Tap Shop Tartan Army - Stevies Diary Ahrnem

The Magnificent Seven….Quid a Pint!
The Story Of Oslo

The TSTA only had a few prepared to brave the wallet-busting city that is Oslo. Step forward, the TSTA’s very own Magnificent Seven. They drank like 700 and that was roughly the daily bar bill each in Sterling too:

• Gazza
• Marshall Mallow
• Fried Egg
• Gnasher
• Credit Card
• Mary Doll
• The Fugitive

At 6.00 Credit Card, Mary Doll and Fried Egg hit the M8 for our fine country’s Lada airport of Prestwick. At 6.00 The Fugitive, deep in enemy territory in Englandshire made his way to Stansted under cover. At 6.00 Marshall Mallow, Gazza and Gnasher gave it big zzzzs in their beds as Marshall reckoned a long lie in was the order of the day. He said they could leave for the M8 a lot later. Had they arrived there four minutes later then the daft gits would have missed their flights the friendly Ryanair check-in assistant told them. “Ya shower of Fuds” Fried Egg told them.

Credit Card’s geographical prowess came to the fore as he met Don Lawson from BASTA. Don handed him the TSTA’s tickets for the Renfrew Ferry ahead of the Faroes game. Credit Card thought that BASTA stood for Bannockburn and Stirling Tartan Army. Don told him that is was Badenoch and Strathspey. Fried Egg chipped in with “Stupid BASTA”.

In the Duty Free Shop a certain Tartan Army footsoldier, let’s just call him David “X” was there. (He is the same chap who once tried to hire a submarine to the Faroes). His patter blows the TSTA’s very own Vice Captain’s clean out of the water. He was standing ogling a stunning Norwegian student at the perfume display, who was on her way home, alone. As she was about to pass him he purred “Mmm excuse me, do you think this moisturiser works and is it the right brand for my type of skin?” “What a load of pish” thought Credit Card. “That poultice is in there”, thought Mary Doll.

The plane was made up of half Tartan Army and half leisure/business travellers. As the 737 hit the point where seatbelts could be removed the mid-air party began. Spud, a Tartan Army stalwart, personal piper to Madonna and available for anyone else’s wedding too (www.highland-bagpiper.com) started playing “We’re Coming Down the Road” on the pipes at 30,000 feet. Then came the flying balloons zooming down the aisles as everyone sang along even the businessmen. This mayhem lasted for 15 minutes and came to its usual quick end when the drinks trolleys appeared. This led to all the footsoldiers sitting up straight with their arms folded.

David “X” on the other hand was conveniently sitting next to his previously met friend from Duty Free, Miss Norway 2003 extolling the virtues of Oil of Olay or something.

They passed through passport control with Spud’s pipes skirling away and Fried Egg’s pipes skirling too as he ran off to the bog. There, Fried Egg met his chum, The Fugitive, who had run out of one of the “traps”. They shook hands and then The Fugitive looked into Fried Egg’s eyes and said “I’ve had the skitters son there’s no paper in there and I’ve not washed ma hands”. Fried Egg withdrew his hand quicker than our Gazza polishes off a burger. “That always gets him”, said The Fugitive. There was a loud thwack noise as Fried Egg playfully skelped his mucker across the chops with the back of his hand. “And he always gets that!” said Fried Egg with a cheeky smile.

How do Ryanair get away with it? Torp is to Oslo as Aberdeen is to Edinburgh. Nearly a 2-hour bus journey was the order of the day and they had to wait half an hour before it was going to leave. There was only one thing for it - the sun was shining (a rarity on Tartan Army trips) so the contraband cargo of Pear Cider and Tennants Lager were unleashed, live and un-plugged.

After this brief change of breath, it was time to go on the bus, which was called the Arctic Express despite having its heating jammed on full. Well what a fiasco that was. They had to go on the bus, buy a ticket and then immediately disembark until all the tickets were sold. It took the driver half an hour to sell the tickets and meantime a flight arrived from Frankfurt. So the Germans immediately swung their beach towels in the air and tried to skip on by attempting to move everyone out of the way. Trust me they had nae chance!

