Tap Shop Tartan Army - Stevies Diary Ahrnem

TSTA Have More Than 1% Of The Crowd
The Story Of The Belgian U21s.

When the Portuguese friendly was announced, Fried Egg turned to twin brother Ski-in’ Don't and said “Lets go”. Right away, the pair affectionately also known as the Tap Shop’s “Bawbags” hit the net (something many a Scottish striker can’t do). As soon as Fried Egg realised the cost of the flights could feed a small third world country (or indeed pay Giro day in Dedridge) the immortal words “nae chance” were uttered. Quick as a flash the stingy git said “Lets go to Bellyjium and see the wee boys instead”. The Bawbags of course mean’t the under 21s. On to the net again for Ryanair flights and they found bargains and much cheapness, so their mate The Fugitive decided to go too. He is based deep in enemy territory (Engerlundshire) and plans are made to sneak him out. Hotels are booked and a car is hired from Charleoi. Job done!

BELLS AFORE YE GO – THE PRE-TOUR WEEKEND
Fried Egg and Ski-in’ Don't had booked tickets for the EASTA dance and duly left base camp along with Annie Bear and Myra (F) Hindley. The dance was at 7:30 p.m., so they were there for pre-dinner drinks at 2:00 p.m., leaving nothing to chance and having ample time to get monged. Ski-ing Don’t (at around 7:00 p.m.) saw that Fried had got himself a wee click because the burd on his arm was gorgeous and it took a few double takes to realise that it was indeed Annie Bear and she scrubbed up bonny. She wore a nice wee black number, it is 666 the cheeky wee devil. Fried Egg even remarked that he really fancied her and for him that IS a compliment, or more realistically he was pished again.
After dinner Fried Egg got a photo taken with Alex Salmond. Daft git was sure it was Julie Fleeting but let’s be honest he was trollied at the time.
Following a severe resident’s bar bill they head back to TSTA HQ on the Sunday morning and finished the weekend off in fine style by staying till shutting time ahead of Bellyjium the next day.

BELLYJIUM TOUR DAY 1
Fried Egg and Ski-ing Don't set off for the thriving metropolis that is Prestwick Airport to avail themselves of much cheapness Airlines. After a vodka-fuelled flight they land in Bellyjium to be met by The Fugitive at the arrivals door. He was pointing out some business-man in a smart suit wearing a bumbag. What a fashion icon. Whit a fanny! By now Fugie’s camouflage paint was off as he had got out of Englandshire under cover, well; under the influence of alcohol if the truth be told. He had, a rather fetching wee mauve coloured Renault Megane waiting to take them on the next leg of the tour (as soon as he could nick it!)
Bags and glasses were loaded and they set off to Liege, which was to be base camp for their trip. They checked into their hotel and hit the bar (which was sore) for a wee taster. Someone mentioned food and despite Fried’s suggestion that food gives you cancer and the bar is still open, they duly go for scran.
They find food and then decide to go talent spotting, but in the first bar they decide to abandon that and set about the usual mission of getting pished. Mission accomplished!
Whilst waiting for their taxi Fried Egg decided to break off diplomatic ties with Bellyjim by telling the local in the queue to “Dae wan ya Belgian prick or yer getting launched"…..and he did!

