What a shock. What a toe-curler. What a spine-tingling experience. What a hairs-on-the-back-of-the-neck moment.
Not the football match at Wembley, but getting up this morning in a somewhat dozy state, rummaging blindly in the bathroom cabinet and then spraying a generous coating of Scholl athlete’s foot spray under each armpit rather than the intended Lynx Dry deodorant. It certainly woke me up and got my full attention.
For a day or so it might mean I am no longer irresistibly attractive to the opposite sex, if the body-spray commercials are to be believed, but instead am able to wear a sweaty unwashed vest for a week or more without any risk of an itchy fungal infection in a strange place.
And by a strange place I don’t mean Dull in Perthshire, Twatt in Orkney, Lost in Strathdon or Brokenwind near Newmachar.
Sadly, the vagaries of newspaper production mean that I’m writing this in my Fyne Place den before the outcome of Friday night’s England-Scotland game is known. It’s hard, therefore, to capture the national mood, or even the Fyne mood, on the morning after.
But, recognising that not all readers of this paper are traumatically tortured Tartan Army fans, I suggest you find a pen or pencil and work through this column obliterating the bits you don’t like in order to create an acceptably accurate view of things as you see it. Delete as and where appropriate.
So let’s consider Scotland’s brilliant/dreadful performance that lifted/depressed the nation and gave us considerable cause for optimism/pessimism going forward. I am proud/ashamed to be dancing round/jumping on my Glengarry this morning after the ecstatic joy/desperate despair of the Wembley win/loss/draw.
The last time I felt so rampant/subdued or inspired/insipid was on our wedding night. I’ll let Mrs F amend that one as she deems appropriate.
According to figures published this week, England football fans can now choose to celebrate/sulk from a range of some 311 distilleries in England, compared with just 214 in Scotland. The vast majority of those are gin distilleries, of course. That number has tripled since 2016.
Could it be because that’s when an egotistical England suffered their worst humiliation since the USA knocked them out of the 1950 World Cup when Iceland demolished them in the last 16 of Euro 2016? Maybe after last night’s result they’ll need even more gin to help them rejoice/rebuild after a dazzling/desperate 90 minutes of domination/dross.
Slightly unusually for an enthusiastic Scotland fan, I’m not a big drinker. In the past I’ve tried whisky and water, gin and water, vodka and water, rum and water and each time I’ve had a thumping hangover. As the only common element is water, I steer clear of it now and just stick to neat spirits to help me revel in/recover from a performance like last night’s one from our national team.
So, what steps to take from now on? Well, hopefully not the type of steps that apparently disappeared during ongoing works at Aberdeen’s Union Terrace Gardens and reappeared in a private garden in the city. I’m sure the anonymous new owner of the enormous granite stones didn’t just spot them advertised on Gumtree and popped round one evening to collect them in their 4×4 hatchback. It surely had to be better planned than that.
No matter, whoever it is has hidden their disappointment at the foiling of their plans to create the city’s poshest patio and offered to return them to the local authority.
It’s maybe an omen for Scotland’s current/former manager Steve Clarke. His team played with a great/ghastly structure akin to granite/granola that was a testament to/indictment of his abilities as a leader.
I’m sure there will be plenty of people this morning wanting to erect a granite statue/headstone to his success/failure.
For now, we can look forward to/dread Tuesday’s final Euro 2020 group game against Croatia at Hampden. The magnificent Tartan Army will be in good voice again, as always, offering unwavering support throughout the trials and tribulations of being a Scotland fan, which has more twists and turns, ups and downs, highs and lows than a Brexit policy document.
We’re heading for another momentously memorable/frustratingly forgettable night.
Please delete as applicable.
