For some people, the festive season is about sport – particularly football. Yawn. What is the point of it? If a player has a modicum of talent, they get spotted and go up the ranks until they or, more precisely, their agent can charge a fortune to the highest bidder.
It’s like the difference between buying a bottle of cheap supermarket plonk for £8 and a super-smooth Château Lynch-Bages 2017 wine which currently costs about, let me see, £150 a bottle.
Yep, I tasted one a while back. You get what you pay for – or, to be honest, what someone else paid for. I got a wee swallow and that exquisite aroma is memorable – unlike here-today-and-gone-tomorrow soccer players.
Sponduliks. Yet soccer engenders crazy loyalties and ghastly rudeness to rivals. Supporters are so predictable in their assessment of games and players.
The facts don’t really matter when the goals are being slammed in and there is something cold and wet in your right hand. No, Mrs X, I don’t mean a haddock. Can you try again? Can you? Can… She still doesn’t get it. I’m wasted here.
To a typical football supporter, it is about making the right kind of noise even if they are clueless about the technicalities. Very much like the politicians of particularly the UK Parliament at this very time. There was no oven-ready Brexit deal. He hadn’t even prepared the veg.
Watching football is difficult if you know little about the game. Even the advertising hoardings at big games baffled me until recently.
Why are they putting former players’ names on there, I wondered. I thought Hertz Van Rental was that Dutch player who used to play for Celtic.
OK, no more football. I don’t want to jinx anyone. I mentioned Stuart Kettlewell, the-then Ross County manager, a few weeks ago and now he has been replaced, although I am told he may be staying with the club. That kind of loyalty is good to hear.
Our loyal readers will have bought their presents weeks ago. I never know what to buy. Not even for Mrs X. That’s why I appreciate guidance by the recipient about what they would like.
If I am going to spend cash, I need to know my time carefully choosing something was well spent and that the gift will be welcomed, useful or drunk.
Mrs X dragged me into a Stornoway emporium the other day to stare at socks. It’s usually the other way round because the world and his wife usually buy them for me.
These were actually stockings of the type you stuff into a Wellington boot. She seemed to be hinting they may suit a photographer-type person such as herself.
I agreed, so I said: “Yes, these socks look warm.” Bang, she went off on one. “They’re not lukewarm. They’re very warm. Now buy me a few pairs, you tight-fisted git.”
I may have changed a word here and there, but then Mrs X is a Celtic supporter.
I expected the Royal Mail would have to lay on extra vans to deliver my presents. Didn’t happen. I blame Covid. Thank you to the very few concerned.
I suspect the parcel from Gloucestershire addressed to Iain Xmas Maciver and Sandie Claus was from The Daughter.
I also suspect the book Beauty Fades, Dumb Is Forever by Judge Judy is a hint that I am spending too much time on the sofa watching the box and to get on and do some work.
Thank you, hon. Love you too.
Thank you also to the lady in Point here in Lewis who has been making special marmalade. I got a pot. It’s Extra Chunky Clementine Marmalade with Tamnavulin. Jamie Oliver puts limes in marmalade to give it a kick but she pours in the finest malt whisky.
I propose a toast – in fact, I propose to have toast with marmalade for the next while. Cheers, Janet.
This year has been different but better things will come. The bleak midwinter was, is and will be a time to reflect and celebrate whether that was 2020 BC or 2020 AD. Of course, BC now means Before Covid and AD means After Donald.
How will you spend your Covid Christmas? Safely, I hope. We will play board games. Nothing involving football.
There are loads of new board games out – like Dominic Cummings Monopoly. It’s easy. Ignore the rules, move anywhere on the board you like and never Go To Jail.