in my Commando books where I always wanted the Germans to win and they never ever did – Die Britisher. I played the song and the penny drapt – the opposite of Wee Boabby’s stick. The words and story of My Old Fenian Gun were pretty representative of my relationship with my dad where Ireland was concerned. He didn’t discourage me from learning the songs but, at that time, he would not hear talk of the IRA in the house even if his interest in the situation in the North was increasing as the Troubles intensified.
And then I caught lice from Tam Mog.
Tam was a Rangers supporter from the top floor of the flats and hygiene was well down his parents list of priorities. My dealings with him generally revolved around theft and shoplifting. We were regulars at the Pick n Nick counter at Woolworths after we’d bought Broken Biscuits. I called the whole operation – Going to the BBs. The deal was we’d pick a couple broken biscuits which cost next to nothing and put them in big bags. We’d pay for the broken biscuits, wander around to Pick n Nick, fill the bags with sweets and casually walk out with our booty. It was simplicity itself and foolproof. We’d sell some of the loot at highly discounted prices to the other kids for raspberry heid money. The scam eventually went pear-shaped when Tam revealed our Modus Operandi to Aileen, my next-door-neighbour, who was promptly busted on her shoplifting debut. Naturally she blamed Tam and me as she pleaded for clemency from her overbearing mother. Tam was safe on the top floor and I got all the grief for leading the hitherto-saintly girl guide astray. To give him his due Tam felt he owed me for accepting the brunt of the blame and invited me to lunch at the West End café where the Golden Fry is these days. We went through the card and Tam paid with the fiver (an enormous sum of money back then) he had stolen from his mother’s purse.
Whilst looking back I am struck by the lack of adult intervention in our varied plots and ploys. Understand was around now and then but we rarely encountered the Fire Brigade despite the magnetism naked flames held for us. The grown-ups seemed to take all things at face value. For an adult to accept a five-pound note in a cafe from a ten-year-old boy in 1973 seems incredible to me but nothing was ever queried. Mrs Mog went radio rental when Tam returned her ‘change’.
For a couple of days I’d mentioned to my mum about having itchy hair which she dismissed saying hair didn’t itch. When I stressed that my head was incredibly itchy she checked my scalp and the awful truth dawned. It seemed I’d also infected my siblings or they’d infected me. The following days consisted of bone combs, steel combs (much worse), my parents crushing ‘beasts’ and nits between their finger nails and multiple applications of Derbac shampoo and lotions. I accepted the treatment patiently as my head had felt alive for days. Characteristically I took my lousy rehabilitation to ridiculous extremes. Despite the blistering heat and sunshine I wouldn’t leave the house without my anorak on and the hood up. I didn’t want people to know I was lousy by smelling the anti-nit aroma that emanated from Mouldylocks so, in the absence of a balaclava, I did the hood thing. Others would ask me what I was doing dressed thus on a glorious summer’s day. I gave them a hair-and-head related reason that was as good as they come. I told them I was suffering from alopecia, that my hair was falling out in clumps and the chances were I would need a wig but the doctors were hopeful of a complete recovery. In truth a classmate of mine did suffer from the condition so I was well up on the detail. When asked how I had contracted alopecia I said I’d been playing chopsticks on the roundabout at Belhaven Park and whilst looking for the lollipop stick under the whirling roundabout I’d scraped my head on the ground and alopecia had immediately set in. I’d get alopecia at anyone’s door. My subsequent and predictable ‘cure’ was laid at St Anthony’s (patron of lost items including hair) and Lourdes Water which I had poured on my head thrice daily.
Saturday 12 December 2009
Sunday 14 June 2009
Saturday 6 June 2009
Rhino Marks Woodstock 40th Anniversary
See Music Latest for the ultimate Woodstock boxset which is scheduled for release in August.
Friday 5 June 2009
Thursday 4 June 2009
Monday 1 June 2009
Forever Changes Phenomenon
As Gordon Strachan bade his farewell to the Celtic support yesterday I pondered on how quickly things change these days. When I started supporting Celtic as a four-year-old (eighty years into our great club's history) we were only on our fourth manager, I can't be bothered counting how many we've had since Jock Stein but such is the nature of football and life. See Music Latest for a recent review of my favourite album:
Previous Celtic Managers :
Willie Maley, 1897 - 1940
Jimmy McStay, 1940 - 1945
Jimmy McGrory, 1945 - 1965
Jock Stein, 1965 - 1978
Billy McNeill, 1978 - 1983
David Hay, 1983 - 1987
Billy McNeill, 1987 - 1991
Liam Brady, June 1991 - October 1993
Lou Macari, October 1993 - June 1994
Tommy Burns, July 1994 - May 1997
Wim Jansen, July 1997 - May 1998
Jozef Venglos, June 1998 - May 1999
John Barnes, June 1999 - Feb 2000
Martin O'Neill, May 2000 - June 2005
Gordon Strachan, June 2005 - May 2009
Previous Celtic Managers :
Willie Maley, 1897 - 1940
Jimmy McStay, 1940 - 1945
Jimmy McGrory, 1945 - 1965
Jock Stein, 1965 - 1978
Billy McNeill, 1978 - 1983
David Hay, 1983 - 1987
Billy McNeill, 1987 - 1991
Liam Brady, June 1991 - October 1993
Lou Macari, October 1993 - June 1994
Tommy Burns, July 1994 - May 1997
Wim Jansen, July 1997 - May 1998
Jozef Venglos, June 1998 - May 1999
John Barnes, June 1999 - Feb 2000
Martin O'Neill, May 2000 - June 2005
Gordon Strachan, June 2005 - May 2009
Saturday 30 May 2009
Robyn Chided By Would-Be Collaborator
Ever wondered what happened to the oft-mentioned and summarily forgotten collaboration between Robyn Hitchcock and Andy Partridge ? The birdman reveals most if not all in a hard hitting interview. See Music Latest for more.
John Head - Newcastle 02 Academy 29.05.09
Great set from John last night - a wall of sound; guitars, a variety of brass and flutes, drums, double bass. John sings with such angelic feeling and tender emotion. A special night with Carousel a fitting finale.
Saturday 31 January 2009
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 56
WG fancies a beer (shocker!!), decides to phone his good mate NAFOS
WG: Naf, how are things, buddy ?
NAFOS: Fine, fine, Ah'm looking forward tae the gemme the morra, hopefully a few goals and three points.
WG: Fancy the Teser the night ?
NAFOS: Ah thoat ye went tae Craigneuk oan a Friday night.
WG: Ah cin easy bi back in Wishy fur hauf eight
NAFOS: Naw, Ah canny make it the night. Ah've a previous engagement.
WG: Business or pleasure, Naf ?
NAFOS: Tae bi honest, a bit ay baith.
WG: Male or female, Nafster ?
NAFOS: Ye don't half stick yir nose in, dae ye? Female if ye must know n that's is faur is Ah'm gaun, nae mair details WG. Nae whos, nae whens and nae wheres. Butt oot.
WG: Oh we ARE rather touchy today Mr NAFOS. Are you scared Militia Intelligence will pick up on your little rendezvous ? Only kiddin mate. I'm thinking of a little Love Action masel this weekend. Mibbe see ye eftir the gemme.
NAFOS: Aye, mibbe WG. Adios.
WG: Naf, how are things, buddy ?
NAFOS: Fine, fine, Ah'm looking forward tae the gemme the morra, hopefully a few goals and three points.
WG: Fancy the Teser the night ?
NAFOS: Ah thoat ye went tae Craigneuk oan a Friday night.
WG: Ah cin easy bi back in Wishy fur hauf eight
NAFOS: Naw, Ah canny make it the night. Ah've a previous engagement.
WG: Business or pleasure, Naf ?
NAFOS: Tae bi honest, a bit ay baith.
WG: Male or female, Nafster ?
NAFOS: Ye don't half stick yir nose in, dae ye? Female if ye must know n that's is faur is Ah'm gaun, nae mair details WG. Nae whos, nae whens and nae wheres. Butt oot.
WG: Oh we ARE rather touchy today Mr NAFOS. Are you scared Militia Intelligence will pick up on your little rendezvous ? Only kiddin mate. I'm thinking of a little Love Action masel this weekend. Mibbe see ye eftir the gemme.
NAFOS: Aye, mibbe WG. Adios.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 55
GD: Sir Gordon Duffied, Chief Executive, how may I help you ?
FA: Gweetings bwuvva. Tell Wima my name's Fergus not Edward.
GD: Good morning Sir Fergus. Congratulations on a fine performance against Aalborg. Looks as if you've got the group in the bag and the Jungle Jims will be out of Europe before the lights are on in George Square.
FA: Vewy eawy days, Gawdon. I was wondewing if you would care to join me for wunch tomowwow. I'm on a weconnaisance mission at Celtic Park.
GD: I wouldn't eat there even if you were paying.
FA: No, I've booked a table in the Wogano - seafood is the speciawity; pwawns, wangoustines, wobster, scawwops, the wowld is your... er .... oyster.
GD: Sounds good, what time ?
FA: Need to be vewy earwy, say eweven ferty ?
GD: It's a date.
FA: Have you got a sponsor for the Scottish Cup yet ?
GD: I'm currently in talks with Sir Murray David of David International Diamond Drill Yieldings.
FA: Muwway's a vewy good fweind of mine. I will twy and pull a few stwings on your behalf. OK, see you tomowwow, Gawdon.
GD: Bye, Sir Fergus
Duffield thinks to himself 'Thank goodness it's a seafood restaurant as I'm reeking of this macaroon essence and it does have a rather fishy niff to it.'
FA: Gweetings bwuvva. Tell Wima my name's Fergus not Edward.
GD: Good morning Sir Fergus. Congratulations on a fine performance against Aalborg. Looks as if you've got the group in the bag and the Jungle Jims will be out of Europe before the lights are on in George Square.
FA: Vewy eawy days, Gawdon. I was wondewing if you would care to join me for wunch tomowwow. I'm on a weconnaisance mission at Celtic Park.
GD: I wouldn't eat there even if you were paying.
FA: No, I've booked a table in the Wogano - seafood is the speciawity; pwawns, wangoustines, wobster, scawwops, the wowld is your... er .... oyster.
GD: Sounds good, what time ?
FA: Need to be vewy earwy, say eweven ferty ?
GD: It's a date.
FA: Have you got a sponsor for the Scottish Cup yet ?
GD: I'm currently in talks with Sir Murray David of David International Diamond Drill Yieldings.
FA: Muwway's a vewy good fweind of mine. I will twy and pull a few stwings on your behalf. OK, see you tomowwow, Gawdon.
GD: Bye, Sir Fergus
Duffield thinks to himself 'Thank goodness it's a seafood restaurant as I'm reeking of this macaroon essence and it does have a rather fishy niff to it.'
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 54
Diddy, Ducking & Diving
SFA HQ This morning, Wilma bursts into Duffield's office unexpectedly. She discovers her boss with his hair askew and a teaspoon apparently sticking out the side of his head. On his desk is a tub bearing the label: Narrowboat Macaroon Fondant
GD: Wilma, I've told you to knock before entering.
Wilma: I'm sorry Sir Gordon but I've a very important man on the line who would like to have a word with you.
GD: If it's Brown Browing Snr I'm otherwise engaged.
Wilma: No, it's not him, Sir Gordon..... Sir Gordon ?
GD: Yes ?
Wilma: There appears to be a piece of Lodge Novo cutlery .... er .... lodged in your head.
