Bitches, Ho's, and Scottish Widows

Remember those Scottish Widow adverts?  A beautiful lassie wandering a desolate and picturesque Highland landscape in her black cloak and high heels, when she looked at the camera she gave you those 'come to bed if you're not dead' eyes.

I for one was glad her husband was deid.

That's probably not appropriate but how appropriate is it to advertise mortgages, loans and life insurance using sexy mourners?  I've looked back at the adverts and she still has her wedding ring on in most of them - she definitely shouldn't be looking at me like that - they should re-name the company 'Sexy Scottish Widows' or at least 'Sexy Pensions, Investments, and Life Insurance'.

When I was 12 I fancied Blue Peter presenter Katie Hill, my brother also fancied her which was unfortunate for me because it meant that by default I wasn't allowed to.  When the habitual Blue Peter viewing time came around my brother would start on a line of questioning that would always culminate with him kicking the shit out of me.

Hence how my first crush ended up being a woman who could not only show you a good time but could also look after your fiduciary needs - what 12 year old boy wouldn't be turned on by that?

Sex sells, simple as.  I didn't subject myself to Blue Peter battle royals every other week day to watch that donk who presents the one show now.  It's the same reason why 12 year old boys these days have such an encompassing and comprehensive knowledge of the English Premier League, Sky Sports news is like a 24 hour constantly repeated soft-porn channel.

Women have, and always will have, an incredible power over us.  The black widow spider for example - this is a very tenuous attempt at linking to 'Scottish Widows' - derives its name from its bizarre mating habits.  Once the female has mated with a male spider she will eat her sexual partner.  It is the literal example of 'hump and dump' unless of course female spiders share the same attributes as their human counterparts and in fact do not defecate - my mum has always told me girls don't poo.  This example of eight-legged man-eating can be found in human beings although usually with one-legged females and beatles.  The fact the female spider is much larger and more poisonous makes no difference because, as I'm sure most girls can verify, male lovers tend to get particularly dozy post-coitus.  That wee spider doesn't even realise he is being eaten until it's too late - and even then his biggest concern is that he tastes better than the other male spiders she has been with.

The fairer sex's approval is the greatest motivation for most of what we as edible males do.  We are aware that only the most charming and confident spiders are chosen to be eaten and we'd much rather be eaten than considered unappealing - the surviving males can hardly boast about how many girls they've been with can they? 

The journey on the path to self-improvement starts and ends with the approval of a girl.  If you are the sort of serial procrastinator who watches hours of constantly repeated television, drinks lots of cups of tea, eats lots of biscuits, and takes showers just because you are bored - you probably pee sitting down as well - then yes you are pathetic; you probably know this already.  But fear not, you are merely in a transitional period where you have given up trying to be Prime Minister to piss off the last person's approval you craved, and haven't quite summoned up the energy to go out and impress someone new buy being someone else - someone who doesn't pee in the shower.  Soon you're going to start making origami ostriches, begin a low-carb diet, take an interest in art, culture, and loads of other stuff you're not necessarily interested in. 

Remembering that love is the motivation for your self-improvement, the key thing is finding someone who you would be willing to change for.  Contrary to popular belief 'da club' isn't always the best place to do this.  Aside from the obvious obstacles of intoxication and the dramatic lowering of standards, in the unlikely event of you being allowed entry onto said premises your biggest problem is the standard and nature of the competing males.  Tanned, well-dressed, sock-less, men operate in these venues and they utilise a very defensive strategy to try and entice the females.  Quite simply these gentlemen will patrol the premises desperate for a chance to play the hero, only the slightest faux-pas in social etiquette is needed for fistycuffs to ensue.  The issue for you being, that by this stage of the evening you are much more likely to besmirch a young lady's honour than do anything that would impress or interest her.

I have so many examples of this, I once got punched in the ear for telling a girl she had nice hair.

My suggestion would be to try and speak to a girl in the bar pre-nightclub.  The more reserved and relaxed atmosphere means there is a greater chance of striking up a genuine conversation.  Be careful though, try and consider the effect the company you keep can have on your chat-up attempts.  Play the numbers game a small group of friends is required, no more than two or three.  Go out with a standard 'wing man' and they are likely to get pissed off at you for making contact so early in the evening.  Go with too large a group and you are likely to do something akin to the group mentality that follows gentlemen on a night out.

Apparently most folk meet their future spouse at work or university.  This isn't particularly advantageous if you're anything like me and are a self-employed wanker - I mean this quite literally, I make my living through regular donations to the sperm bank - who did a university course where a large proportion of the female students were lesbians.  Maybe you'll meet someone online - just be careful what you put down as your interests, mentioning your fondness for 'Orange Wednesdays' could result in an invite to go on a distasteful march in the east end of Glasgow.  My favourite is 'uniform dating dot com' - if uniforms really are your thing why don't you just go out and get yourself arrested or hospitalised?  'Match dot com' is another good one where you are encouraged to sing to people at railways stations, what this has to do with the actual advertised service I have no idea but hey, maybe you will meet the love of your life reporting unattended luggage together?