The fun loving driver eventually sorted everything out and welcomed us aboard with a friendly greeting of “No drinking, no playing the bagpipes and no eating crisps in a provocative manner!” Games of Eye Spy turned into tedium as everyone had the same clue, “t” for tree. Mile after mile of trees passed by.

They walked from the Oslo bus terminal to the Bondeheimen Hotel. It only took 10 minutes but grumpy Fried Egg moaned about not getting a taxi. Fat git! He’s had enough biscuits. When they got there the lovely Elizabeth checked them all in, whilst Marshall Mallow stared into her deep blue eyes whilst he fumbled in his pocket back and forth presumably looking for a pen.

The rooms were really nice and all done out in pine. That’s the wood; and not the disinfectant that Gnasher drinks with Irn Bru. For once Credit Card got it right, it was a nice place and they were also bang in the centre of Oslo. So after a shower it was time for tradition. It was time for “First pub on the right”.

It was only 20 yards away and as they later found out it was to be the cheapest bar in Oslo. Pools win. Credit Card was showered with praise. A pint was “only” 38 zonks or 42 zonks after six o’ clock. There’s just over 11 zonks to the pound so I’ll let you work it out for yourself. That was still megabucks. Shit this was a dear watering hole for The Magnificent Seven. Still the Bohemen Sports Bar was quickly installed as the place to be for all of the visiting tartan army footsoldiers.

After around a swift half-gallon each, they decided to go for a quick stroll around town and walked up Karl Johan’s Gate. This is the equivalent of Oslo’s Princes Street but with more robbers, - they were called shops and bars. There they found the magnetically named “Scotsman Bar”. Steady on though at £7.00 a pint it didn’t look too inviting. In fact Spud the Piper had only minutes earlier been chucked out for playing the bagpipes and was told to get lost to The Dubliner instead. This story was printed in The Daily Record and The Scotsman, (the pub not the paper) and the pub lost out on a massive sales windfall.

The TSTA decided it was time for some nosebag so they headed out towards the harbour in search of some food. The Fugitive, Credit Card, Mary Doll and Fried Egg found a wee pub. A lasagne was 120 zonks but they were starving. Unknown to them the rest went next door to Harvey’s Student Bar where there was loud techno music blaring. As Credit Card scooped up his last bit of lasagne, the techno music was drowned out by the cry of “Freeeeeeeedddoooommmm!” All four of them said in unison “Gazza”.

They joined the boys next door where the place was full of young nubile Norwegians and the TSTA’s starry-eyed hormonal Scots. The sound of the loud techno music was only drowned out by the sound of teenagers squeezing their spots. It was student prices all round but still there was no change out of four quid a pint! There was also a picture on the wall of an American Football coach who looked remarkably like one of the TSTA’s finest, The Boy Wonder.

It was back to the Bohemen. By now most other Scots visitors had sussed out this was the bar to be in. It was jumping. Sacks, from the Hebs Bar appeared and he said Bridie Boy wasn’t there because he was going to the Czech Republic to see the womens’ team instead. He needs some therapy and is now recognised as the womens’ team and in particular Gemma Faye’s official stalker.

Later that evening the troops were all well and truly monged. They met up with John and Jackie from the Kirkcaldy Tartan Army who joined the TSTA as they were on their own. It turned out that they were friendly with Jim Fae Kirkcaldy who has been to the Tap Shop a few times and is a well-known face to the troops. In fact John and Jackie mentioned that they had been at TSTA HQ before themselves for the womens’ international against Austria. John played against The Fugitive’s ex-Junior fitba team. Jackie talked to Mary Doll about knitting patterns and Robbie Williams, so all in all they soon became adopted as TSTA members for the tour. The Magnificent 7 through the addition of John and Jackie, but largely because of drink, became The 9 Numpties.