GD: You're havering woman, get back to your desk
Wilma: And an unfortunate aroma. A mixture of coconut and fish, like fish pakora. Have you changed your aftershave ?
GD: Wilma, who is on the blasted phone ? Put him through immediately.
Wilma: It's Sir Edward Alexanderson of Harmony Row. Could you ask him for a couple of tickets for......
GD: Do it, Wilma. NOW.
SFA HQ This morning, Wilma bursts into Duffield's office unexpectedly. She discovers her boss with his hair askew and a teaspoon apparently sticking out the side of his head. On his desk is a tub bearing the label: Narrowboat Macaroon Fondant
GD: Wilma, I've told you to knock before entering.
Wilma: I'm sorry Sir Gordon but I've a very important man on the line who would like to have a word with you.
GD: If it's Brown Browing Snr I'm otherwise engaged.
Wilma: No, it's not him, Sir Gordon..... Sir Gordon ?
GD: Yes ?
Wilma: There appears to be a piece of Lodge Novo cutlery .... er .... lodged in your head.
GD: You're havering woman, get back to your desk
Wilma: And an unfortunate aroma. A mixture of coconut and fish, like fish pakora. Have you changed your aftershave ?
GD: Wilma, who is on the blasted phone ? Put him through immediately.
Wilma: It's Sir Edward Alexanderson of Harmony Row. Could you ask him for a couple of tickets for......
GD: Do it, Wilma. NOW.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 53
Cat: Dirgewoods ? That place sounds a-laugh-a-century
Boyn: Yes, I've been there before for a Tarot reading - the speywife said I'd have three sons and the middle one would become Craigneuk's second Cardinal.
Cat: A tenner well-spent, Boyne. So are you going to meet Mr Nafos ?
Boyn: I don't know. To tell the truth I was sort of carrying a torch for Winst.
Cat: What if Winston shows up in Dirgewoods ?
Boyn: I asked Nafos the very same thing
Cat: And ?
Boyn: He said Winston drinks in the Queen Lud of a Friday and, in any event, has barred himself out of Dirgewoods following an altercation with the bar manager after Arsenal lost a cup-tie to Bolton in 2006.
Cat: So the coast is clear. You've GOT to meet Nafos, Boyne. You've absolutely nothing to lose.
Boyn: I've absolutely Winston to lose.
Cat: Winston Bergkamp Gemmell is nothing but a Celtic-mad, right-wing, Catholic, anarchist, alcoholic thug, Boyne. Are you honestly serious about him ?
Boyn: I think so, Cat
Cat: When did you last hear from him ?
Boyn: Over a week ago when he asked me to go to Kilmarnock but I rebuffed him. Since then, not a word. Perhaps I've hurt his feelings.
Cat: All the more reason to meet the mysterious Mr Nafos.
Boyn: What do you mean, Cat ?
Cat: The green-eyed monster, Boyne. Meet Nafos and you're sure to spark a reaction from Winston. USE NAFOS. Use him just like Stuart used you and me.
Boyn: Sounds like a plan, Cat. I believe we just might be friends again.
Boyn: Yes, I've been there before for a Tarot reading - the speywife said I'd have three sons and the middle one would become Craigneuk's second Cardinal.
Cat: A tenner well-spent, Boyne. So are you going to meet Mr Nafos ?
Boyn: I don't know. To tell the truth I was sort of carrying a torch for Winst.
Cat: What if Winston shows up in Dirgewoods ?
Boyn: I asked Nafos the very same thing
Cat: And ?
Boyn: He said Winston drinks in the Queen Lud of a Friday and, in any event, has barred himself out of Dirgewoods following an altercation with the bar manager after Arsenal lost a cup-tie to Bolton in 2006.
Cat: So the coast is clear. You've GOT to meet Nafos, Boyne. You've absolutely nothing to lose.
Boyn: I've absolutely Winston to lose.
Cat: Winston Bergkamp Gemmell is nothing but a Celtic-mad, right-wing, Catholic, anarchist, alcoholic thug, Boyne. Are you honestly serious about him ?
Boyn: I think so, Cat
Cat: When did you last hear from him ?
Boyn: Over a week ago when he asked me to go to Kilmarnock but I rebuffed him. Since then, not a word. Perhaps I've hurt his feelings.
Cat: All the more reason to meet the mysterious Mr Nafos.
Boyn: What do you mean, Cat ?
Cat: The green-eyed monster, Boyne. Meet Nafos and you're sure to spark a reaction from Winston. USE NAFOS. Use him just like Stuart used you and me.
Boyn: Sounds like a plan, Cat. I believe we just might be friends again.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 52
Girl Talk
Bank's tearoom, lunchtime, October 2, 2008
Boynita: So that cad, Dougal Stuart, ditched you as well ?
Catriona: Yes, he blew the whistle on me. I think he done us up like a pair of kippers,less the..... er.... smell, of course. He set us up against each other, Boyne, and now he gets to play the field again.
Boyn: Not if I can help it, he won't.
Cat: Can we be friends again, Boyne ?
Boyn: I'm not so sure, Catriona. You let me down pretty badly. When did you and that creep Dougal Stuart split up ?
Cat: Oh, just the other night - he graciously phoned to tell me it was all over, said he was off to the continent to officiate at some European match.
Boyn: Probably Hamburg or Amsterdam. Anyway I hope he stays there for good. I received a strange phone call myself last night...
Cat: Pray tell.....
Boyn: Do you know Mr Nafos ?
Cat: Never heard of him. He sounds as if he's either foreign or from Shotts.
Boyn: No, he's local. I believe he puts the 'dim' in Dimsdale.
Cat: You don't half pick them, Boyne !
Boyn: I didn't pick him, Cat. He's supposed to be a pal of Winston Gemmell.
Cat: Oh I know THAT one alright, cause trouble in an empty pub he would.
Boyn: Oh I really like Winst. He has a certain charm, charisma and a cute dimple on his chin.
Cat: Charisma ? Dimples ? Rumour has it that Winston Bergkamp Gemmell is one of the leading lights in the proscribed Wishaw Militia. They make The Green Brigade look like choirboys. Anyway,er..... Mr Nafos....you were saying ?
Boyn: He asked me out
Cat: Asked you out where ?
Boyn: His local, Dirgewoods. Tomorrow night.
Bank's tearoom, lunchtime, October 2, 2008
Boynita: So that cad, Dougal Stuart, ditched you as well ?
Catriona: Yes, he blew the whistle on me. I think he done us up like a pair of kippers,less the..... er.... smell, of course. He set us up against each other, Boyne, and now he gets to play the field again.
Boyn: Not if I can help it, he won't.
Cat: Can we be friends again, Boyne ?
Boyn: I'm not so sure, Catriona. You let me down pretty badly. When did you and that creep Dougal Stuart split up ?
Cat: Oh, just the other night - he graciously phoned to tell me it was all over, said he was off to the continent to officiate at some European match.
Boyn: Probably Hamburg or Amsterdam. Anyway I hope he stays there for good. I received a strange phone call myself last night...
Cat: Pray tell.....
Boyn: Do you know Mr Nafos ?
Cat: Never heard of him. He sounds as if he's either foreign or from Shotts.
Boyn: No, he's local. I believe he puts the 'dim' in Dimsdale.
Cat: You don't half pick them, Boyne !
Boyn: I didn't pick him, Cat. He's supposed to be a pal of Winston Gemmell.
Cat: Oh I know THAT one alright, cause trouble in an empty pub he would.
Boyn: Oh I really like Winst. He has a certain charm, charisma and a cute dimple on his chin.
Cat: Charisma ? Dimples ? Rumour has it that Winston Bergkamp Gemmell is one of the leading lights in the proscribed Wishaw Militia. They make The Green Brigade look like choirboys. Anyway,er..... Mr Nafos....you were saying ?
Boyn: He asked me out
Cat: Asked you out where ?
Boyn: His local, Dirgewoods. Tomorrow night.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 51
GD: Sir Gordon Duffield, Chief Executive, Scottish Football Association.
MD: Sterling work on the Argentina friendly, Duffers. We've come a long way since the Falklands.
GD: Sir Murray, so nice to hear from you. How are you this fine day ?
MD: On a bit of a downer, Gordon. Poor poor result for Celtic last night, bad result for Scottish football. I genuinely hoped they would win.
GD: Er...... me.....too. Anyway here's hoping Motherwell will fly the flag proudly tomorrow night. You have some business you'd like to discuss ?
MD: Evidently. This friendly match against the Argies ?
GD: I prefer the term 'challenge match' Murray.
MD: Likely to draw in multi denarii ?
GD: I'd like to hope so.
MD: Increase your personal profit, Gordon.
GD: In what way Murray ?
MD: DIDDY Corporation has a new project starting shortly in North Lanarkshire at the former....
GD: Ravenscraig site ?
MD: Don't interrupt, Duffers. At the former Darmeid mine in Shotts. Coal, Sir Gordon, black diamonds - the future, Duffers. The future is ours, the future is black.
GD: Count me in, Sir Murray.
MD: I'll confirm matters at Lodge Novo, the next business meeting.Bring the SFA's chequebook. Goodbye, Brother Duffield.
GD: Goodbye, Brother David.
MD: Sterling work on the Argentina friendly, Duffers. We've come a long way since the Falklands.
GD: Sir Murray, so nice to hear from you. How are you this fine day ?
MD: On a bit of a downer, Gordon. Poor poor result for Celtic last night, bad result for Scottish football. I genuinely hoped they would win.
GD: Er...... me.....too. Anyway here's hoping Motherwell will fly the flag proudly tomorrow night. You have some business you'd like to discuss ?
MD: Evidently. This friendly match against the Argies ?
GD: I prefer the term 'challenge match' Murray.
MD: Likely to draw in multi denarii ?
GD: I'd like to hope so.
MD: Increase your personal profit, Gordon.
GD: In what way Murray ?
MD: DIDDY Corporation has a new project starting shortly in North Lanarkshire at the former....
GD: Ravenscraig site ?
MD: Don't interrupt, Duffers. At the former Darmeid mine in Shotts. Coal, Sir Gordon, black diamonds - the future, Duffers. The future is ours, the future is black.
GD: Count me in, Sir Murray.
MD: I'll confirm matters at Lodge Novo, the next business meeting.Bring the SFA's chequebook. Goodbye, Brother Duffield.
GD: Goodbye, Brother David.
The Gate in The Wood - Episode 50
KNIGHTS OF THE REALM
Wilma: Scottish Football Association, Wilma speaking, how much would you bid for an Argentina ticket ?
On the line is metal and precious stone magnate, Sir Murray David. Sir David was involved in a serious accident in 1976 which has left him with a serious and terminal disability - Sir Murray David is no longer capable of telling the truth !!
MD: Good morning Wilma and how are we today ?
Wilma: I'm good. How is business, Sir Murray ?
MD: Call me , Sir David.
Wilma: I will in future, Sir David and thanks for the reminder.
MD: Business is thriving, Wilma. While all around are suffering from the credit crunch David International Diamond Drilling Yieldings continues to thrive.
Wilma: Excellent news, Sir David and please remember diamonds are a girl's.......
MD: Sir Gordon Duffield please
Wilma: Scottish Football Association, Wilma speaking, how much would you bid for an Argentina ticket ?
On the line is metal and precious stone magnate, Sir Murray David. Sir David was involved in a serious accident in 1976 which has left him with a serious and terminal disability - Sir Murray David is no longer capable of telling the truth !!