While attempting to meet your significant other please try to maintain lucid mental health, don't go lobbing off your left ear to try and impress a prostitute - I learnt a lot at the Van Gogh museum.  My mum's advise has always been to 'be yourself' but the fact she regularly describes me as a bit of an arsehole suggests she's sending out conflicting messages.  So make the necessary improvements; go to the gym, to the theatre, invest in something, clean your shoes, find out what 'blanching' is, donate to charity, write a blog, shop in Sainsburys, just do whatever you need to do to ensure that next time you step out of that door you're less of a dickhead.

Unless of course you're with a girl who likes dickheads, in which case just keep doing what you're doing.  Dickhead.

Being Middle Class is Class

Allow me to set the scene.  The sun is shining and I am sat in picturesque Inverleith Park in Edinburgh.  The model boat club members are tyring to avoid swans fed on organic, wholemeal bread, there are two games of cricket and a softball game being played, the catering van here is selling crepes, and people are actually 'picking up after themselves'.  Perhaps I've chose the wrong place to 'shoot up' - although it's the Greg's I'm eating that seems to be getting the more disparaging looks.

It's a lot nicer than the park I used to live next to.  There you would never see groups of people using cricket or baseball bats for their intended recreational purposes.

The differences between my current and previous EH residence is typical of the class divide you see all the time in Edinburgh.  Okay it might not be 'favela' to 'Fettes', but I've definately moved to the better side of the tram works.  It's only recently however I've been a victim of crime - turns out in Edinburgh you can't leave your football boots outside the front door to air.

I'm quite naive when it comes to stuff like this, being from the Highlands I'm not particularly security concious.  At casa del Downie we safeguard our belongings by hididng the back door key underneath the wheelie bin, making it marginally less convenient for any potential burglars - and leaving us dangerously exposed on collection day.  I remember a brief period of security paranoia when mum - obviously concerned about the foibles of our existing system - insisted we kept the key in a new camouflaged key holder.  Ordered from a catalogue it was disguised as a grey rock which looked inconspicuous amongst the red chipie stones at our back step.

She's a worrier my mum.  When we were in school my brother and I were instructed to sit in the middle of the bus, her reasoning being that if the bus was invololved in a head on collision the kids at the the front would be fucked, likewise if the bus was rear-ended it would be the kids at the back that would get it.  She didn't like it when I pointed out the middle of the bus was the furthest from the exits.  We talked about it and it was decided an aisle seat in the middle would provide the desired aisle access needed for a quick getaway, while also protecting from collisions from the front or behind - top decks were out of the question.  On a seating plan the optimal seats are as follows.

The fact I now live in the big smoke obviously doesn't help things.  To be honest I can't blame my mum for worrying.  When I first moved to Edinburgh my flat was situated in an area of such socio-economic depression it would be prime real-estate for Olympic or Commonwealth re-generation, plus, conveniently enough, it was located adjacent to a methadone clinic.  But despite the knife attacks, the car fires, and the prostitutes at the end of the road - who once asked me how my mum was, a case of mistaken identity, I hope - I was never concerned about living there, I was always confident that the wee 'jake baws' who ran about the place would rather rob houses where there was stuff actually worth stealing, i.e. none of the houses in close proximity.  Even crack-dens could provide better offerings than my granny's old TV set and a freeview box.  When two plain clothed detectives came to inquire about one of my neighbours, I was convinced they had come to bust me for not paying my TV licence.

The only time I was ever worried was when my American pals came to stay with me.  I made them aware of the dangers that the local young team posed, but they didn't seem particularly bothered.

In reality Edinburgh isn't all that intimidating the only gun fire we get here is to let us know its lunchtime - and I'm pretty sure they just do it to scare tourists.

Perhaps we do lead a sheltered life in this country.  I know my traumatic tales of personal torment such as the time I got my head stuck in a chair, or when i got locked in a potraloo, paled in comparison to my ex-girlfriend's anecdotes of being caught up in a bomb plot in Madrid, or a Columbian earthquake.  It may not have been an earthquake but my pals did a good job recreating one while I was locked in there, and I've never been involved in an explosion that I didn't create myself.  I remember we were in Madrid when she told me about the obviously harrowing, life affirming experience of witnessing an ETA bomb attack.  As usual in these situations I managed to say the wrong thing.