BELLYJIUM DAY 2
The 3 intrepid footsoldiers, (aka tossers) wake up after 5 hours kip singing the same song.........”@*%& me ma heid’s sare”. The Fugitive who had booked the luxurious 4 star hotel was last to make it for a shower and was less than impressed to find out that although they had a triple room there were only 2 towels for use. Of course they were by now lying sodden on the bathroom floor with a Freddy Lungberg skidmark stripe or two!
Fugie was told in a strangely twin like thing by the brothers “If yer no fast yer last…bawbag!”, so he clammed up and tried to dry off with 2 hand towels. You can guess what they were used for and why Fried Egg has a “communication charge” on his room bill! The Fugitive decided his last wash in 1998 keept him smelly and the English away from him.
After re-fuelling they check out and head off to Molenbeek.
After an unplanned tour of Liege they finally get onto the motorway. They were trying to avoid snow-covered mountains. Ski-in’ Don’t had the map upside down but his Playboy was the right way up. The Fugitive thought he was still in bus driver mode because he hit 100 mph with his hand constantly on the horn. He shouted obscenities at any Belgian that dared to get in his way.
Ski-in’ Don't was in the front contemplating a change of shreddies. Fried Egg broke out the Valium and then they really didn't give a shit what happened. A change to warp power got them to Brussels. Fried Egg wanted to deposit a captain’s log doon the watter and was anxious about finding the hotel. Finally, after an hour of driving around they find it near Anderlecht.
Ski-ing Don't had booked the hotel over the internet but sadly for him it wasn't their usual 4 star luxury, more like a Joe Tortalono (no star) fleapit with hot and cold running cockroaches, in a district twinned with Pilton.
The Fugitive and Fried Egg both gave him the death stare and remarked in tandem "Whit a fanny!" Now on the defensive, Ski-in’ Don't said as they would be totally pished by the time it came to go to sleep, it didn’t really matter anyway. Much to his relief, the other two agreed, then set off to the bar for a quickie.
They set off on foot towards the stadium in search of beer and food but more importantly they needed funds as their Euro stocks were as low at The Tap Shop’s lager supplies on Gala Day.
Fried Egg doesn’t do walking unless it’s to the bar, mind you even then someone has to show him the way. He is a lazy twat and wanted to get a cab so he could get more beer, more quickly. The Fugitive told him that fresh air was good for him and just prior to Fried Egg’s reply the Fugitive managed to step in the biggest dog turd ever seen. He hopped about the street moaning that his brand new boots were ruined and covered in Sven Goran, meanwhile the other two footsoldiers were pishing themselves at his misfortune. It’s the first time they’ve seen dog turd with a What Everyone Wants logo dented in the middle!
Some 45 minutes later they still couldn’t track down a cash machine. Fried Egg was heard to remark at the top of his voice "How do you Belgian pricks get any f*%@ing money in this shithole”. Once again he endeared himself to the locals.
Finally, they got some directions to a hole in the wall and they loaded up their wallets with Euro beer vouchers. They never seem to have them loaded with pounds back home, the miserable gits! They got a few odd looks from the locals who saw 3 twats giving it Riverdance big-time at the autoteller whilst waving money in the air.
They then consumed a bowl of soup each, it’s official they are soup drinkers. Their excuse was it was getting a bit chilly.
They headed to the ground where they sniffed out a bar outside the stand. The crowd was 287 and the 3 TSTA lads were proudly representing more than 1% of the crowd but drinking 10% worth’s of bevvy. As they are all Hibbies they soon needed treatment from the ambulance men for being scared in a big crowd.
They were the only bar customers for a while and when the locals did start to arrive it was “Strangers in the night”, they were passing glances, they type of glances that were “What a trio of Bawbags”.
This started to irritate Fried Egg. After a while and despite being outnumbered he bellowed "If that gadgie doesnae stop staring at us he is going to get 3 rapid”.
It worked. The guy understood and quickly looked elsewhere, then went for a change of kex. They were finally joined by some other footsoldiers from less exotic places than Mid Calder, such as Berlin, Zurich and Amsterdam. They asked if they had tickets but as the bar was actually in the stand The Fugitive reckoned they should just blag it.
They went to the front of the stand to be confronted by a steward asking for tickets. The Fugitive made a pathetic attempt at searching his wallet while the twins gave him a stare that let him know he was a bawbag. (Fugie is good at sneaking oot of places but an erse at sneakin’ in).
The guy who let them in earlier and knew they didn’t have tickets was nowhere to be seen.
Panic set in but after coughing up 5 Euros they got in, (the steward wasn’t interested in the diced carrots though).
They got into the stand to see another 60 footsoldiers, most of them in full battledress to cheer the team on. Bad night, Scotland lose 2-0 but really should have won. But hey our heroes did win the drinking competition!
An after match schwally quickly got underway. The Fugitive started chatting up the barmaid. At shutting time the barmaid invited the trio to the bar she owns for a wee nightcap.
The Fugitive’s eyes lit up and his kilt tilted up. In true TSTA style they accepted with the twins eager to see the silver tongued Fugie in action. Upon arrival the dame introduced them all to her husband. The Fugitive just shrugged his shoulders, moaned about having to find 3 Euros in coins for no reason and sighed “Ah well let’s get trumpeted”.
Five or six more beers later Fried Egg was in his usual state. Despite a KB so strong The Boy Wonder couldn’t beat it, The Fugitive was still lusting after the barmaid in a Jack Duckworth style. Ski-in’ Don't although equally sparkled, could read his watch at the third attempt and said that they should head home. Fried Egg’s reply was incoherent and The Fugitive tried sign language but between the two the answer was a clear GTF.
Another 3 or 4 beers later all 3 soldiers heard the double clicks at their fuel pumps and they bade all in the bar a goodnight to a rousing round of applause as they fell in a taxi. The Fugitive still claimed “Hey I was in there!”

BELLYJIUM DAY 3
Groundhog Day as they all woke up singing the same sare heid song! The Fugitive was delighted to find the no star fleapit had 3 towels in a triple room . Ski-in’ Don't smiled smugly but later frowned as he saw Fugie drying himself and getting dirtier.
They checked out and remembered the previous night’s conversation pre-schwally about going to Portugal from Bellyjium. Fried Egg after all had his plastic with him, but Ski-in’ Don’t was sure that Annie Bear would be needing that and the batteries that go with it!
Air Portugal said “Yes we can do that for you sir but because you are not staying a Saturday night, it will be 3,000 Euros”. The reply was “Bollocks tae that!” Virgin Express would do it for £120 each but the timings were shit so they decided to head back to the bar.
Fried Egg broke the Valium oot again and in no time they were back at base camp. Whilst planning an alternative strategy, some of their Belgian pals whom they have known for yonks invited them for lunch.
They agreed and even more friends called later to invite them to dinner. So being the sociable chaps they are they said yes to that too.
Lunch was much food, beer and wine. The best bit came next. They refused to let them pay stating 20 years of friendship would end if they tried and 5 hours on the pish cost our trio zilch! RESULT and much appreciated. They were picked up from there and went for some pasta with loads of wine and beer. T hey then found an Irish bar and basically got trollied again. Then they got a taxi back to the hotel for 4 hours kip.

BELLYJIUM DAY 4
Groundhog Day again as singing of the sare hied song was belted out in unison.
After a hearty breakfast and many cups of tea they checked out and headed back to the airport. The twins bid farewell to The Fugitive who had to go back undercover to Engerlundshire and they boarded their flight back to God’s country. The twins skelped a voddy or 10 on the plane and declared the trip a success. Diplomatic relations with Bellyjium were still intact despite Fried Egg’s best efforts.