They headed for home sometime between 1 a.m. and 2 a.m. There was a burger van parked outside the pub. The owner obviously did his homework and sold cheap fare to the kilted junk food junkies. Gazza struck up an immediate rapport with the owner. He said “You futtin’ talk funny. Where ur ye futtin’ fae?” The man politely replied “I’m from Kosovo”. To which Gazza replied “Are you a futtin’ refugee then?”

Despite the greeting from Gazza it was hands across the sea with these pair but they needed to get Gazza’s feet across the road and 20 yards to his kip. Gnasher duly obliged by holding a hot dog six inches above his nose and set off for the hotel with Gazza following him in a drunken hypnotic state.

Gazza can eat for Scotland. In the hotel they did free soup and coffee with bread and cheese etc. Not a scrap was left following Gazza’s wee visit to the trolley before heading for the lift. Marshall Mallow declared he was off to find a disco.

All was calm except in the room that held Marshall Mallow, Gnasher and Gazza. You see Gazza washed his kilt socks and thought it would be a good idea to hang them out of the window to dry. Sadly, one of the socks had a life of its own and fell out of the window in an attempt to gain freedom. Gazza in his t-shirt and boxers ran outside into the street and from the 5 floors below shouted up at Gnasher “Where da fut is it?” which seemed to waken up the whole hotel. Gnasher said it was not a pretty sight at all as he ducked for cover hoping nobody spotted him switching the room light off at double speed.

Gazza had left the building but on his return he curtseyed at Miss Elizabeth at reception. She said “You look a little shook up!” He said “Uh uh” and he ran for the lift!

Next morning the TSTA made it for breakfast. Well six of them did. Marshall Mallow didn’t, as despite trying like a bear, he didn’t make it last night at the disco. He said he had a nice picture book to read with some toilet roll to help him keep his place in the book. He felt he also needed to work on his chat up line. “Let’s get hot bitch” works for him fine at “The Livi Nitespot” but it had little success with the leggy blondes here. Gnasher said “Maybe you should try it on the burdz then!!”

Breakfast was top notch and even included caviar! The Fugitive cut himself a big dollop of cheese, whacked it on a dod of bread and took a huge bite. The contents were then splattered out his gub over the unsuspecting Gnasher. At the same time the word “Pish” came out. Everyone thought that even Fried Egg wouldn’t pee on Fugie Boy’s piece? On recovering his teeth from the ghooey mess The Fugitive said “Naw. Fish. It’s fish cheese.” Indeed it was said Credit Card tasting a sliver of the cheese and then added “But it is pish!”

The other breakfast goodies were fine and Gazza polished off a few pounds of bacon and a tray of scrambled eggs. There were quite a few other Tartan Army footsoldiers staying at their hotel. There was an amazing array of foods but why was it that they were all drawn to the fruit juice and were knocking back litres of the stuff. “TA Drooth” is a common ailment on tour isn’t it?

The TSTA headed into town for a quick look around and then headed up towards the Radisson SAS hotel to pick up their tickets from the SFA. It started raining so they took refuge in the first pub on the right from the Radisson. It was just under a fiver for a pint in there so it was bearable, just. There, out of the window, they spotted John and Jackie on their way to get their tickets too, so they shouted them in for a drink. Kev who stayed at the same hotel as them came in too but he didn’t say much, he was a quiet lad. As they were drinking their drinks, Mary Doll fed The Fugitive bromide as he looked at the leggy lovelies as they passed by the window.

The 9 Numpties through the addition of Kev, became the 10 twallies. They crossed the road and then entered the Radisson, which had lots of shops underneath. One of them had a Troll outside which had a more than passing resemblance to Marshall Mallow’s Dad (except Auld Andra has a bigger nose). Another shop was a barbers’, where a Chinese gentleman was sitting getting his hair cut. Credit Card said “Here do you think if that guy asked for a number 2 he would get a Chop Suey?!”

They went up the escalator and met the lovely Allison (Marjory’s replacement) from the SFA, plus one of her male helpers.

