Yesterday BRTH produced Part 1 of what could be the greatest comedy since Mrs Brown’s Boys…sorry, I take that back…every comedy is better than Mrs Brown’s Boys!
Let’s say that this has the prospect of being on a par with Father Ted. If you have not read Part 1, please do so now, and then sit back for Act II.
(But before we do so, in the style of Pearl & Dean, rather than Duff & Phelps, a quick announcement – I am hoping to add some contributors to the site. If anyone is interested in doing so, from whatever side of the debate, even from the old enemy (Airdrie United 🙂 ) feel free to email me at scotslawthoughts at aol.co.uk or contact me through the comments section.
I’m happy to have football related legal pieces, or even legal related football pieces, and indeed pieces which are to do with law and nothing to do with football at all!
No fees payable, but I will buy any contributors a coffee if I meet them!)
In the Blue Room at Ibrox, a small bespectacled man sits calmly in the middle of the room while chaos unfolds all around. No one seems to notice him, nor addresses any point to him, despite the fact that he is central to their very being and presence in the room…….
” That is all YOUR fault” screams Whytey.
” How the Feck is it MY Fault you bug eyed Tosser?” shouts AJ.
“Your Fault and fat Sally’s fault!”
” Listen Whytey, it’s Super Ally or Coisty to you, and we can’t help it if you are a moron”.
“I don’t care what you are called, Sally, you didn’t make yourself clear, you didn’y go through proper business channels, and so an easy mistake was made……. That is all I am saying”
” An easy Mistake?” Roars AJ ” You bought a £4Million KITCHEN you total dork!”
“And you told me at the outset that the first thing we needed as a club was a new Kitchen brand”
” As in Don Kitchenbrand, ya fanny, Not four million quids worth of fecking Poggenphol and Miele”
” And Sally here….”
“Super Ally… for the last time.. my name is Super Ally”
“……. told me to go German and bring in Close…”
” Miroslav Klose, the German… Fecking….. centre…… Fecking….. Forward! Not the Fecking Pay Day loan Bank ya Total Fecking Diddy………..”
” Don’t give me that Pish” screams Whytey ” I told you, I am not a football man, I am a business type, a futures trader……..”
“Well you have traded our Future right down the pan ya wee diddy… and ye did it our AIN fecking money” replies AJ
” I never knew about Don Kitchenbrand.. that was in the 50′s, and I don’t follow German Fitba either… so when you said Klose…. I thought…..”
“It’s clear what Ye thought ya tube” screams AJ
” Mind you, It is a cracker of a deep fat fryer” admits Ally ” Does you a crispy Mars bar in seconds at full heat………..”
AJ Stomps off in despair to the other side of the room passing the Journos who are in a huddle
” So how do you want to run with this?” asks Spiersy in a sort of Bearsdeny gently enquiring accent
” Well we could start twisting it a wee bit round towards saying that Hector/George is being a bit feckin unreasonable…” says Chic
” Don’t you mean “Twisting it round a wee bit?”… that is far better English……” corrects Spiersy
” Shut it Spiersy” says Chic ” You huvny even got a readership who cares about the English, and my readers and Jabba’s readers can barely read English… nobody cares about English anymore”
” I fecking Do!”
” That’s because you are English”
” No.. I am Irish… I keep telling everyone that…..I even know the rules of Hurley and everything…”
” Aye but Tom, what Chic means is that you don’t care about proper written English” says Jabba
” Eh… that will be properly written English” suggests Spiersy
” Right, Feck off Graham, I am not taking a lesson in English from you especially when you are on the brew….. ” says Jabba in the huff
” Anyway” says Tom ” I don’t think knocking Hector is the right angle…. for a start we might annoy him and he starts looking into our expenses…. ”
” Good point Tom” says Chic ” What do you claim in expenses by the way.. the Beeb are getting right stingy”
” Surely that must be really stingy?” asks Graham, at which point Jabba knocks him off his chair and proceeds to sit on him.
” Well I claim my Taxi fares each and every morning into the office” says Tom
” Aye but you won’t make much out of that”
” Well a Taxi to and from Limerick each day adds up!”
” But you don’t stay in Limerick, you stay in Morningside
” Yes well if the Barclay brothers can claim a taxi everyday from the feckin Channel Islands, I can get one from Limerick.”
