I Know I Said My Next Post Would Be From Scotland But I'm Preparing The Ground.

Sometimes some things seem like a really good idea at the time. This is usually sometime around midnight when you’re lost in the haze of the wine (did you spot it…..the ATE reference?). Then you wake up in the morning, often the best dressed man in bed, remnants of last night’s kebab stuck between your teeth, and as you attempt to rub away the throbbing inside your skull, memories of last night’s events flood into your mind and you think

‘Why did I do that?’

What excuse did I have then, for posting a historical diatribe about a long-dead king that made it his mission to subjugate the orange haired race of skirt-wearing maniacs living north of Hadrian’s Wall when I had partaken of no alcohol whatsoever and the sun was high in the sky?

I can only put it down to a self destruct pedal my foot occasionally locates that sends me careering headlong into an inevitable smash. Only this time it’s not a brick wall or tree that will stop my reckless advance but someone like Irvine Welsh’s chib-waving, alcohol-soaked lunatic Frances Begbie, or the swamp-residing, blackened-tooth, English-flesh-favouring cannibal, Sawney Bean.

What do Begbie and Bean have in common? They’re both Scottish, that’s what. As are my former friends Davie Hall, who called me a ‘Sassenach’, and Mark ‘Drama Queen’ Hamilton, who called me an ‘English Prick.’ Not exactly as dramatic as having a beer glass pushed into your face a la Begbie; or watching Sawney Bean and chums feast on your still warm liver, but cutting nonetheless.

But more remarkable was Mrs Mac’s response. Instead of planning my early demise when I arrive on her doorstep later on today, she just sighed and said:

‘You really do talk a load of old nonsense. Sometimes I think you get something in your head and make it fit what’s happening in your life. Take your last post. You’ve obviously been going round with Mr Benn in your head for ages.’

Contrite is the word I think…..yes, contrite. That’s what I’ll be when I arrive in the Land of Jock later. And charming…..I’ll try that too. Luckily for me I met Mrs Mac’s Ma and Pa in the winter when long sleeved shirts were de rigueur. Charming would have been harder to pull off had it been summer in a tee shirt that revealed an over-indulgence at the local tattoo parlour.

So, contrite and charming will be my mantra as I head north later. My 1.25l Bad Boy is packed to the gunnels with running shoes, socks, Vaseline, Maxi-Muscle products, Ibuprofen and head torches.

Cally Challenge and West Highland Way Race here I come. Watch out Sweaty Socks, Longshanks’s heir is on his way!!