MD: Good morning Wilma and how are we today ?
Wilma: I'm good. How is business, Sir Murray ?
MD: Call me , Sir David.
Wilma: I will in future, Sir David and thanks for the reminder.
MD: Business is thriving, Wilma. While all around are suffering from the credit crunch David International Diamond Drilling Yieldings continues to thrive.
Wilma: Excellent news, Sir David and please remember diamonds are a girl's.......
MD: Sir Gordon Duffield please
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 49
EXPRESS DELIVERY
SFA Headquarters remain open the Monday of the September Weekend as Duffield has swapped the traditional West of Scotland holiday for the " Northern Ireland " 12th of July jamboree as a tribute to his daughter, Boynita.
Lynxman: Heavyweight package for Sir Gordon Duffield, Chief Executive. Ah require a signature, hen, keep this wey up.
Wilma (scribbles autograph): What in God's name is in here ?
Lynxman: Ah dunno, hen, we don't pack thum, we joost deliver thum.
Lynxman departs
Wilma (on intercom): Sir Gordon, a large package has just been delivered by Lynx. Will you give me a hand to lift it ?
GD: No, ask that lazy fool, Herb Drewbison, to help you in with it
Herb and Wilma take the package into Duffield's office, place it on his desk and wait expectantly to see what it contains. Duffield dismisses the underlings, ushers them to the door which he locks behind them. He excitedly unwraps the packaging and reads the label on the large plastic tub :
NARROWBOAT MACAROON FONDANT :- Essence of potato and sugar. When used sparingly this fondant can be employed as a soothing agent for itchy, irritable, flaky, infested or blistered scalp. Please apply one teaspoonful (5ml) four times daily over affected areas. Our haddock is sourced from recognised, sustainable fisheries.
GD: Haddock ?
Duffield removes both his wig and the tub lid and reaches over for the teaspoon which is in a blue-and-white Lodge Novo mug.
SFA Headquarters remain open the Monday of the September Weekend as Duffield has swapped the traditional West of Scotland holiday for the " Northern Ireland " 12th of July jamboree as a tribute to his daughter, Boynita.
Lynxman: Heavyweight package for Sir Gordon Duffield, Chief Executive. Ah require a signature, hen, keep this wey up.
Wilma (scribbles autograph): What in God's name is in here ?
Lynxman: Ah dunno, hen, we don't pack thum, we joost deliver thum.
Lynxman departs
Wilma (on intercom): Sir Gordon, a large package has just been delivered by Lynx. Will you give me a hand to lift it ?
GD: No, ask that lazy fool, Herb Drewbison, to help you in with it
Herb and Wilma take the package into Duffield's office, place it on his desk and wait expectantly to see what it contains. Duffield dismisses the underlings, ushers them to the door which he locks behind them. He excitedly unwraps the packaging and reads the label on the large plastic tub :
NARROWBOAT MACAROON FONDANT :- Essence of potato and sugar. When used sparingly this fondant can be employed as a soothing agent for itchy, irritable, flaky, infested or blistered scalp. Please apply one teaspoonful (5ml) four times daily over affected areas. Our haddock is sourced from recognised, sustainable fisheries.
GD: Haddock ?
Duffield removes both his wig and the tub lid and reaches over for the teaspoon which is in a blue-and-white Lodge Novo mug.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 48
NAFOS AND SOAL ARE STILL IN THE TESER
SOAL: Spose Ah better head.
NAFOS: Is it no your shout ?
SOAL: Nae sheckels left Naf.
NAFOS: Ur ye waantin anurra pint ?
SOAL: Aye, Ah could go a wee nightcap bit Ah dunno if Ah fancy anurra pint ur a large voddy.
NAFOS: Why don't you have both ?
SOAL: Coz Ah'm oot the gemme, that's why. Waant mi tae draw a picture ?
NAFOS: Naw Ah waant yi tae consider the laws of the market.
SOAL: We're no in The Market, wur in the Teser.
NAFOS: Disny mean we canny barter, Arthur ?
SOAL: Batter who, Naf ?
NAFOS: Trade, Arthur. Conduct a transaction.
SOAL: Whit ?
NAFOS: Well Ah've goat sumthin you waant - money fur drink ....
SOAL: N whit dae Ah huv thit you waant ?
NAFOS: The mobile phone number of the buxom bank babe named Boynita Duffield.
SOAL: You're oan dangerous ground here Naf. WG is very well connected to some heavy muscle is Lodge Novo discovered to thir cost.
NAFOS: Nae deal then ?
SOAL: Deal. A teardrap ay cola, nae ice.
SOAL: Spose Ah better head.
NAFOS: Is it no your shout ?
SOAL: Nae sheckels left Naf.
NAFOS: Ur ye waantin anurra pint ?
SOAL: Aye, Ah could go a wee nightcap bit Ah dunno if Ah fancy anurra pint ur a large voddy.
NAFOS: Why don't you have both ?
SOAL: Coz Ah'm oot the gemme, that's why. Waant mi tae draw a picture ?
NAFOS: Naw Ah waant yi tae consider the laws of the market.
SOAL: We're no in The Market, wur in the Teser.
NAFOS: Disny mean we canny barter, Arthur ?
SOAL: Batter who, Naf ?
NAFOS: Trade, Arthur. Conduct a transaction.
SOAL: Whit ?
NAFOS: Well Ah've goat sumthin you waant - money fur drink ....
SOAL: N whit dae Ah huv thit you waant ?
NAFOS: The mobile phone number of the buxom bank babe named Boynita Duffield.
SOAL: You're oan dangerous ground here Naf. WG is very well connected to some heavy muscle is Lodge Novo discovered to thir cost.
NAFOS: Nae deal then ?
SOAL: Deal. A teardrap ay cola, nae ice.
Friday 30 January 2009
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 47
September Sunday Night
SOAL: Thank God fur the September Weekend, nae work the morra
NAFOS: Been a while since you done a haun's turn, Arthur
SOAL: Ah wunner where the Roman romeo is the night ?
NAFOS: Probably a Militia meeting. Did ye see the maist recent fundraisin merchandise ?
SOAL: Whit wiz it, bog roll ur nail clippers ?
NAFOS: Naw it's a commemorative badge tae celebrate The Storming of Lodge Novo.
SOAL: They wur quick way that. Whit's the badge like ?
NAFOS: Well if ye cin picture the current Hibs crest wi the three features ay the castle fur Embra, the ship fur Leith and the harp for Ireland.
SOAL: Ah cin, Ah cin.
NAFOS: Well the Militia's his the Sellik crest, W and M interposed like a square and compass n...... yir gonnae love this... a peppered steak slice.
SOAL: Nae prizes fur guessin who designed that then.
NAFOS: Above the symbols it says Lodge Novo and below it says 2008
SOAL: That'll pure wind up the monsoons. Where can Ah git wan ?
NAFOS: Babbity Brewsters. Ask fur Pablo ur Dontbratt. A fiver a whip or three fur a score.
SOAL: Thank God fur the September Weekend, nae work the morra
NAFOS: Been a while since you done a haun's turn, Arthur
SOAL: Ah wunner where the Roman romeo is the night ?
NAFOS: Probably a Militia meeting. Did ye see the maist recent fundraisin merchandise ?
SOAL: Whit wiz it, bog roll ur nail clippers ?
NAFOS: Naw it's a commemorative badge tae celebrate The Storming of Lodge Novo.
SOAL: They wur quick way that. Whit's the badge like ?
NAFOS: Well if ye cin picture the current Hibs crest wi the three features ay the castle fur Embra, the ship fur Leith and the harp for Ireland.
SOAL: Ah cin, Ah cin.
NAFOS: Well the Militia's his the Sellik crest, W and M interposed like a square and compass n...... yir gonnae love this... a peppered steak slice.
SOAL: Nae prizes fur guessin who designed that then.
NAFOS: Above the symbols it says Lodge Novo and below it says 2008
SOAL: That'll pure wind up the monsoons. Where can Ah git wan ?
NAFOS: Babbity Brewsters. Ask fur Pablo ur Dontbratt. A fiver a whip or three fur a score.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 47
WG: Look, Brother Alexanderson Ah'm no interestit in yir hoaspitality or yir Holy Trinity Lounge or...
FA: Cafe
WG: Ah thoat yi said it wiz a lounge.
FA: No, my wife, Cafe
WG: Whit aboot hur ?
FA: She's the hostess in the Howy Twinity Wounge.
WG: Big deal
FA: She's a gween gwape as well. I'll tell her to keep your gwasses overfwowing.
WG: Ah'll be declining your invitation, Bwuwa.
FA: Faiwenough but if you decide to use them I will see you at the Theatre of Dweams.
WG: Don't haud yir breath - in fact dae haud yir breath.
WG disconnects the call
FA: Cafe
WG: Ah thoat yi said it wiz a lounge.
FA: No, my wife, Cafe
WG: Whit aboot hur ?
FA: She's the hostess in the Howy Twinity Wounge.
WG: Big deal
FA: She's a gween gwape as well. I'll tell her to keep your gwasses overfwowing.
WG: Ah'll be declining your invitation, Bwuwa.
FA: Faiwenough but if you decide to use them I will see you at the Theatre of Dweams.
WG: Don't haud yir breath - in fact dae haud yir breath.
WG disconnects the call
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 46
WG: Ah don't like the sound ay the word 'entile', Brother. Anyway whit's this Howy Twinity Lounge aw aboot ?
FA: It's a wounge dedicated to thwee of United's gweatest Caffwik pwayers.
WG: Who ur they ?
FA: Paddy Cwewand, Bwian McCwair and Wou Macawi.
WG: Cin ye run the thurd wan by mi again ?
FA: Wou-Wou-skip-ta-ma-Wou.
WG: Oh aye, him. Three traitors if ye ask me. Whut herm did Jimmy Delaney dae yis ?
FA: Cwewand
WG: Ah thoat Paddy Cwewand wiz a third ay the Trinity.
FA: No, Dewaney came from Cwewand, it would just confuse people if we made it a Howy Quadity. We try to be cwystal cwear at Old Twafford, keep on the wight side of jounnawists and pappawazzi.
WG: Evidently
FA: It's a wounge dedicated to thwee of United's gweatest Caffwik pwayers.
WG: Who ur they ?
FA: Paddy Cwewand, Bwian McCwair and Wou Macawi.
WG: Cin ye run the thurd wan by mi again ?
FA: Wou-Wou-skip-ta-ma-Wou.
WG: Oh aye, him. Three traitors if ye ask me. Whut herm did Jimmy Delaney dae yis ?
FA: Cwewand
WG: Ah thoat Paddy Cwewand wiz a third ay the Trinity.
FA: No, Dewaney came from Cwewand, it would just confuse people if we made it a Howy Quadity. We try to be cwystal cwear at Old Twafford, keep on the wight side of jounnawists and pappawazzi.
WG: Evidently
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 45
FA: It is my sowemn obwigation to pursue your ewevation to the Degwee of Entered Appwentice.
WG: Brother Fergus, Ah huv is much inclination tae be a freemason is Ah huv tae be Broxy Bear.
FA: You could awways be our mascot, Fwed The Wed.
WG: Fwed The Wed ? Ah hate Banchester United, Ah hate the Stwetford End n Ah really really hate YOU. Ah'm a Tim n a Gooner. I despise freemasonry, Mancunia and all they represent.