In school the highlight of our summer was an agricultural event called the Black Isle show.  It was never called off on account of a bomb scare but its eclectic mix of teuchters, minks, gypsies, and farmers meant that fireworks normally ensued, usually set to the soundtrack of a Robbie William's tribute act at the shows culmination dance.  The best thing about the Black Isle Show was that a few of the girls would usually have cousins with them who were on their holidays or they were there with friends from different schools.  It was a great opportunity for us to impress, usually by offering to pay the girls onto a ride - 'onto' not 'for ' - we would spend all the money we made from berry picking over the summer on buying tat and paying girls onto the attractions.

As the years progressed the vomit was less likely to induced by waltzers as it was by half a bottle of Grants - or a combination of the two at least.  I served a decent amount of my drinking apprentiship at the shows but aside from locking me in a toilet, my friends and I didn't cause all that much carnage.  There was one year when my pal got drunk and decided it would be a good idea to have a nap in the middle of the road which resulted in him getting, well, run-over.

So maybe we're not street wise in the Highlands but we don't need to be, we've only got one street, we're 'high street wise'.  And its not like bestiality is the only law being broken, last time I was home my pal was complaining of opportunist thieves in the neighbouhood.

That's the standard of thief we have in the Highlands, if that car was left in the seemingly safe surroundings of Trinity Edinburgh it would be in the same place as my football boots.  The only joy-ride a true Highlander is interested in are the ones at the Black Isle show.

As you climb life's social ladder you'll find yourself looking down less, probably because you no longer have to constantly scan the pavement for pitbull-mastif dogshit.  I'll admit it is nicer living in leafy Trinity with the cricket players and touch rugby tournaments than next to the methadone clinic.  But the more you have, the more you have to lose - I mean I have Sky now.  When I'm king of the castle I'll be happy to have the walls, and the gun to let me know when lunch is. 

Penguins, Ducks, and Sheep-Staggers

On my very first foray into the world of stand-up comedy, on the very first occasion I stood on a stage in front of paying customers, I told my very first joke, the first joke I had ever written - or written down at least - and it was about my hometown.

'You can take the man out of Dingwall, but you probably shouldn't'.

The next time someone asks you where you're from feel free to use this joke, just insert your town/village/caravan site - it works particularly well if you're from the isle of Man - and if people don't laugh just remember; a good one liner is much like an Andy Barrowman square ball in the 82nd minute of a Scottish Cup semi-final, it's all in the delivery.

My opening gambits usually revolve around my Highland hometown which tends to induce heckles about bestiality - fancy word for sheep shagging - which is ridiculous considering most folk in the Highlands are too religious to shag the sheep - not without marrying them first at least.  Aside from bestiality many individuals first association with Dingwall is to its football club, Ross County, or the 'Staggies' as they're affectionately known.  And on that fateful cherry popping evening in Glasgow one hearty County admirer stood up and shouted...

Which in a fervent Glaswegian accent sounded an awful lot like..

I was in Glasgow I'd prepared myself for a knife attack what I wasn't expecting was a heckle about Ross County. It turned out not to be an isolated incident either, since then I've had lots of audience members threaten to stab me.

In truth Ross County doesn't belong solely to Dingwall.  The club's stadium, Victoria Park, is the only in Britain where the capacity of the stadium is larger than the town's population.  Despite this the club is well supported with one of the highest average attendances in the Scottish first division.  Ross County is the most Northerly professional club in Britain, the club's demographic of fans covers a geographical area larger than Belgium drawing from towns and villages such as Alness, Invergordon, Tain, Dornoch and further flung outreaches such as Lewis, Wick, Thurso, and Orkney.  In a modern day Jacobite rebellion Victoria Park makes a fitting place for 'Bonnie Prince Adams' to raise his standard.

Despite our Northerly disposition please ensure the sat-nav takes you to Dingwall, not St Tropez, because apparently, according to Trovit property..

Dingwall, the county town of Ross and Cromarty, situated a mere 14 miles from the 'city' - pssssshhtttt - of Inverness, has the sunniest climate of the County enjoying a milder micro climate.

That's a bit like saying it's the 'coolest' town in Death Valley.  I've yet to witness the residents of Balintore or Gairloch rushing to Dingwall to 'warm up'.  Looking on the huddled home fans in Victoria Parks Jail End - named so because of the stands close proximity to the Sheriff Court, which comes in handy when hosting Raith Rovers fans - the scene resembles a colony of penguins on an Attenborough documentary rather than a Bounty advert.

Anyone who has ever been part of the jail end colony might agree that the often incomprehensible Dingwallian dialect resembles a Pingu sound-bite.  Some lucky naturists might even have been fortunate enough to catch a rare slipping, sliding, flapping, performance from Gary McSwegan - although to be fair he was more of a donkey than a penguin.  Now I may have stretched the penguin analogies a little far, but when it comes to comparisons with birded, beaked, buddies, there was one particular Highland derby when my uncle managed to take it to the next level.

