Remembering Joe

  When I was growing up in Scotland and then England, whenever I thought of Sag Harbor on Long Island I could only imagine  a blue aerogramme letter on the mantelpiece, the address almost indecipherable in the hurried scrawl. The writing was no better inside the letter – could someone’s address really be “My Blue

The Question why.

It might be an early morning train from Aberdeen, an overnight car journey from the south of England, or a dash across Scotland from Glasgow to Edinburgh. Sometimes it’s in the evening, other times the afternoon, and often Saturday and Sunday. You travel constantly – so  much so that, sometimes, you wonder where you are

Stuck in traffic

Video replays are all the rage in football at the moment, and none more so than those relating to former Liverpool star, Jamie Carragher, spitting, after a Man Utd v Liverpool game. I could go for the full VAR post match discussion (a sign if ever there was one that VAR seldom settles arguments once

Conned, well conned

Boris Johnson? Nigel Farage? Jacob Rees Mogg? Who can we really blame for the Brexit farago? The answer came to me in one of my occasional political dwams, in a revelation adding fuel to the assertion that tragedy and comedy are close bedfellows. The real villain behind the piece is none other than James Bond!

Kindness of Strangers

My football DNA is pretty clear – it is Hibernian green through and through. However, it gets a little frayed around the edges when you examine my history. My family started supporting Hibs when they arrived in Edinburgh from Ireland in the mid 1890s, my uncle played for them in the late 20s, and he