Everyone had to prove who they were to Allison and she then handed everyone an envelope, which had a match ticket in it for them. They all opened their envelopes and were pleased to see that they were all sitting together. Gazza opened his and went spare. He went up to Allison and said “Buddy hell ah’ve no goat a ticket, ma envelope is empty”. Allison said “Are you sure?” Gazza then said “Ha ha ah wiz only kidding on”. Allison took it in her stride though and told Gazza that she would make sure his ticket definitely wouldn’t be there when he opened his Germany envelope. Marshall Mallow gave Gazza a tissue because after all he had plenty!

Back to The Bohemen they went. On the TV was Sky Sports’ coverage of WWF wrestling. Gnasher still thinks it is real so they all decided to sit and watch him, watching it. However sad this sounds it was true. One of the wrestlers only had one leg and was thumped senseless by some brute. We expected the one legged guy to “win” but he didn’t. Fried Egg returned from the bar having bought his round for the year and was heard to say, “Who won?” When he was told the answer, he said, “You’re pulling ma leg!”

The TSTA headed for some more grub and Fried Egg went on and on about paying £9 for a burger. “Aw dry yer eyes”, Mary Doll told him.

Back to The Bohemen it was. It was back on the booze as the TSTA looked resplendent in their new Magnificent Seven T-Shirts, well Mary Doll did, the rest just looked like shit.

The Ireland match was live on the TV and they all sat and watched the game although John and Jackie fae Kirkcaldy had more fun watching Gazza getting more and more drunk. When the Irish scored a late winner the pub cheered. A full 30 seconds later Gazza reacted with a “yeeeeeess what a goal”. It was as if his hearing aid had only just beamed back from space the TV pictures of the goal to his lug-hole. No. He was just monged.

The head barman for that night and that night only in the Bohemen was a pain. As the night dragged on he got more and more run off his feet and pissed off particularly as around midnight a busload poured in fresh back from the under 21 match. He put heavy metal music on his sound system and played it full blast. “Turn the futtin’ music doon Hendo!” cried Gazza. (For the uninitiated Hendo is the barman at The Tap Shop, so proof that Gazza was totally monged at this stage).

Eventually someone (probably Big Davie J from The Hebs Bar) pulled out the offending CD and stuck in one full of Scotland songs instead. The Fugitive and Gazza were busy doing a duet of “Wild Mountain Thyme”. The trouble was Gazza was always two bars behind the song and The Fugitive wished he were two bars away from Gazza, preferably one with Belhaven Best too!

As Gazza continually slapped The Fugitive’s back (hard) not in time with the music, one of his slaps strayed as The Fugie Boy leaned forward for a sip of Fried Egg’s beer when he wasn’t looking. Crunch. Gazza skelped him firm on the napper. “Oyah silly basket Gazza” said The Fugitive, adding “now that fanny Fried Egg will see I tried to nick his pint. Ohyah. Fried Egg you didnae need tae hit me too”.

It was time for bed Zebedee via the hot dog van for Gazza and a disco for Marshall Mallow. Gazza’s food intake this particular day was 4 McDonald’s hamburgers, a cheeseburger from the van and 3 hot dogs. Healthy living.

When Gnasher finally managed to get Gazza back into his room in one piece, he saw Gazza get his kit off but the window was wide open. Gazza bent down to see if he had washed his socks yet or not (as he couldn’t remember). Gnasher’s description of Gazza’s bare erse and dangly bollocks was not pretty. He booted his backside after informing Gazza that he was scaring the woman in the flat across the street. Not surprisingly, Gazza went to sleep straight away.

It was the morning of the game but for one TSTA footsoldier he was just returning in the morning after hunting for game. “Morning” they said to Marshall Mallow as they headed for their breakfast as Marshall Mallow headed for the lift cuddling a bottle of Dettol.

The 10 twallies arranged to have a day out. Credit Card consulted The Rough Guide and discovered that there was an island in Oslo that had a beach. Boat Trip! Amazingly Oslo is expensive even for a carry-out as it was over £2 for a can of beer. Luckily, the TSTA could supplement their supermarket purchases with some of their Vodka, Pear Cider and Tennants Lager cargo brought over from Scotland.