FA: What about the foafcoming match at Old Twafford ?
WG: Ah hope we gub yis six-wan and ye cin tell that cheating wee tramp, Giggs, tae stey oan ays feet this time.
FA: I will wemonstwate wi Wyan, see what I can do. Anyway I have taken the wiberty of posting four executive passes to your home addwess in Wanackshire. They entiles you to fwee hospitawity in the Howy Twinity Wounge.
WG: Brother Fergus, Ah huv is much inclination tae be a freemason is Ah huv tae be Broxy Bear.
FA: You could awways be our mascot, Fwed The Wed.
WG: Fwed The Wed ? Ah hate Banchester United, Ah hate the Stwetford End n Ah really really hate YOU. Ah'm a Tim n a Gooner. I despise freemasonry, Mancunia and all they represent.
FA: What about the foafcoming match at Old Twafford ?
WG: Ah hope we gub yis six-wan and ye cin tell that cheating wee tramp, Giggs, tae stey oan ays feet this time.
FA: I will wemonstwate wi Wyan, see what I can do. Anyway I have taken the wiberty of posting four executive passes to your home addwess in Wanackshire. They entiles you to fwee hospitawity in the Howy Twinity Wounge.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 44
WG's new/Arthur Lee's old mobile sounds wi a tune fae some 80s band naybdy's ever heard ay - our hero makes a mental note to replace it with The Seeds' Pushin Too Hard
FA: Hewo, may I speak to Winston Bwegkamp Gemmell ?
WG: WinninGemmell speaking, who's calling ?
FA: It's Sir Fergus Awexanderson
WG: How in the name ay the wee Jinky did you get my number ?
FA: Catwiona gave me a sewection of phone numbers fwom your bank wecords and those of your fweinds and acquaintances. This one is supposed to bewong to Affa Wee.
WG: Aye, it's Arthur's auld moby - your masonic cronies confiscated mine ye might remember. Huv ye stoapd stickin the heid oan folk yit ?
FA: What are you wefewwing to Winston ?
WG: Boaby Murdoch. 1969. Eftir Big Billy loast yi for the first goal. Ah'll niva forgive ye fur that.
FA: Winston, pwease wet bygones be bygones.
WG: Bygones ? Ye were gonnae stick yir pwick in mi.
FA: It was onwy part of the witual.
WG: Ah'll witual ye. Anyway whit ur ye waantin ?
FA: I just thought I'd phone to wish yis all the best for the match against Viwwaweal.
WG: Who ur ye tryin tae kid ?
FA: I want all the Bwitish cwubs to do well and quawify for the watter stages.
WG: Whit dae yi really want, Brother Alexanderson ?
FA: Hewo, may I speak to Winston Bwegkamp Gemmell ?
WG: WinninGemmell speaking, who's calling ?
FA: It's Sir Fergus Awexanderson
WG: How in the name ay the wee Jinky did you get my number ?
FA: Catwiona gave me a sewection of phone numbers fwom your bank wecords and those of your fweinds and acquaintances. This one is supposed to bewong to Affa Wee.
WG: Aye, it's Arthur's auld moby - your masonic cronies confiscated mine ye might remember. Huv ye stoapd stickin the heid oan folk yit ?
FA: What are you wefewwing to Winston ?
WG: Boaby Murdoch. 1969. Eftir Big Billy loast yi for the first goal. Ah'll niva forgive ye fur that.
FA: Winston, pwease wet bygones be bygones.
WG: Bygones ? Ye were gonnae stick yir pwick in mi.
FA: It was onwy part of the witual.
WG: Ah'll witual ye. Anyway whit ur ye waantin ?
FA: I just thought I'd phone to wish yis all the best for the match against Viwwaweal.
WG: Who ur ye tryin tae kid ?
FA: I want all the Bwitish cwubs to do well and quawify for the watter stages.
WG: Whit dae yi really want, Brother Alexanderson ?
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 43
Duffield phones Browning's Bakery
Brownings: Browning's Bakery, say 'NICE' tae a peppered steak slice. You're through to Bertha, how may I help you ?
GD: Hi Bertha, I'm looking to talk with Brown Browning ?
Bertha: Would that be Brown Browning Snr or Brown Browning Jnr ?
GD: I'm rather not sure. I did not know there were two.
Bertha: Is the Brown you seek male or female ?
GD: How do you know of my interest in such matters ?
Bertha: I don't or, rather, I didn't. Male or female, Mr ...... ?
GD: Er....... Duffield, Gordon Duffield and..... er ... male ... please.
Bertha: One moment whilst I transfer you - bet that's not the first time you've heard that line, Mustscore Duffield !!
Brown Browning Snr: Brown Browning, how may I assist you ?
GD: You can start by sacking that cheeky bitch of a receptionist, Bertha.
BB: How dare you insult my wife, Brother Duffield.
GD: My apologies Brown. I'm stressed out my tree just now with all the Lodge trouble, Boynita being on my case, failing health and a lack of sponsorship.
BB: Failing health ? That's a bit rich, Duffield. You weren't the one held to ransom by some of Lanarkshire most feared freedom-fighters.
GD: Terrorists, Browning.
BB: I was lucky to escape with my life, for pity's sake. I hate to add to your woes but I'm unilaterally cancelling the Lodge catering contract. You can advise Ramsay I'll make good any financial shortfall.
GD: You can't do this to me, Brother Browning.
BB: I can, I will and I just have. Anyway why do you call ?
GD: Oh it's all rather pointless now. I was going to request a favour and ask you to sponsor the Scottish Cup.
BB: You've a right cheek, Duffield. I'd rather sponsor the European Cup replica at Parkheid than help you out. Would there be anything else ? I'm a busy man.
GD: Yes. Is there any truth in the story that your famed recipe for the fondant in the Narrowboat macaroon bar doubles as a soothing agent for itchy and blistering scalps ?
BB: As a matter of fact there is. I'll have a five-litre tub delivered to SFA Headquarters first thing tomorrow morning. Anything else? I really must press on.
GD: Yes, what age is your daughter, Brown Browning Jnr ?
BB: Our future business will be conducted solely on the square, Brother Duffield. Goodbye.
Brownings: Browning's Bakery, say 'NICE' tae a peppered steak slice. You're through to Bertha, how may I help you ?
GD: Hi Bertha, I'm looking to talk with Brown Browning ?
Bertha: Would that be Brown Browning Snr or Brown Browning Jnr ?
GD: I'm rather not sure. I did not know there were two.
Bertha: Is the Brown you seek male or female ?
GD: How do you know of my interest in such matters ?
Bertha: I don't or, rather, I didn't. Male or female, Mr ...... ?
GD: Er....... Duffield, Gordon Duffield and..... er ... male ... please.
Bertha: One moment whilst I transfer you - bet that's not the first time you've heard that line, Mustscore Duffield !!
Brown Browning Snr: Brown Browning, how may I assist you ?
GD: You can start by sacking that cheeky bitch of a receptionist, Bertha.
BB: How dare you insult my wife, Brother Duffield.
GD: My apologies Brown. I'm stressed out my tree just now with all the Lodge trouble, Boynita being on my case, failing health and a lack of sponsorship.
BB: Failing health ? That's a bit rich, Duffield. You weren't the one held to ransom by some of Lanarkshire most feared freedom-fighters.
GD: Terrorists, Browning.
BB: I was lucky to escape with my life, for pity's sake. I hate to add to your woes but I'm unilaterally cancelling the Lodge catering contract. You can advise Ramsay I'll make good any financial shortfall.
GD: You can't do this to me, Brother Browning.
BB: I can, I will and I just have. Anyway why do you call ?
GD: Oh it's all rather pointless now. I was going to request a favour and ask you to sponsor the Scottish Cup.
BB: You've a right cheek, Duffield. I'd rather sponsor the European Cup replica at Parkheid than help you out. Would there be anything else ? I'm a busy man.
GD: Yes. Is there any truth in the story that your famed recipe for the fondant in the Narrowboat macaroon bar doubles as a soothing agent for itchy and blistering scalps ?
BB: As a matter of fact there is. I'll have a five-litre tub delivered to SFA Headquarters first thing tomorrow morning. Anything else? I really must press on.
GD: Yes, what age is your daughter, Brown Browning Jnr ?
BB: Our future business will be conducted solely on the square, Brother Duffield. Goodbye.
The Gate In The Wood - Summary
The whole sorry saga so far in summary form -
Cash-strapped WG is sent with a flea in his ear to his banking adviser, buxom darnelista, Boynita. The bank beauty provides temporary but only financial relief for our hero who sets about plotting the downfall of her relationship with hated local referee, Dougal Stuart. Stuart is cunningly waylaid en route to officiating at Celtic's match at Fir Park and advised by the Wishaw Militia to terminate his links with Boynita. Things seem to be going swimmingly when the similarly-threatened but equally masonic Curry McMichael awards Celtic two penalties at Rugby Park. The day promises to get even better for WG when 'Boynita' unexpectedly calls and says she'll be in The Square & Compass pub post-match. Disaster strikes when Our Bhoy falls into the trap that has been set up not by Boynita but by Stuart's new lover, the bank receptionist and maiden-name-fetishist, Catriona. WG finds himself a compass prick away from the First Degree when he is rescued by the Wishaw Militia who have arrived at Lodge Novo (aka The Square & Compass)in the Trojan Horse form of a Brownings Bakery van. Gemmell is rescued but the repercussions are set to.... er ... roll and roll.
Characters to date:-
WG - WinninGemmell, aka Winston Kenneth Mathieson Dalglish Bergkamp Thomas Burns Gemmell, also referred to by Boynita as Winst, by the masonic community as Winston Bergkamp Gemmell and by the Wishaw Militia (of which he is Commander-in-Chief) as Dick Collins.
Boynita - blouse-busting bank babe from Ayrshire, Boynita's boniest skeleton so far is the fact that she is the daughter of ....
Sir Gordon Duffield - WG's sworn enemy, former-Ranger,Right Worthy Master of Lodge Novo and Chief Executive of the SFA, friend of.....
Dougal Stuart - Lananarkshire-based masonic referee and former lover of Boynita who works beside ....
Catriona - gold-digging multi-faced darnelist witch of loose morals who is currently seeing Dougal Stuart but who is eyeing.....
Ramsay Gordon - celebrity masonic chef and ex-Ranger, friend of....
Curry McMichael - part-time pastor-referee and full time mason, friend of.........
Sir Fergus Alexanderson - word-slaughtering masonic manager of Banchester United, friend of......
Brown Browning - baker to the brethern, Browning was also kidnapped by the Wishaw Militia to facilitate the rescue of WG from Lodge Novo.
Wilma - Duffield's secretary.
The Good Ghuys (so far) :-
NAFOS - aka Naf
SOAL - aka Arthur or Arthur Lee
Ulysses McGhee - aka Uly
The Badger - Monday night drinking partner of The Lhads
Curly - first person to represent the wider CQN community, one of WG's Top Thousand Protestants and a bald fly in Duffield's ointment.
