I’m going to go freehand, today, and just write what comes to mind. Yes, some may argue no change there, then, but I beg to differ. I have notes to prove otherwise …
I have just had another reminder of the passing of time and a changing world. Ending the lunchtime news, my favourite, Charlene White – always makes me smile – reminded us that the big match would be on STV from 7pm and commentating would be …? None the wiser. The name was indecipherable. I can hear Pop’s voice ringing in my ear, ‘another great Scottish hope, Trish!’, positively dripping with sarcasm. Whatever happened to Archie McPherson? Googling him – and pleased to see he’s still alive – I see that he is only 84 years-old. Can’t he do it? Can speak, will commentate? Never have these stalwarts of sport commentary been more sorely missed in this ridiculous world of ‘woke’! Dan Maskell, the voice of tennis; Bill McLaren, the voice of Scottish rugby; Des Lynam, Jimmy Hill, David Vine, Murray Walker … like pieces of treasured furniture, all so reassuringly familiar, all educated and familiar with the Queen’s English. Can I say that? Someone has to! We live in a world desperately seeking equality by lowering the bench mark of standards, not only patronising but regressive and so awful to witness.
So it is that I cringe as yet another bunch of Scottish supporters, who have descended on London for tonight’s match, are approached by camera and microphone! Perhaps an interpreter, too, should be on hand. The thing is, they represent our image abroad. To everyone else, they are Scotland! Having said that, Nicola Sturgeon and the SNP do nothing to dispel said image. North of the border, we are all like that … but we’re not! Every bone in my body is Scottish, as can be said of most of my friends, and, yet, we are rarely represented. We are educated. We do have a grasp of grammar. We can pronounce our ‘t’s, string a sentence together without a swear word and communicate intelligibly. Oh, yes, and we do not hate the English – although, on opening one’s mouth, it is immediately assumed that we are: English, that is. Enough. Please, someone, credit Scotland with some intelligence …
I am looking forward to this evening. It is exciting. Twenty-five years since Scotland played England at Wembley – and removed half the pitch! The old rivalry never wanes. Becca laughed when I said I wanted to watch the game but I grew up watching all the big Scottish games, on television, with Pop. It’s funny, you wouldn’t really expect him to love watching football as much as he did – but he did! He reminded me, latterly, that Grandpa – Commercial Editor at The Herald in Glasgow – used to come home in the early hours and Pop, as a little boy, would wait up for him to hear the football scores. It was instilled in him and I can still see – and hear him – in his excitement watching Lorimer and the rest, leaping from his seat in full voice in the Morning Room! I can’t believe I don’t remember the names of the other Scottish players of that era. If only he were here to ask … On a lighter note, Becca reminded me of the story he told of Kate – my sister’s youngest – coming into the Morning Room, on one occasion, to hear what all the ruckus was about. Her comment, apparently, as she turned on her heals – ‘Oh, football is so common!’. My sister’s daughter!
Staying on the sporting theme, I sampled a taste of summer, yesterday, as I watched Andy Murray at Queens. A reassuring taste of normality, too, and I’m so glad that he’s keeping keeping on, as it were. He did lose but to a really dishy young Italian, so that wasn’t so bad. Matteo Berrettini, a mere 25 years-of-age and from Rome, is tall, dark and handsome. A tonic and much-needed reminder that there is such a thing! Interviewed after the match, he is polite and intelligent, too. Hallelujah! Next, I hardly recognised the young Canadian, Denis Shapovalov, no longer sporting the long hair of a young Borg but, too, easy on the eye and a nice guy … There’s something about tennis! How I shall miss not being at Wimbledon this year – two years without our fix – but it wouldn’t be the same with all the COVID restrictions. In the words of Johnny Logan – when David Cassidy was no longer with The Partridge Family – what’s another year … That little pocket of SW19 shall, forever, remain quintessentially British and, for that, I am eternally grateful.
It has been a long week. No change of rhetoric in the media, it’s all about the Delta variant – quelle surprise – and making vaccines compulsory for all care workers. Laughable. To profess one, actually, cares about the elderly – those remaining – having ensured the careless demise of so many …
Now, here’s a little something I wrote down which does nothing to buoy my opinion of people en masse: stats indicate that more people watched porn than the news in lockdown. Look, I am no fan of brainwashing either but … what’s wrong with knitting or scrap-booking?
A crazy world, there is no doubt. I think, though, we have all lost our way. Loss of truth will do that. Who to believe? At the end of the day, all one can do is follow one’s gut instinct and that I can trust. The match is about to start as I finish my second gin. I have my 18-year-old Jeep back in exchange for hundreds of pounds. Never one to renege on old friends, one day I may have to put the seats down but … Who knows what lies ahead? Thankfully, none of us. What I do know, however, is that, for the immediate future, I will only be posting once a week – on a Friday, methinks. Time to concentrate on my forthcoming bestseller! Fourteen thousand words and counting. Re-living it all can be hard but I have a story to tell and there are lessons to be learned. Doing what I love. On the right path, at last …
‘Love the life you live. Live the life you love.’. Bob Marley
Trying bloody hard …
This is Trish, signing off.