Credit Card and Mary Doll were given 7 day passes for public transport by an English couple at the hotel who were leaving. They even wished Scotland well, which was nice. That was 2 free tickets so they shared out the cost of them with the rest. Subsidised travel is a first!

They went to Bygdoy island and although there were other Tartan Army footsoldiers on board the ferry they seemed to be heading for the museums. Credit Card forgot the map the twat. They decided to follow the road and see where they ended up. Fried Egg kept on moaning that his beer was getting warm in the searing heat. Yes it was boiling hot and yes they has walked for 10 minutes. A further 10 minutes and there was a sign for the beach. This island must be where all the very affluent Norwegians live (trust me with the price of drink here everyone must at least be “affluent”). The houses were all huge and the inhabitants seemed to be very inquisitive of the sight of kilts swaying and the sound of chinking bottles and the clanking of cans.

After a further 15 minutes they reached the entrance to the beach only to find out they could have got a bus there from the ferry. However there was a Brucie Bonus in store. As the troops planked their carry out on the picnic table that overlooked the small jetty with a nice view of a boat and the sun over the sea The Fugitive started to drool. No it wasn’t over his first beer he was drooling over, he had a vodka, first. No, out in the distance on the right hand side was a lady with no bikini on. However, lying beside her was an old guy who needed a damned good iron.

Yes Credit Card had led them to the edge of a nudist beach. This is definitely a Tartan Army first, unless of course you know differently? The 10 twallies had managed to pull off a major coup, which is unusual because in Fried Egg’s case that word “coup” is often spelt “coo” when he’s talking about pulling one off! No other Tartan Army troops made it to the beach so they claimed it for themselves. ”The Tap Shop and Kirkcaldy flags were put out so that those hanging out both metaphorically and physically on the right could see who they were and where they come from as the song goes.

After a few pear ciders one set of diddies look like any other and believe you me The Fugitive and Fried Egg are a pair of diddies. They all moved on a bit to the left and over the hill and found a really nice bit of beach where people were clothed much to the annoyance of The Fugitive. It was a fantastic setting. There did happen to be some loos not far away either, which came in handy given all the schwally that had been drunk.

As Credit card took a leak he reappeared from the bog to hear a huge cackle of laughter. Unsuspected laugh? He checked his flies but was relieved to see he was wearing a kilt, so it couldn’t possibly be that. Anyway Hamish his pet beaver’s tail (its his sporran) would keep things well under cover!

It turned out that The Fugitive, whilst full of vodka, made a faux pas due to the number of scantily clad Scandinavian girls that passed him by. On being asked by John fae Kirkcaldy did he like a whisky, our hero said “Oh I love whisky because I always wake up without a hard on!” Of course he meant to say “hangover” but the 10 twallies and the dozen or so Scandinavians sitting within earshot were creasing themselves. Mary Doll laughed so much there was a large “parp” but she still swears it didn’t come from her bottom.

Meanwhile Kev had a few voddies from The Fugitive and suddenly for the first time he spoke. “Ggggg” he stammered, was it going to be “GGGazongas over there?” No it was simply “Geez another voddie Big Yin. Kev was from Perth and when it came to vodka he took no prisoners. After a few they just couldn’t shut Kev up. What a blether.

A tramp appeared and a well educated one at that. His English was perfect. Fried Egg offered him a beer, obviously not one of his but one of Gnasher’s. Kev and the tramp got on like a house on fire and at one point the TSTA were glad there was no spaghetti or serenading waiters in sight for The Laddie and The Tramp.

As Kev swooped for another voddie, The Fugitive burned a hole in his Scotland top with his King Eddie to put paid to Kev’s next raid on his bottle of Glen’s.

It was indeed in the words of big Fried Egg “a knob-out” day out but perhaps that expression was not his best given the earlier proceedings. After the beach scoop fest it was reluctantly time to head back.