Cash-strapped WG is sent with a flea in his ear to his banking adviser, buxom darnelista, Boynita. The bank beauty provides temporary but only financial relief for our hero who sets about plotting the downfall of her relationship with hated local referee, Dougal Stuart. Stuart is cunningly waylaid en route to officiating at Celtic's match at Fir Park and advised by the Wishaw Militia to terminate his links with Boynita. Things seem to be going swimmingly when the similarly-threatened but equally masonic Curry McMichael awards Celtic two penalties at Rugby Park. The day promises to get even better for WG when 'Boynita' unexpectedly calls and says she'll be in The Square & Compass pub post-match. Disaster strikes when Our Bhoy falls into the trap that has been set up not by Boynita but by Stuart's new lover, the bank receptionist and maiden-name-fetishist, Catriona. WG finds himself a compass prick away from the First Degree when he is rescued by the Wishaw Militia who have arrived at Lodge Novo (aka The Square & Compass)in the Trojan Horse form of a Brownings Bakery van. Gemmell is rescued but the repercussions are set to.... er ... roll and roll.
Characters to date:-
WG - WinninGemmell, aka Winston Kenneth Mathieson Dalglish Bergkamp Thomas Burns Gemmell, also referred to by Boynita as Winst, by the masonic community as Winston Bergkamp Gemmell and by the Wishaw Militia (of which he is Commander-in-Chief) as Dick Collins.
Boynita - blouse-busting bank babe from Ayrshire, Boynita's boniest skeleton so far is the fact that she is the daughter of ....
Sir Gordon Duffield - WG's sworn enemy, former-Ranger,Right Worthy Master of Lodge Novo and Chief Executive of the SFA, friend of.....
Dougal Stuart - Lananarkshire-based masonic referee and former lover of Boynita who works beside ....
Catriona - gold-digging multi-faced darnelist witch of loose morals who is currently seeing Dougal Stuart but who is eyeing.....
Ramsay Gordon - celebrity masonic chef and ex-Ranger, friend of....
Curry McMichael - part-time pastor-referee and full time mason, friend of.........
Sir Fergus Alexanderson - word-slaughtering masonic manager of Banchester United, friend of......
Brown Browning - baker to the brethern, Browning was also kidnapped by the Wishaw Militia to facilitate the rescue of WG from Lodge Novo.
Wilma - Duffield's secretary.
The Good Ghuys (so far) :-
NAFOS - aka Naf
SOAL - aka Arthur or Arthur Lee
Ulysses McGhee - aka Uly
The Badger - Monday night drinking partner of The Lhads
Curly - first person to represent the wider CQN community, one of WG's Top Thousand Protestants and a bald fly in Duffield's ointment.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 42
GD: As a matter of fact I have, Dougal, and she's not a happy .... er ..... bunny. It seems she has a rival for your affection. Be on the level with me here.
DS: You know we needed to get Catriona onside as a means of ensnaring Winston Bergkamp Gemmell. I was merely the conduit !
GD: I'd rather not go there, Brother Stuart. That was one almighty fiasco which has provoked the ire of The Grand Lodge of Scotland. Even Boynita knows what happened. I mean to progress, Dougal. I have made it to the summit of the SFA and I now intend to scale the heights of The Craft. Cut off all ties with Catriona PDQ, Brother Stuart. I'll be in touch. In the meantime - cover your work.
Duffield disconnects the call and slides a pencil under his fringe. His scalp is beginning to blister with the enormous stress he is under, another day, another problem and still no sponsor for the Scottish Cup. His troubled mind then turns to Brother Brown Browning and a possible solution
DS: You know we needed to get Catriona onside as a means of ensnaring Winston Bergkamp Gemmell. I was merely the conduit !
GD: I'd rather not go there, Brother Stuart. That was one almighty fiasco which has provoked the ire of The Grand Lodge of Scotland. Even Boynita knows what happened. I mean to progress, Dougal. I have made it to the summit of the SFA and I now intend to scale the heights of The Craft. Cut off all ties with Catriona PDQ, Brother Stuart. I'll be in touch. In the meantime - cover your work.
Duffield disconnects the call and slides a pencil under his fringe. His scalp is beginning to blister with the enormous stress he is under, another day, another problem and still no sponsor for the Scottish Cup. His troubled mind then turns to Brother Brown Browning and a possible solution
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 41
SFA: Scottish Football Association, Wilma speaking, how much would you spend to watch Argentina ?
DS: May I speak to Bro..... er... Sir Gordon Duffield please, Wilms
W: Certainly sir
GD: Gordon Duffield, Chief Executive, how may I assist you ?
DS: ' morning, Sir Gordon. Are you looking forward to the weekend's fixture at Easter Road ?
GD: I've never had much time for Hibs, Dougal, it's always a trcky place to visit, a notorious venue.
DS: Oh I'm sure we'll get there in the end
GD: I sincerely hope so. Anyway how can I help you Dougal ?
DS: Just a small favour regarding the CIS Cup quarter-final draw..
GD: Home to Hamilton - it could have been less favourable, Dougal.
DS: Yes, but there's always the banana-skin factor. Remember Adrian Sprott ?
GD: Of course I do, how could I forget - a rancid blemish on our unblemished and dignified history.
DS: Well I'd like to offer my services, ensure there are no hiccups on the night.
GD: If you get a quarter you can't get a semi.
DS: Have you been talking to Boynita ?
DS: May I speak to Bro..... er... Sir Gordon Duffield please, Wilms
W: Certainly sir
GD: Gordon Duffield, Chief Executive, how may I assist you ?
DS: ' morning, Sir Gordon. Are you looking forward to the weekend's fixture at Easter Road ?
GD: I've never had much time for Hibs, Dougal, it's always a trcky place to visit, a notorious venue.
DS: Oh I'm sure we'll get there in the end
GD: I sincerely hope so. Anyway how can I help you Dougal ?
DS: Just a small favour regarding the CIS Cup quarter-final draw..
GD: Home to Hamilton - it could have been less favourable, Dougal.
DS: Yes, but there's always the banana-skin factor. Remember Adrian Sprott ?
GD: Of course I do, how could I forget - a rancid blemish on our unblemished and dignified history.
DS: Well I'd like to offer my services, ensure there are no hiccups on the night.
GD: If you get a quarter you can't get a semi.
DS: Have you been talking to Boynita ?
Thursday 29 January 2009
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 40
Boynita (on phone) : Daddy ?
GD: Boyne ! How are you darling ? How are things in That Wishaw ?
B: Daddy, was there any trouble in Lodge Novo on Sunday night ?
GD: Boyne, you know we don't tolerate trouble in The Craft. Why do you ask ?
B: I heard some misfortune had befallen Brown Browning - some sort of Killie kidnappimg involving popguns and peppered steak slices.
GD: Rumours, Boyne. Rumours spread by some gormless Tim on Celtic Quick News. My money would be on yon Curly, has that teuchter never heard of syrup of fig ?
B: Kilwinning, Kilmarnock and Kilmaurs are very small towns, daddy. Word spreads like wildfire.
GD: OK there was a minor incident but the main thing is your boyfriend, Dougal, was unharmed. How are you two coming along ?
B: He ditched me daddy.
GD: Really ?
B: Yes and my intuition tells me he's seeing that weasel-faced Catriona.
GD: Catriona's the salt of the earth, Boyne. A nicer lassie....
B: .....She's a two-faced witch, daddy. I want YOU to scupper her and Dougal Stuart.
GD: But Stuart's a made man, Boyne. My hands are tied on this one.
B: And you're the man in The Chair, dad. Sort them out or we're history, Hiram.
GD: Boyne ! How are you darling ? How are things in That Wishaw ?
B: Daddy, was there any trouble in Lodge Novo on Sunday night ?
GD: Boyne, you know we don't tolerate trouble in The Craft. Why do you ask ?
B: I heard some misfortune had befallen Brown Browning - some sort of Killie kidnappimg involving popguns and peppered steak slices.
GD: Rumours, Boyne. Rumours spread by some gormless Tim on Celtic Quick News. My money would be on yon Curly, has that teuchter never heard of syrup of fig ?
B: Kilwinning, Kilmarnock and Kilmaurs are very small towns, daddy. Word spreads like wildfire.
GD: OK there was a minor incident but the main thing is your boyfriend, Dougal, was unharmed. How are you two coming along ?
B: He ditched me daddy.
GD: Really ?
B: Yes and my intuition tells me he's seeing that weasel-faced Catriona.
GD: Catriona's the salt of the earth, Boyne. A nicer lassie....
B: .....She's a two-faced witch, daddy. I want YOU to scupper her and Dougal Stuart.
GD: But Stuart's a made man, Boyne. My hands are tied on this one.
B: And you're the man in The Chair, dad. Sort them out or we're history, Hiram.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 39
SOAL: Boynita asked me tae gie ye this
WG: Whit is it Arthur ?
SOAL: A note ay hur mobile number, she thinks ye might huv stored it in yir phone thit wiz stolen bi the monsoons.
WG: Ah did bit Ah think Ah'll sling hur a deefy. Nuhin bit trouble since Ah goat in tow wi hur.
NAFOS: Yi canny dae that. Phone the lassie and thank hur fur savin ye fae the depravity ay the First Degree. Least ye cin dae.
The Badger: Aye, ye owe her that much, WG.
WG: Ah'll mibbe phone hur the morra night eftir the Livvy gemme. Embdy goat a spare moby wi a SIM caird ?
SOAL: Funny yi shid ask. Ah'll sell ye this wan fur a daft fiver n a double voddy wi a teardrap ay cola, nae ice.
WG: Whit is it Arthur ?
SOAL: A note ay hur mobile number, she thinks ye might huv stored it in yir phone thit wiz stolen bi the monsoons.
WG: Ah did bit Ah think Ah'll sling hur a deefy. Nuhin bit trouble since Ah goat in tow wi hur.
NAFOS: Yi canny dae that. Phone the lassie and thank hur fur savin ye fae the depravity ay the First Degree. Least ye cin dae.
The Badger: Aye, ye owe her that much, WG.
WG: Ah'll mibbe phone hur the morra night eftir the Livvy gemme. Embdy goat a spare moby wi a SIM caird ?
SOAL: Funny yi shid ask. Ah'll sell ye this wan fur a daft fiver n a double voddy wi a teardrap ay cola, nae ice.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 38
WG: Typical ay you, Arthur, bit Ah like yir style, amigo
SOAL: N the rest ye know aboot. Wi goat yi oot that heathen hole, returned tae Rugby Park, switched the vans n headit back tae ML2. Missio accompli.
NAFOS: Brilliant, Arthur Lee. A masterstroke.
SOAL: Aye, AH think Ah diserv a wee drink. It's your shout, NAFOS.
SOAL: N the rest ye know aboot. Wi goat yi oot that heathen hole, returned tae Rugby Park, switched the vans n headit back tae ML2. Missio accompli.
NAFOS: Brilliant, Arthur Lee. A masterstroke.
SOAL: Aye, AH think Ah diserv a wee drink. It's your shout, NAFOS.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 37
SOAL: So Ah gethirt the Bhoys the gither n headit doon the A71
WG: N how did ye nobble Brother Browning ?
SOAL: Wi caught him comin oot ay Rugby Park wi the leftowers fae the gemme. Wi commandeered his vehicle n asked him whit his plans wir fur the night......... n......Bingo !!!
The Badger: Yi made him an oaffir hi cudny refuse ?
SOAL: Naw, he made ME an oaffir Ah cudny refuse.
NAFOS: Whit ?
SOAL: He said 'If yi spare ma life Ah'll git yi access tae Lodge Novo where yir pal is'.
NAFOS: N whit did ye reply ?
SOAL: 'If yi throw in a cupla peppered steak slices it's a deal'
WG: N how did ye nobble Brother Browning ?