” But that is fraud!” says mark Daly
” Listen you” says Chic ” If those photos of you Shereen and Big Jackie ever see the light of day, there is no chance of you ever,, and I mean EVER…. getting the big gig on Panorama. I mean what was all that with the furry covered boom microphone and singing “GO COMPARE” like the advert on the telly– what was that all about? So just sit there and shut it till we figure an angle here”
“Anyway” says Tom, glancing at Daly in disgust ” my point is that these are precisely the kind of questions we don’t want Hector to be asking.. Jabba Spiersy going very red in the face down there…..”
At that precise point the door opens, and standing in the frame is a figure in a wide brimmed fedora like hat and a long dark coat. His presence, whilst barely in the room at all, completely changes the atmosphere in an instant. Everyone turns to stare at the figure and reacts in their own different ways….. it is AJ that breaks the silence:
” NOW we are talking” He Growls ” Now we are Fecking talking” and he marches towards the figure from the back of the room.
Fud and Duffus are more than a little perplexed and indeed frightened by the appearance of this man. They say nothing, but grip one another by the arm in an automatic gesture of fear.
Jabba gets to his feet and exclaims” Good God” whilst Spiersy, relieved of Jabba’s weight involuntarily farts loudly.
Chic– in an action of supreme dexterity and lightning fast reaction— stands, bends over and touches his toes in an all in one movement that Olga Korbut would have been proud of.
Even George Hector gets to his feet, stretches out his hand and greets the newcomer:
” Mr McDonald…. how very nice to meet you!”
” Mr McDonald?” Roars AJ ” Who the Feck is Mr McDonald?”
” Is this not Alex McDonald?” Says Smiley George Hector ” Glasgow Rangers legend from the 1970′s? Gentlemen, I may be an Edinburgh man but that does not mean that I am completely oblivious to matters in the outside world and I know a wee Doddy when I see one” he said proudly.
“THIS” says AJ rather incredulously “Is not WEE Doddy ya muppet, This is Donald Findlay, former Vice Chairman of the great Glasgow Rangers, a true blue bear, leading legal brain in the country and the very man wee need in this time of Crisis….”
AJ starts to sing ” Hello Hello” very loudly
“Oh” says George/Hector ” I just saw the whiskers and thought Doddy……..”
By this time AJ and the so far silent QC are embracing one another by shaking hands in what seems like some form of double jointed yet arthritic hand gesture whilst both stand on one leg at an improbable angle. When they break the QC surveys the room:
“Well, who have we got in here then?” he asks in a booming voice whilst rolling up his trouser leg.
Without waiting for an answer from anyone else, he starts to answer his own question:
” Super Ally.. how are you son? In need of a training session I think!!!”
” AJ I know of course…….. Chic? Is that your arse I see I see in the air? For God’s sake man that was years ago.. and you don’t need to do that everytime I walk into the room or hear my voice……. Spiersy… what are you doing down there? You look as if you have just been asphyxiated by a large elephant….. Jabba… good to see you….. and who is this?”
” That’s mark Daly.. from the BBC”
“Oh” says Donald in a less than friendly tone of voice ” Auntie’s wee tell tale tit? Oh. Forgive me, but I see you as a dangerous little runt, and I am not sure at all if what I want to say here should be said in front of you………”
“Don’t worry about him Donald” says Chico in a fawning sort of way ” we have his number, because Scoop Guidi has the photos of him, Jackie Bird and Shereen Nanjiani in the sound booth at the BBC Christmas night out…..”
Donald Guffaws loudly
” The BBC Christmas night out?” he says.. tears rolling down his eyes…… ” God does that still happen?”……….. he has a far away look in his eyes ….. ” Back in the old days at Queen Margaret drive I use to jump into the sound booth with Paddy Christie and Mary Marquis when they were reading the news ha ha…. talk about rolling your trousers up and taking your earrings out with your toes? They use to have this mini set of handcuffs for putting round your winkie….”
” Yes they are mine!” shouts Chic ” and I want them back!”
“Ahem” a gentle cough brings all to their senses and everyone turns to look at Hector George
” Forgive me Mr Findlay for not recognising you.”
” Quite ok Hector”
” We have spoken many times on the telephone but we have never actually met… until now.”