Mo Johnston, Alfie Conn, Steven Pressley and Kenny Miller are a select group of players who have crossed a divide as old as football itself.  A division between two teams separated by intense rivalry and religion, locked in a never ending battle for domination of the Scottish game.  I'm talking of course about players who have played for both Celtic and Rangers.  Players who have made headlines when deciding to change allegiances.  In the Highlands Ross County and local rivals Inverness Caledonian Thistle swap players like cups of sugar, the divide between the two teams has been crossed more often than a Wayne Rooney spelling test, or a certain Polish ex-Celtic goalkeeper.  For the last few Highland derbies Calley has fielded a number of ex-County players making the opposition lineup pretty easy to recite..

And despite the fact so many of County's players have crossed the Kessock Bridge to play down the ferry - Barry Wilson, Stuart Golabeck, Don MacMillan, Roy McBain, Nicky Walker, Richard Hastings, Gary McSwegan, Graham Bayne, Steven Hislop, John Rankin, Lionel Djebi-Zadi, Don Cowie, Andy Barrowman - it doesn't make them any less popular if they return to Victoria Park in Calley colours.

During one particular Highland Derby Calley full back Roy McBain was singled out for particularly abusive treatment.  Every time he touched the ball my uncle would go through a bizarre ritual that involved flapping arms and snapping fingers.  He was dancing around the Jail end shouting..

Despite my previous association with the polar South, and despite the fact one of Dingwall's pre-game  drinking establishments is called the 'Mallard', this isn't how the Jail end chooses to express their dislike for a certain player.  My uncle had got himself a little mixed up, what we were actually singing was...

The hand gestures were a little different as well.

Ross County is a football club at the heart of its community, as was evident when the team made it to the final of the 2010 Scottish Cup, the exodus from the Highlands on that day was like a repeat of the clearances.  Personally I have been involved with the club since taking in my first ever game aged six years old.  I played in the boys club, I worked and coached with County during my university years - the club even hosted an 'under achievers' meeting I attended when I was at school.  Ross County has provided me with as many memories and moments as any mentally unstable family member dancing about the home end.

• There was the announcements my friends and I would get Stadium announcer Ally MacKintosh to read out at half time.

• There was the time my brother and I almost enticed a full scale riot after Calley fans started throwing bricks at our supporters bus thanks to our gestures out the back window.

• There was the time I got pelted in the testicles from a stray shot - probably McSwegan's - and had to hobble home at half time while the St John's ambulance people pointed and laughed at me.

• There was the time the police put my intoxicated pal on a bus back to Dingwall when he had actually travelled to the game from Edinburgh.

• There was the time one of the boys got knocked out after some over-zealous celebrations at the Challenge Cup final.

• There was the time when working for the club I managed to get lost giving primary school pupils a tour of the stadium.

• There was the time we broke onto the pitch and had a game in our kilts on my eighteenth birthday party.

• There was the time when coaching for County I travelled to Orkney only to realise I'd forgotten to take any footballs.

• There was the time we told some English guys we didn't accept English notes when selling programmes outside Victoria Park before an Under-18's Scotland versus England game

• There was the time we had our inflatable sheep confiscated at Easter Road.

I apologise to any reader who may have expected an informative blog on an interesting, if slightly obscure, Scottish football team.  You may have expected me to talk about my favourite players, - Billy Ferris, Karim Boukrra - my favourite moments, - run to the Scottish Cup final 2010, 5-1 Victory against Calley in 2003 - or some of the clubs successes - Scottish Cup Finalists 2010, Second Division Champions 2007/8, Challenge Cup Winners 2011, 2007, Third Division Champions 1998/99 - the clubs history, - formed in 1929 County played in the Highland league until being accepted into the Scottish Third Division in 1994 - or their attempts at developing the stadium, facilities and youth teams - Victoria Park is home to the 'Highland Football Academy' which boasts some of the finest training facilities in Scotland and has already produced talented young players such as Gary MacKay-Steven.

It's almost inconceivable to think that Ross County and Inverness could potentially both be in Scottish footballs top flight a little over 17 years after their introduction into the Scottish Football League.  We have something that's rare in Scottish football at the moment, a talented team, a forward thinking club and a set of supporters who appreciate their efforts.  Flying high at the top of the Scottish first division - 3 points clear with two games in hand as I write this - and still basking in the success of their incredible 2010 Scottish cup run, Ross County are a club - hopefully - on the up.

2012 is the year of the Stag.  Promotion is on the horizon.  Don't like it..??  Then I'm gonnae stab ye.  You heard me right.