SOAL: Wi caught him comin oot ay Rugby Park wi the leftowers fae the gemme. Wi commandeered his vehicle n asked him whit his plans wir fur the night......... n......Bingo !!!
The Badger: Yi made him an oaffir hi cudny refuse ?
SOAL: Naw, he made ME an oaffir Ah cudny refuse.
NAFOS: Whit ?
SOAL: He said 'If yi spare ma life Ah'll git yi access tae Lodge Novo where yir pal is'.
NAFOS: N whit did ye reply ?
SOAL: 'If yi throw in a cupla peppered steak slices it's a deal'
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 36
SOAL: Yi'v the large-breasted Boynita tae thank fur that.
WG: How come ?
SOAL: Shi tried tae phone ye last night n yir moby wiz switched aff. Shi panicked n goat in touch wi me.
WG: How did shi git your number ?
SOAL: Shi knows ma maw's maiden name. Shi went tae the bank, accessed ma details n goat ma number that wey.
NAFOS: Is that legal ?
SOAL: That's neither here nur there, Naf.
WG: Then whut happened ?
SOAL: She phoned mi n Ah said ' You're meant tae bi WG in The Square & Compass' - that's when shi goat fraught.
The Badger: She knows the pub-dash-lodge ?
SOAL: Evidently. Remember shi comes fae doon that wey.
WG: So whit did Boynita say ?
SOAL: Thit yi wur in danger - 'A bam tae the slaughter' wiz the phrase shi used Ah think.
WG: Whit ?
SOAL: Aye, she suspects yon Catriona ay foul play.
WG: That yin's a wee darnelist bitch. Ah'll Sudocrem hur aw right. Hur n that scumbag Stuart.
WG: How come ?
SOAL: Shi tried tae phone ye last night n yir moby wiz switched aff. Shi panicked n goat in touch wi me.
WG: How did shi git your number ?
SOAL: Shi knows ma maw's maiden name. Shi went tae the bank, accessed ma details n goat ma number that wey.
NAFOS: Is that legal ?
SOAL: That's neither here nur there, Naf.
WG: Then whut happened ?
SOAL: She phoned mi n Ah said ' You're meant tae bi WG in The Square & Compass' - that's when shi goat fraught.
The Badger: She knows the pub-dash-lodge ?
SOAL: Evidently. Remember shi comes fae doon that wey.
WG: So whit did Boynita say ?
SOAL: Thit yi wur in danger - 'A bam tae the slaughter' wiz the phrase shi used Ah think.
WG: Whit ?
SOAL: Aye, she suspects yon Catriona ay foul play.
WG: That yin's a wee darnelist bitch. Ah'll Sudocrem hur aw right. Hur n that scumbag Stuart.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 35
NAFOS: Cin Ah touch upon a sensitive issue here, WG ?
WG: Fire away amigo
NAFOS: Did the militia git tae yi in time ?
WG: Course they did. Ah'm here int Ah ?
NAFOS: That's no whut Ah mean. Did they git tae yi afore they stuck the pwick intae ye ?
WG: It's a compass, Naf - the jaggy end ay a compass. They pierce yir breast wi it.
SOAL: If they'd stabbed yi wid ye chinge yir Militia name fae Commander Collins tae Padraig Pierce ?
WG: Shhhhh, Arthur, loose talk costs lives. Enywey it didnae git tae that stage or yi'd bi drinkin wi a First Degree mason. Noo, Ah've goat a question fur you guys. How in God's name did yis find mi ?
WG: Fire away amigo
NAFOS: Did the militia git tae yi in time ?
WG: Course they did. Ah'm here int Ah ?
NAFOS: That's no whut Ah mean. Did they git tae yi afore they stuck the pwick intae ye ?
WG: It's a compass, Naf - the jaggy end ay a compass. They pierce yir breast wi it.
SOAL: If they'd stabbed yi wid ye chinge yir Militia name fae Commander Collins tae Padraig Pierce ?
WG: Shhhhh, Arthur, loose talk costs lives. Enywey it didnae git tae that stage or yi'd bi drinkin wi a First Degree mason. Noo, Ah've goat a question fur you guys. How in God's name did yis find mi ?
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 34
Teser Monday Club, 8pm
NAFOS: So tell is aboot the inner workings of The Craft, WG
WG: They're a bunch ay freaks, Naf. It wiz dead dark so Ah wisnae able to make maist ay thum oot but some declared thirsel n Ah recognised another wan's voice.
SOAL: Who declared thirsel ?
WG: Well, worryingly, the wan who wiz assigned tae me wiz none other than Sir Fergus Alexanderson, cuwwent manager of Banchester United.
NAFOS: That pwick ? Well his voice is definitely distinctive.
The Badger: Bit whit wiz he daein in Kilmarnock ?
WG: Probly spyin oan is afore the Champions League gemme.
SOAL: He wiz talkin up wee McGeady an aw, mibbe he plans tae sign the Glasgow-born Irishman during the Janyiry transfer windae.
NAFOS: Who else wiz there ?
WG: Dougal Stuart n Curry McMichael.
The Badger: Nae surprises there then.
WG: Well McMichael wiz reffin the gemme n Ah think Stuart's goat friends in that neck ay the widz.
SOAL: So two celebrity refs
WG: Aye n wan celebrity chef
The Badger: Who wiz that then ?
WG: That tossah Ramsay Gordon thit used to play fur the darnel.
NAFOS: Embdy else wi know, WG ?
WG: Aye, the Right Worthy Master wi the bools in his mooth. Ah'm sure that voice bilangs tae wan Sir Gordon Duffield.
The Badger: Ivry chance, he played fur Kilmarnock is well is the darnel.
NAFOS: So tell is aboot the inner workings of The Craft, WG
WG: They're a bunch ay freaks, Naf. It wiz dead dark so Ah wisnae able to make maist ay thum oot but some declared thirsel n Ah recognised another wan's voice.
SOAL: Who declared thirsel ?
WG: Well, worryingly, the wan who wiz assigned tae me wiz none other than Sir Fergus Alexanderson, cuwwent manager of Banchester United.
NAFOS: That pwick ? Well his voice is definitely distinctive.
The Badger: Bit whit wiz he daein in Kilmarnock ?
WG: Probly spyin oan is afore the Champions League gemme.
SOAL: He wiz talkin up wee McGeady an aw, mibbe he plans tae sign the Glasgow-born Irishman during the Janyiry transfer windae.
NAFOS: Who else wiz there ?
WG: Dougal Stuart n Curry McMichael.
The Badger: Nae surprises there then.
WG: Well McMichael wiz reffin the gemme n Ah think Stuart's goat friends in that neck ay the widz.
SOAL: So two celebrity refs
WG: Aye n wan celebrity chef
The Badger: Who wiz that then ?
WG: That tossah Ramsay Gordon thit used to play fur the darnel.
NAFOS: Embdy else wi know, WG ?
WG: Aye, the Right Worthy Master wi the bools in his mooth. Ah'm sure that voice bilangs tae wan Sir Gordon Duffield.
The Badger: Ivry chance, he played fur Kilmarnock is well is the darnel.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 33
Tyler: Excellent, Brother Browning. Reserve me a peppered steak slice, they look wonderful. And so to the passwords.... Will you half or will I half ?
B: I will half throughout.
Tyler : Then proceed.
B: Gregor
Tyler: Stevens. Proceed.
B: Boaby
Tyler: Waatsin. Proceed.
B: Pamela
Tyler: Ewing. You may enter the Temple slipshod, Brother Browning.
Browning unlaces a shoe as the lodge door swings ajar. At the same moment the bakery van doors open and the armed Elite Squadroni of The Wishaw Militia pile out and race into the lodge. Bridies and peppered steak slices fly through the air. Alert to the danger the masons escape through a secret aperture in the southwest wall leaving WBG alone on the square dressed as befits an Entered Apprentice in-the-making.
SOAL: You look like a 1980s MP for Sussex Downs, Commander Collins.
WG: Don't just stand there, Arthur, unbind and unblind me for the love of God.
Arthur unshackles his friend and removes the hoodwink and noose. WG rolls down the leg of his white pyjamas and buttons up his cotton shirt.
WG: Where ur aw ma clays n stuff ?
SOAL: The monsoons must hav taken them aw away wi thum.
WG: The swines huv goat ma moby an aw.
SOAL: Aye, lucky fur you they did.
WG: In whit wey ?
SOAL: Ah'll tell ye the morra in the Teser. Lits git oot ay this cesspit ay a place.
WG: OK lads, back tae the van. Oan the double. A good joab well done. Help yirsel tae some macaroon bars. N lit Baker Browning go. He's goat enough oan his plate, him bein a ...... er..... currant bun.
B: I will half throughout.
Tyler : Then proceed.
B: Gregor
Tyler: Stevens. Proceed.
B: Boaby
Tyler: Waatsin. Proceed.
B: Pamela
Tyler: Ewing. You may enter the Temple slipshod, Brother Browning.
Browning unlaces a shoe as the lodge door swings ajar. At the same moment the bakery van doors open and the armed Elite Squadroni of The Wishaw Militia pile out and race into the lodge. Bridies and peppered steak slices fly through the air. Alert to the danger the masons escape through a secret aperture in the southwest wall leaving WBG alone on the square dressed as befits an Entered Apprentice in-the-making.
SOAL: You look like a 1980s MP for Sussex Downs, Commander Collins.
WG: Don't just stand there, Arthur, unbind and unblind me for the love of God.
Arthur unshackles his friend and removes the hoodwink and noose. WG rolls down the leg of his white pyjamas and buttons up his cotton shirt.
WG: Where ur aw ma clays n stuff ?
SOAL: The monsoons must hav taken them aw away wi thum.
WG: The swines huv goat ma moby an aw.
SOAL: Aye, lucky fur you they did.
WG: In whit wey ?
SOAL: Ah'll tell ye the morra in the Teser. Lits git oot ay this cesspit ay a place.
WG: OK lads, back tae the van. Oan the double. A good joab well done. Help yirsel tae some macaroon bars. N lit Baker Browning go. He's goat enough oan his plate, him bein a ...... er..... currant bun.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 32
Tyler (on intercom): Who approacheth The Temple from The Wilderness ?
Browning: It is I, Brown Browning, Master Baker to the Brethern and of good standing in Lodge Tunnock, Uddingston 543.
Tyler: Your purpose, Brother Browning ?
B: To deliver ample quantities of baked products for consumption by the fraternal brotherly brethern at the Harmony held to celebrate the elevation of Winston Bergkamp Gemmell to the First Degree.
Tiler: Be indicative of the nature of such products
B: In no particular order I have shoartbreid in the form of Rabbie Burns' heid, bridies, Killie pies, oor famed Narrowboat macaroon baurs and the ubiquitous peppered steak slices.
Tiler: Can you confirm that none of this produce has been remaindered from this afternoon's unfortunate proceedings at Rugby Park and, further, that none of these sweetmeats have been touched by a green-and-white hand.
B: Mair thin ma joab's worth, Brother Tyler
Browning: It is I, Brown Browning, Master Baker to the Brethern and of good standing in Lodge Tunnock, Uddingston 543.
Tyler: Your purpose, Brother Browning ?
B: To deliver ample quantities of baked products for consumption by the fraternal brotherly brethern at the Harmony held to celebrate the elevation of Winston Bergkamp Gemmell to the First Degree.
