I wear two hats when I write this blog of mine. First and foremost, I manage a small charity in a small Scottish town called Dumfries. Ours is a front door that opens onto the darker corners of the crumbling world that is Britain 2015. We hand out 5000 emergency food parcels a year in a town that is home to 50,000 souls. Then, as you can see from all of the book covers above, I am also a thriller writer. If you enjoy the blog, you might just enjoy the books. The link below takes you to the whole library in the Kindle store. They can be had for a couple of quid each.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

I'll write it now just in case...

Have an hour and then it is the motorway south to Anfield. Over the last fortnight Disleyland has become Dreamland has become that place the Al Queda suiciders reckon they are en route to care of a belt full of C4.
4-0 against Real Madrid. As in Real Madrid! 4-1 at Old Trafford. As in AT Old Trafford. You know those old clips of the encircling Soviet Armies meeting up with each other in the snow and thereby cutting off 300,000 of Hitler's finest in Stalingrad? Just imagine how it must have felt to be a Russian on that minus twenty degree day. Knowing that you have well and truly given Hitler and all his lackeys a complete and utter kicking. Well any Scouser worth his or her salt just has to feel that way this week. We didn't just beat then. We buried them. Humiliated them. The greatest of all things about a win like that is that it lasts for years and years. Even the Mancs can't escape the fact that they were completely done. Well that's pushing it a bit. That lot would never admit anything, but what the hell. And then yesterday they go and get done again at Fulham at all places. Wheels off the wagon time and how good was it to see Super Danny Murphy slide home the dagger from the penalty spot. So all we do now is put away Villa to move to a point behind and chose down the goal difference. Then if we do, then it's maybe just maybe.....
And if we don't, then at least I have got these gloating, taunting lines down and logged. Most of us try to live out our lives as polite, reasonable human beings. I certainly do. And then it all stops for any of us stationed at either end of the 33 miles of the East Lancs Rd that seperates Anfield from Old Trafford. Then we get that whole Bosnian Serb - Bosnian Muslim thing going down. It ain't pretty but when you get a 4-1 under the belt you really don't care!

No comments:

Post a Comment