On the way to the bus they passed a Norwegian Danny Di Vito look-alike who got absolute pelters from the troops for being shorter than their very own stay at home Action Man.

On the ferry back to Oslo, Gazza struck up a relationship with some Norwegian Granny. She asked what Gazza was holding in both of his hands as it looked so good she could go one. Luckily, it was a can of Tennants. Mind you I think Gazza still has her phone number and he did give her one of his own calling cards! There was a major sing-song on the ferry back with some of the locals even joining in. Gnasher meanwhile stuck his tongue out at a bairn on the boat and the bairn then told his Mum who drew daggers at Gnasher for the rest of the journey.

They took a Womble to the stadium, well actually it was a train but it went underground, overground. The remnants of the carry out were polished off as much as possible and the following song was sung to the tune of “Land of Hope and Glory” on the train:

We saved your whales
We saved your elks too (they bite)
We saved Rudolph the Reindeer
And your seals and your Trolls too.....

Gnasher didn’t quite finish his Tennant’s carry out and actually chucked some of it away before joining the rest of the troops who were munching spicy kebabs from a stall.

Oh aye and there was a game. It was a 0-0 draw and there wasn’t much to get excited about but somehow Fried Egg managed to get upset with every player except Rab Douglas. He was monged. At half time, he spotted his Hibbie hero Tam McManus and asked Credit card to take his photo. As Credit Card snapped away Fried Egg said to Tam “See that gadgie taking your photie he’s a Jambo twat”. Tam was impressed and said to Credit Card “Did you enjoy Sunday’s last minute Hibbie win then?” but he wasn’t so impressed with CC’s retort of “22 in a row!” It was followed by a handshake though.

Gnasher got his photo with Stephen Crainey and Credit Card gave Jim Leighton a shot of his phone and he didn’t drop it.

Back to the game and all through the match the crew got text messages telling them they were on the telly. Earlier Credit Card sent a text to The Chieftain in TSTA HQ and said “We’re next to the palm tree”. The Chieftain thought that Credit Card must have been out of his tree (probably on too many pear ciders). Credit Card was telling the truth though the guy in front of him had an inflatable palm tree at the match, as you do. It later burst and there was a book of condolences for it opened up by its owner at Torp airport the next day.

The game was crap. But hey Scotland didn’t lose and then there was the song sung to John Arne Riise “Ginger Pubes are Unacceptable” a clear case of the pot calling the kettle black for quite a few chanters if you ask me. That one was sung a lot, as was the following

“We’re the famous Tartan Army and we’re here to save the whales, save the whales, save the whales”.

Perhaps one of the more subtle songs was aimed at David “X”. Remember him? He had sweet-talked his met at Prestwick burd to go to the game. As he went dooking for tonsils with her, the Tartan Army were heard to sing:

“You’ve got a Norwegian stuck to yer face. You’ve got a Norwegian stuck to yer face”.

Getting out of the stadium was a nightmare and the underground station looked really busy. Credit Card reckoned that they could walk it back to the city centre easily. The walk took an hour. Once back at base Credit Card reckoned that the walk from The Ulleval Stadium was about the same as Wester Hailes to Leith Walk. Fried Egg moaned all the way that the route selected hadn’t even turned up a pub! Jackie and John lost count of the number of swear words that Fried Egg used but John reckoned at a Kroner a word, he should have enough to buy a street of houses on Bygdoy island.

The Fugitive was walking John Wayne-like. It looked like he has dismounted a horse having just crossed the Sierra Nevada twice. He had that common Tartan Army ailment SHAGS that’s “Severe Helmet Abrasion of the Goolies Syndrome”. It only has two cures:

1. Pre-applied Vaseline
2. Underpants

As he walked ahead in the distance in the poor streetlight, his silhouette looked like Jim Leighton (only with a beer belly).

Back at The Bohemen, the Tartan Army’s post match party was in full swing. Diddley Dee from EASTA was perched on a bar stool and he swivelled whilst his seat was stationary.