Tiler: Be indicative of the nature of such products
B: In no particular order I have shoartbreid in the form of Rabbie Burns' heid, bridies, Killie pies, oor famed Narrowboat macaroon baurs and the ubiquitous peppered steak slices.
Tiler: Can you confirm that none of this produce has been remaindered from this afternoon's unfortunate proceedings at Rugby Park and, further, that none of these sweetmeats have been touched by a green-and-white hand.
B: Mair thin ma joab's worth, Brother Tyler
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 31
RWM: Brother Gordon, were you anticipating the arrival of refreshments ?
RG: Not till later. I have ordered Killie pies, Peppered Steak Slices and Macaroon Bars from Brother Brownings bakery. He has evidently arrived early with the purvey for the Harmony which will follow Winston Bergkamp Gemmell's elevation to Entered Apprentice.
RWM: The Lodge is adjourned for fifteen minutes. Tyler, lights please and allow Browning entry with the buffet.
RG: Not till later. I have ordered Killie pies, Peppered Steak Slices and Macaroon Bars from Brother Brownings bakery. He has evidently arrived early with the purvey for the Harmony which will follow Winston Bergkamp Gemmell's elevation to Entered Apprentice.
RWM: The Lodge is adjourned for fifteen minutes. Tyler, lights please and allow Browning entry with the buffet.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 30
FA: ...... this I most sowemnwy and sincewewy pwomise and swear, with a fiwm and steadfast wesowution to keep and perform the same.... binding myself under no wess penawty than that of having my thwoat cut acwoss, my tongue torn out by its woots and my body buwied in the wough sands of the sea......
There is sudden loud knocking at the door
Tyler: I am alerted to cowans in the exterior.
RWM: Tyler, approach the spyglass and tell of said intruders.
Tyler: It is merely a delivery man from Browning Bakers with his van parked behind him. I see the the blue signage on the white paint.
RWM: What signage be that, Tyler ?
Tyler: " Say Aye Tae A Killie Pie "
RWM: Is the Lodge Catering Steward on The Square?
Steward: I am present
RWM: Identify yourself for all here.
Steward: It is I, Ramsay Gordon of good standing in Lodge Edmiston 102.5
There is sudden loud knocking at the door
Tyler: I am alerted to cowans in the exterior.
RWM: Tyler, approach the spyglass and tell of said intruders.
Tyler: It is merely a delivery man from Browning Bakers with his van parked behind him. I see the the blue signage on the white paint.
RWM: What signage be that, Tyler ?
Tyler: " Say Aye Tae A Killie Pie "
RWM: Is the Lodge Catering Steward on The Square?
Steward: I am present
RWM: Identify yourself for all here.
Steward: It is I, Ramsay Gordon of good standing in Lodge Edmiston 102.5
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 29
RWM: My thanks to you Brother Alexanderson. You will now take the place of Mr Gemmell for the remainder of the ritual. On conclusion of the ritual Winston Bergkamp Gemmell will be deemed to have attained the status of Entered Apprentice with you acting as proxy. Therefore it is to you, Brother Alexanderson, that Mr Gemmell will turn for further instruction in The Craft. Are we clear on this point ?
FA: You have dispwayed compwete cwawity, Wothy Pwotector of Widows and Ophans.
RWM: Excellent we will now proceed. Brother Jeweller, please produce the jaggy instrument.
Jeweller: I have it here, Worthy Master.
RWM: Brother Alexanderson, what do you see before you in the dwindling light of The Temple ?
FA: A pwick.
RWM: I DO beg your pardon, BROTHER Alexanderson.
FA: A compass to pwick the bweast of Winston Bwegkamp Gemmell.
RWM: All in good time. First of all the passwords. Will you begin or I begin ?
FA: I will begin if I may half.
RWM: You may half
FA: Twoball
RWM: Cain. Proceed.
FA: Will I half or you half first ?
RWM: I will half first. Deedle.
FA: Doddle.
RWM: Proceed. Will you half or will I half first?
FA: You will half first.
RWM: Girvan
FA: Wighthoose.
RWM: Good grief. Proceed to the Entered Apprentice oath so Mr Gemmell is left in no doubt as to the secret sacredness of our sacred secret secrets.
FA: You have dispwayed compwete cwawity, Wothy Pwotector of Widows and Ophans.
RWM: Excellent we will now proceed. Brother Jeweller, please produce the jaggy instrument.
Jeweller: I have it here, Worthy Master.
RWM: Brother Alexanderson, what do you see before you in the dwindling light of The Temple ?
FA: A pwick.
RWM: I DO beg your pardon, BROTHER Alexanderson.
FA: A compass to pwick the bweast of Winston Bwegkamp Gemmell.
RWM: All in good time. First of all the passwords. Will you begin or I begin ?
FA: I will begin if I may half.
RWM: You may half
FA: Twoball
RWM: Cain. Proceed.
FA: Will I half or you half first ?
RWM: I will half first. Deedle.
FA: Doddle.
RWM: Proceed. Will you half or will I half first?
FA: You will half first.
RWM: Girvan
FA: Wighthoose.
RWM: Good grief. Proceed to the Entered Apprentice oath so Mr Gemmell is left in no doubt as to the secret sacredness of our sacred secret secrets.
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 28
Lured by the prospect of some quality love time with blouse-bursting bank beauty, Boynita, WG finds himself entrapped and facing the First Degree in Lodge Novo, Kilmarnock.
RWM: Divest the candidate of all secular clothing - yes, even the Arsenal boxer shorts with the unsightly stain on the rear.
DS: Task completed, Your Supreme Raider of Tabernacles.
RWM: Divest the candidate of all metal including his Claddagh ring, Celtic crest pendant, cannon earring and that nipple thingy.
CMcM: Task completed, Your Ultimate Geometric Wizard of Translucent Carrots.
RWM: Hoodwink the candidate.
DS: The candidate has been thrust into darkness, Your Most Worthy Collector of Speckled Pebbles.
RWM: Bind the candidate. Make his stay short.
CMcM: The candidate has been bound with the fraternal ties of The Craft. He is neither barefoot nor slipshod, his breast is bared, his noose is fixed.
RWM: Lead the candidate to the Northeast corner of The temple.
WG: Is that where The Green Brigade sit ?
RWM: The candidate will maintain silence until questioned and will pay due respect to the dignified rite of initiation.
Tyler: The candidate is at Point North East of The Temple and awaits interrogation.
RWM: Winston Bergkamp Gemmell, do you come here of your own free will and as a free man ?
WG: Of course Ah don't and yis better no huv chinged the tune on ma mobile phone.
RWM: I'll take that as a 'Yes'. Secondly, Winston Bergkamp Gemmell, what do you seek ?
WG: Four-In-A-Row as a minimum
RWM: No Mr Gemmell, you seek LIGHT. Your persistent failure to comply with this august rite of initiation to the First Degree of Entered Apprentice leaves me with no option but to employ a proxy. As befits an orderly and presently formed Lodge I now seek a proxy for Mr Gemmell. Said Brother may not be Gemmell's proposer or seconder. Who will come to the aid of this blind and bound cowan-in-distress ?
Voice: I will, worshipful Master.
RWM: Identify yourself, Brother.
Voice: It is I, Bwother Fergus Alexanderson, being of good standing in Wodge Twafford, Wancashire 1968. I wiwwingwy vowunteer to be the pwoxy.
WG: Good God in Govan !
RWM: Divest the candidate of all secular clothing - yes, even the Arsenal boxer shorts with the unsightly stain on the rear.
DS: Task completed, Your Supreme Raider of Tabernacles.
RWM: Divest the candidate of all metal including his Claddagh ring, Celtic crest pendant, cannon earring and that nipple thingy.
CMcM: Task completed, Your Ultimate Geometric Wizard of Translucent Carrots.
RWM: Hoodwink the candidate.
DS: The candidate has been thrust into darkness, Your Most Worthy Collector of Speckled Pebbles.
RWM: Bind the candidate. Make his stay short.
CMcM: The candidate has been bound with the fraternal ties of The Craft. He is neither barefoot nor slipshod, his breast is bared, his noose is fixed.
RWM: Lead the candidate to the Northeast corner of The temple.
WG: Is that where The Green Brigade sit ?
RWM: The candidate will maintain silence until questioned and will pay due respect to the dignified rite of initiation.
Tyler: The candidate is at Point North East of The Temple and awaits interrogation.
RWM: Winston Bergkamp Gemmell, do you come here of your own free will and as a free man ?
WG: Of course Ah don't and yis better no huv chinged the tune on ma mobile phone.
RWM: I'll take that as a 'Yes'. Secondly, Winston Bergkamp Gemmell, what do you seek ?
WG: Four-In-A-Row as a minimum
RWM: No Mr Gemmell, you seek LIGHT. Your persistent failure to comply with this august rite of initiation to the First Degree of Entered Apprentice leaves me with no option but to employ a proxy. As befits an orderly and presently formed Lodge I now seek a proxy for Mr Gemmell. Said Brother may not be Gemmell's proposer or seconder. Who will come to the aid of this blind and bound cowan-in-distress ?
Voice: I will, worshipful Master.
RWM: Identify yourself, Brother.
Voice: It is I, Bwother Fergus Alexanderson, being of good standing in Wodge Twafford, Wancashire 1968. I wiwwingwy vowunteer to be the pwoxy.
WG: Good God in Govan !
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 27
Following a successful trip to Rugby Park where his gentle intimidation forced Curry McMichael to award Celtic two penalties WG has arranged to meet buxom bank beauty, Boynita at a Kilmarnock nightspot
Ootside The Square & Compass , Kilmarnock, Sunday Night
Bouncer: Lounge only.
WG: Ah'm here tae meet a friend ay mine, Boynita - blonde, big .... er ..... hit fur hersel
Bouncer: Aye, she's in the lounge. Private party in the bar. Invited guests only. On yir way. N cover that tap up or Ah'll stick wan oan ye.
WG enters The Hiram Lounge and the door is quickly slammed shut behind him. The room is plunged into darkness except for a lone spotlight which temporarily blinds our hero.
Right Worthy Master : Tyler, secure the entrance. Lodge Novo will commence shortly.
Tyler : Your Worshipful Keeper of The Templar's Foreskin, I detect a cowan of female gender.
RWM: Arise and exit, Sister Catriona of The Loyal Eastern Star, Darvel. You have provided sterling service to the craft and will be rewarded in due course. Expect a thoroughly unmerited work promotion before the birthday of Oor National Bard.
The Tyler ushers Catriona towards the exit
WG: Catriona, ye duped me into believin ye wur Boynita. How could ye ? Did Ah git ma maw's maiden name wrang again ?
Cat (over her shoulder): A small favour for my lover, Brother Stuart, Winston, and a slap in the face for that dirty turncoat witch, Boynita. Enjoy your initiation. Here's a tub of Sudocrem for the thereafters, you'll need it.
She exits
RWM : The lodge is duly formed, is on the square and ready to proceed. Which Brother presents the candidate ?
DS: Me, your Worshipful Guardian of The Gilded Grape. I, Brother Dougal Stuart, being of good standing within Lodge St Clair, Cumnethan, hereby present Winston Kenneth Mathieson Dalglish Bergkamp Burns Gemmell as a candidate for Entered Apprentice of the present and correctly formed and operative Lodge Novo, Kilmarnock 0961.
WG: Ahm Ah no suppostay volunteer fur this ?
RWM: The Candidate will kindly remain silent. Do we have a seconder for this poor mason who seeks light from his darkness ?
