Just as any truly accurate representation of a particular geography can only exist on a scale of 1:1 (imagine the vast, rustling map of Burgundy, say, settling over it like a freshly-starched sheet!) so it is with all our abandoned histories, those ignoble lines of succession that end in neither triumph nor disaster, but merely […]
Let Arthur Wharton come back from the dead
To see the man in black blow the final whistle.
I never get doun to Tynecastle thae days
/ It’s a guid lang while nou sen I’ve been
/ I never get doun to…
Brissit, brawnis and broken banis,
/ Strife, discord and waistit wanis,
/ Crookit in eild, syn halt withal –
/ These are the bewteis…
April, the last full fixture of the spring:
/ ‘Feet, Scottish, feet!’ – they rucked the fear of God
/ Into Blackheath. Their club…
Here he comes – running through the station
/ After the match. Small boy, big yellow flag.
/ Watch him! He’s a hero!
/ There’s a…
/ for posts
/ he shoots
The Keepie-Uppie King
/ The Keepie-Uppie King
/ The Keepie-Uppie