” you two speak on the telephone? what about?” asks Chic, whilst wondering why he has never been invited into the BBC sound booth by anyone other than the guy that does the God spot every four weeks
” oh.. Money laundering, proceeds of crime acts cases, legal aid board fiddles.. that type of thing…” says Hector/George quietly
” It always pays to talk to Hector” booms Donald ” If you play fair with Hector, he will give you carte blanche to screw everyone else…”
” Yes…. quite…” says Smiley
From the back of the room a figure advances and thrusts his hand out towards the newly arrived QC
” Hello.. pleased to meet you, I am Craig Whyte.. or just plain Whytey to my friends.. I am the owner of Glasgow Rangers FC”
The learned advocate looks briefly at the young man before him, and without warning swings an untrousered leg and boots Whytey right in the gonads… with the result that Whytey screams, falls to the floor and his eyes pop out of their sockets in an alarming fashion.
The room stands in stunned silence until Hector/George, looking down on Whytey rolling in agony with eyes agog says gently:
” well…. that explains something which I am sure we have all privately wondered about…..”
” Gentlemen, let me explain something” says Findlay locking his thumbs into the lapels of his jacket ” What you have just witnessed was A an act of self-defence and B the use of reasonable force. I suggest to you, that it is plain for all to see, that I have just been approached by a total stranger.. as was evidenced by his attempted introduction, his extended hand and the announcing of his name. By definition, a stranger is a personage who is unknown to me and someone who, in normal circumstances could not immediately be classed as friend or foe. However, these are not normal circumstances. This particular stranger… introduced himself as a Mr Craig Whyte.. a name that is now known throughout the land and…. in part thanks to these good gentlemen of the press… a name that is now synonymous with a deluded, dangerous, double crossing wee fanny!”
Here the great whiskered one paused for dramatic effect….. and to gauge the reaction of his audience
” Therefore, gentleman, it logically follows that when this wee baw bag approached me with his outstretched hand and his mad mental stare, I had no way of knowing whether he was genuine in his greetings and felicitations, or whether he was about the business of stealing my watch, twisting my arm or causing me some other untold harm. Further, given that he has an established track record for selling his granny, has already been denounced by no less a personage than the Sheriff of Glasgow and Strathkelvin as being deluded, unreliable and as someone whose actions and words are untrustworthy and not to be relied upon.. I believe that I was perfectly entitled to treat his approach with suspicion and caution. If that premise is accepted.. and I suggest to you that it is perfectly reasonable….. then it is without doubt the law of the land that I.. and anyone else for that matter… can take reasonable steps.. and indeed use reasonable force where necessary… to fend off a reasonably anticipated attack from a publicly known wee shyster like Whytey here.
” As you can see, I was in the midst of my traditional one trousered greeting with brother AJ and Hector here when Whytey approached. He demonstrated and exhibited no outward signs of the ancient craft… he did not ask me how old my granny was nor offer his third knuckle in greeting… and therefore I suggest that I was reasonably entitled to treat him as foe!
When dealing with foe… it is accepted that one cannot simply do as you please… you must act reasonably. Therefore, I further suggest, that in dealing with a reputed but personally unknown foe like Whytey, then a good swift unexpected boot in the baws has all the hallmarks of a reasonable measure.. performed under reasonable circumstances by a reasonable man.
Such an act will not kill him, although it is accepted that it may lead to genital deterioration, and possibly result in an inability to procreate and to continue the genetic line. In this instance, the latter consequences of booting Whytey in the ghoulies is, I suggest, more of a public service than an act that is in any way worthy of being viewed as reprehensive. It is a fair and reasonable step/
If you care to look at Whytey, and the condition he is now in, then as George/Hector has observed, it would appear that Whytey has had his baws booted regularly in the past.. with the result that he is afflicted with an eye condition which can only reasonably be brought about by regular drop kicks to the scrotum area. He could take preventative measures by wearing what is commonly known as a baw Guard… but it appears that he chooses to throw caution to the wind and leave his privates unprotected when going about his general business, despite the fact that he must surely know by now that half of Scotland is likely to want to boot him in the Nakas.
Accordingly, applying the legal maxims of Caveat Emptor, Res Ipsa Loquitur, Volenti non fit inuria and We arra People…… I would ask you to acquit me on all charges………..”
There was spontaneous round of applause and a standing ovation at such oratory.. well apart from Whytey who was heard to moan ” My baws are killing me for feck sake!”
Amid the applause:
” Did you hear that?” said Spiersy ” Every word, every sentence… grammatically perfect……”
Unseen by all, Jabba knocked Spiersy unconscious by hitting him on the back of the head with a handy telephone directory!
Please note that does not purport to be a true and accurate account of any meetings at Ibrox or elsewhere. The real events are far more remarkable than anyone could invent.