I was settling down to my traditional breakfast of rashers and brandy when i spotted, from my eyes, someone walking along my garden path.
Was it the head of the Roman Catholic Church in
Or could it be Pope Benedict himself, ready to preach his prophecies of hate on my doorstep?
Or perhaps even Odious Creep, lining my path with communion candles, designed to burn my feet as I walked out minding my own business?
Lo and behold, it was the postman, delivering a package, addressed to myself, at my address.
What did the package contain? Could it be the long awaited Walter Smith book, which would replace the crusty old copies of the Rangers News in my bed chamber?
Or perhaps the complete memoirs of Pastor Jack Glass, complete with discreetly placed naked photo signed by the man himself?
My hands trembled as I opened it, so I downed another brandy, and ripped the box open, as I would rip the cardigan from Walter Smith’s torso.
To my delight, it contained a bottle of red wine, complete with a note which congratulated me on my daily blog, signed Martin.
Ah, recognition at last! My friend Martin Bain had sent me a bottle of the finest red, straight from no doubt Sir David Murray’s personal collection.
I supped lustily from the bottle and read the note once more, and recoiled in horror as I read the label more carefully – communion wine!
And not from Martin Bain, but from Martin O’Neill, who had signed his surname on the back of the note – no doubt on the instruction of Odious Creep, who once again had got one over on me.
Creep wins again – but my ongoing war with him has now reached a new phase.
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