Fried Egg was monged as he played with his hat like a bairn, putting it on his head then taking it off again. Marshall Mallow did something similar the night before with a burd from the disco but it might not have been the same head. A Norwegian in the pub told The Fugitive that the drink he was drinking was a local spirit, which was very expensive and reserved usually for Xmas time. He asked if the Fugie Boy wanted a taste. He obliged by taking the glass to his nose and then he threw it down his thrapple in one to the astonishment of the Norwegian. Marshall Mallow handed him a tissue and told him to “Dry yer eyes!” Marshall had just given Gnasher a gubbin’ at darts with a 2 dart finish of 25 and Bull and Gnasher was drying his eyes too.

Gazza announced for the fourteenth time that day that he was starving and ran out for a hot dog. Marshall Mallow went outside too and chased Gazza up the street in an attempt to steal his hot dog rom him. There was a rugby tackle, 2 skint knees and a “Ya futtin’ basta” a few moments later. After another night of wallet busting drinking it was time for bed.

During the night Gazza awoke bollock naked and decided to go to the loo. The trouble is he opened the room door and not the toilet door so stood outside in the hotel corridor and said “Who’s stole the futtin’ bog?”

The next day saw the troops head for a culture trip. After the day before of glorious sunshine it was dull and cold. The 10 twallies headed for a fjord trip. It was freezing on the boat and I’m sad to report there was some drinking of soup, rather than beer but their names shall remain secret.

At every parp of the boat’s horn, scornful looks were directed at Mary Doll after her escapade at the beach. They had enough of this culture mularkey. They headed back to the Bohemen. It was a lot less busy as most of the footsoldiers had gone home on the early flight. The owner of the bar was counting the tens of thousands of Kroner the Tartan Army spent in his bar.

He said “You know we have had the Welsh over here and the Irish. They are a bit like you. The English they just want to fight. Going back to the Welsh and Irish I thought they could drink but they are not Premier League standard. Compared to you lot they are Second Division and mid-table at that. I’ve made a fortune and not had one single bit of bother. You guys arrived here drunk, then drunk 20 pints every day and no doubt tomorrow you’ll leave here drunk”. Jings that speech is right up there in terms of power with Martin Luther Kings “ I have a dream” is it not?

One of the Norwegian pub regulars then asked us to look at the middle pages of their local newspaper. He translated it for us but basically the local chief of police had been caught in the woods shagging a pig. There was even a fuzzy close-up picture of him giving the poor porker one. “Is that not incest then” said Credit Card.

Credit Card had booked a nice wee Chinese for the troops that evening particularly for Fried Egg. It was called “The Jambo” and on the menu were such mouth-watering dishes as “Peppered Steak a la Jambo”. Worse was to follow for Fried Egg as Gnasher let the cat out of the bag that Hibbie Fried Egg had maroon pants on as he seen him getting changed (surely not a pretty sight).

There followed another evening of bevvy at The Bohemen and Marshall Mallow was seen to go in search of his Nat King again but this time at least he got close, the trouble was she was 3 months pregnant! Still at least he tried.

They checked-out, said their goodbyes to Miss Elizabeth and headed for a taxi. Gnasher, Marshall Mallow and Gazza’s taxi headed for the railway station instead of the bus station due to a communication problem and they nearly missed the bus back to Torp Airport. On boarding the bus,Taffy from The Highland Tartan Army gave Credit Card abuse for wearing jeans instead of a kilt so he gave him his second last can of pear cider to keep him quiet.

At the airport, Taffy was seen carrying a huge slab of black Koppaberg’s cans from Duty Free. Pear cider! The lucky git. Well that was until Mary Doll pointed out that the ones Taffy bought were apple cider and the clue was the picture of the apple on them instead of a pear. He ran back to change them and swore never to mention Credit Card’s jeans in return. Poor Fugitive was delayed for 10 hours to get back to Englandshire whereas the Mid Calder troops only had a 20 minute delay.

What’s next? Dortmund dur Technic!