CMcM: Me, Sir Knight Commander of The Order of Penitent Antelopes. I, Brother Curry McMichael, being of good standing within Lodge Gascoigne, Gateshead 1873, second Brother Stuart's nomination of Mr Winston Bergkamp Gemmell.
RWM: Can we confirm that Winston Bergkamp Gemmell has not been blackballed in the recently convened Ballot at Lodge Burley, Kilmaurs ?
DS: Winston Bergkamp Gemmell passed muster and his candidacy is confirmed. However he barely scraped through The Seventeenth Scrutiny.
RWM: Expand for the lodge, Brother Stuart.
DS: Winston Bergkamp Gemmell has been discretely challenged with regard to The Seventeenth Scrutiny and been found wanting. The scrutiny in question relates to forbidden carnal relationships with Brother Masons' wives, fiancees, daughters, mothers, grandmothers, widows, girlfriends, lovers, bidey-ins and livestock.
RWM: Mere details, Brother Stuart.We are on the level and in a postion four-square-to-the-perpendicular to proceed. Prepare The Candidate for The First Degree and divest him of that hideous Celtic top immediately
Ootside The Square & Compass , Kilmarnock, Sunday Night
Bouncer: Lounge only.
WG: Ah'm here tae meet a friend ay mine, Boynita - blonde, big .... er ..... hit fur hersel
Bouncer: Aye, she's in the lounge. Private party in the bar. Invited guests only. On yir way. N cover that tap up or Ah'll stick wan oan ye.
WG enters The Hiram Lounge and the door is quickly slammed shut behind him. The room is plunged into darkness except for a lone spotlight which temporarily blinds our hero.
Right Worthy Master : Tyler, secure the entrance. Lodge Novo will commence shortly.
Tyler : Your Worshipful Keeper of The Templar's Foreskin, I detect a cowan of female gender.
RWM: Arise and exit, Sister Catriona of The Loyal Eastern Star, Darvel. You have provided sterling service to the craft and will be rewarded in due course. Expect a thoroughly unmerited work promotion before the birthday of Oor National Bard.
The Tyler ushers Catriona towards the exit
WG: Catriona, ye duped me into believin ye wur Boynita. How could ye ? Did Ah git ma maw's maiden name wrang again ?
Cat (over her shoulder): A small favour for my lover, Brother Stuart, Winston, and a slap in the face for that dirty turncoat witch, Boynita. Enjoy your initiation. Here's a tub of Sudocrem for the thereafters, you'll need it.
She exits
RWM : The lodge is duly formed, is on the square and ready to proceed. Which Brother presents the candidate ?
DS: Me, your Worshipful Guardian of The Gilded Grape. I, Brother Dougal Stuart, being of good standing within Lodge St Clair, Cumnethan, hereby present Winston Kenneth Mathieson Dalglish Bergkamp Burns Gemmell as a candidate for Entered Apprentice of the present and correctly formed and operative Lodge Novo, Kilmarnock 0961.
WG: Ahm Ah no suppostay volunteer fur this ?
RWM: The Candidate will kindly remain silent. Do we have a seconder for this poor mason who seeks light from his darkness ?
CMcM: Me, Sir Knight Commander of The Order of Penitent Antelopes. I, Brother Curry McMichael, being of good standing within Lodge Gascoigne, Gateshead 1873, second Brother Stuart's nomination of Mr Winston Bergkamp Gemmell.
RWM: Can we confirm that Winston Bergkamp Gemmell has not been blackballed in the recently convened Ballot at Lodge Burley, Kilmaurs ?
DS: Winston Bergkamp Gemmell passed muster and his candidacy is confirmed. However he barely scraped through The Seventeenth Scrutiny.
RWM: Expand for the lodge, Brother Stuart.
DS: Winston Bergkamp Gemmell has been discretely challenged with regard to The Seventeenth Scrutiny and been found wanting. The scrutiny in question relates to forbidden carnal relationships with Brother Masons' wives, fiancees, daughters, mothers, grandmothers, widows, girlfriends, lovers, bidey-ins and livestock.
RWM: Mere details, Brother Stuart.We are on the level and in a postion four-square-to-the-perpendicular to proceed. Prepare The Candidate for The First Degree and divest him of that hideous Celtic top immediately
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 26
Rugby Park, 21 September 2008 , Hauf-Time
WG: A peach so it wiz, that wiz the coarner Ah thoat he'd Ah put the penalty intae. Dae ye fancy a Killie pie ?
SOAL: If yir buyin, aye.
WG: Ah really like they peppered steak slices they dae here. Ah know it's a glorified steak bake bit Ah like thum, Ah really dae, even if wi ur peyin mair intae the Killie coffers.
WG's moby sounds, The Boys Of The Old Brigade, half the Celtic fans want tae kill him and the other half want tae lumber him
WG: Better take this, Arthur, here's the dosh fur the refreshments n don't furget ma chinge.
Arthur heads tae the pie stall
WG: WinninGemmell - make this good, I'm in a pre-peppered steak frame of my mind
Boynita: Hi Winst, how is your team doing today ?
WG: Wan-nil gaun oan six, pal. Yours ?
Boynita: It's just ended, Rangers won 2-1.
WG: Aw well, at least the mothers loast. Every Murdo MacLeod n aw that. Where ur ye ?
Boynita: I'm in the Ayrshire equivalent of your beloved Teser. I popped down to see my folks after all. Perhaps you'd care to meet here for a drink after the match. I'll make sure you get back to Wishaw in one piece. I've got the car.
WG: Ah dunno, Boyn. Ah've goat Arthur here an aw. He'll never bi able tae find his ain wey back tae the bus.
Boynita: There's no rush, Winst. Take Arthur back to the coach and then get a taxi here. I'll pay the driver on your arrival. Sound good to you ?
WG: It diz, actually.
Boynita: Then it's arranged. See you around seven then.
WG: Er, Boyn, whit's the name ay the pub ?
Boynita: The Square & Compass , you can't miss it. It's right in Kilmarnock town centre. See ya, Winst, mmmmwaahh.
TBC
WG: A peach so it wiz, that wiz the coarner Ah thoat he'd Ah put the penalty intae. Dae ye fancy a Killie pie ?
SOAL: If yir buyin, aye.
WG: Ah really like they peppered steak slices they dae here. Ah know it's a glorified steak bake bit Ah like thum, Ah really dae, even if wi ur peyin mair intae the Killie coffers.
WG's moby sounds, The Boys Of The Old Brigade, half the Celtic fans want tae kill him and the other half want tae lumber him
WG: Better take this, Arthur, here's the dosh fur the refreshments n don't furget ma chinge.
Arthur heads tae the pie stall
WG: WinninGemmell - make this good, I'm in a pre-peppered steak frame of my mind
Boynita: Hi Winst, how is your team doing today ?
WG: Wan-nil gaun oan six, pal. Yours ?
Boynita: It's just ended, Rangers won 2-1.
WG: Aw well, at least the mothers loast. Every Murdo MacLeod n aw that. Where ur ye ?
Boynita: I'm in the Ayrshire equivalent of your beloved Teser. I popped down to see my folks after all. Perhaps you'd care to meet here for a drink after the match. I'll make sure you get back to Wishaw in one piece. I've got the car.
WG: Ah dunno, Boyn. Ah've goat Arthur here an aw. He'll never bi able tae find his ain wey back tae the bus.
Boynita: There's no rush, Winst. Take Arthur back to the coach and then get a taxi here. I'll pay the driver on your arrival. Sound good to you ?
WG: It diz, actually.
Boynita: Then it's arranged. See you around seven then.
WG: Er, Boyn, whit's the name ay the pub ?
Boynita: The Square & Compass , you can't miss it. It's right in Kilmarnock town centre. See ya, Winst, mmmmwaahh.
TBC
Sunday 25 January 2009
The Gate In The Wood - Episode 25
Rugby Park, 21 September, 2008
SOAL:...... and you think the current team reminds you of Midget Gems ?
WG: Aye, especially the lemon n lime flavours when wur wearin that strip oot there
SOAL: Ah think you're slowly losin it, WineGum
WG: Boruc
SOAL: Whit abootum ?
WG: Whut kind ay sweetie diz he remind ye ay ?
SOAL: Wearin that tap, he'd need tae be a licorice midget gem or a a licorice tablet
WG: Or a Pole-o fruit - blackcurrant flavour
SOAL: Scott Broon ?
WG: Oddfellow
SOAL: Naka ?
WG: Jap dessert
SOAL: Wee Gordon ?
WG: Cough candy twist
SOAL: Naylor ?
WG: Ivrybody's Mixture
SOAL: Wilson ?
WG: Peanut brittle
SOAL: McManus ?
WG: A mix-up
SOAL: Aw right, whit aboot The Killjoys ?
WG: Chew-Chew Argentinas. Then the Falklands happened n they chinged the name tae Chew-Chew Colas bit they kept the blue-and-white stripes
SOAL: Which only leaves oor favrit ref, whit sweety wid he be ?
WG: Easy, an MB bar. Anywey Ah don't hink wull hae any problem wi McMichael the day. Ah asked Brother Stuart tae hae a polite word an Ah expect Brother McMichael tae bend ower backwards tae appease the .... er .... masses.
SOAL: Dae ye no hink yir sailin a bit close tae the wind wi aw this, WG ? Ye seem tae bi pittin the Tim in intimidation. Ye need tae watch whit........PENALTY !!!
WG: And he's given it. Joost watch Wee Maloney slam it in the sweety poke. C'mon the Midget Gem, stick it in the tap coarnir
Wee Maloney disny even hit the target
WG: Ah knew he wiz missin it Arthur. Ah could feel it in ma watter.
SOAL:...... and you think the current team reminds you of Midget Gems ?
WG: Aye, especially the lemon n lime flavours when wur wearin that strip oot there
SOAL: Ah think you're slowly losin it, WineGum
WG: Boruc
SOAL: Whit abootum ?
WG: Whut kind ay sweetie diz he remind ye ay ?
SOAL: Wearin that tap, he'd need tae be a licorice midget gem or a a licorice tablet
WG: Or a Pole-o fruit - blackcurrant flavour
SOAL: Scott Broon ?
WG: Oddfellow
SOAL: Naka ?
WG: Jap dessert
SOAL: Wee Gordon ?
WG: Cough candy twist
SOAL: Naylor ?
WG: Ivrybody's Mixture
SOAL: Wilson ?
WG: Peanut brittle
SOAL: McManus ?
WG: A mix-up
SOAL: Aw right, whit aboot The Killjoys ?
WG: Chew-Chew Argentinas. Then the Falklands happened n they chinged the name tae Chew-Chew Colas bit they kept the blue-and-white stripes
SOAL: Which only leaves oor favrit ref, whit sweety wid he be ?
WG: Easy, an MB bar. Anywey Ah don't hink wull hae any problem wi McMichael the day. Ah asked Brother Stuart tae hae a polite word an Ah expect Brother McMichael tae bend ower backwards tae appease the .... er .... masses.
SOAL: Dae ye no hink yir sailin a bit close tae the wind wi aw this, WG ? Ye seem tae bi pittin the Tim in intimidation. Ye need tae watch whit........PENALTY !!!
WG: And he's given it. Joost watch Wee Maloney slam it in the sweety poke. C'mon the Midget Gem, stick it in the tap coarnir
Wee Maloney disny even hit the target
WG: Ah knew he wiz missin it Arthur. Ah could feel it in ma watter.
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