Greetings from a pineapples and beans (wet & windy) Chalfont St. Giles. I do my utmost to maintain my Christmas cheer despite some doorstepper from Oxfam suggesting that I refer to Yuletide as a Winter Festival? Has the world gone mad to appease the latest Nigerian Hill Tribe that has settled on our sceptred isle? I gave him short shrift and threw snowballs at his increasingly soggy bottom as he made good his escape. He will get more change out of our camp vicar who loves nothing more than a pink oboe recital, if some tittle-tattle that Natasha picked up is true. Natlicious sends her love. She is bent over in the back seat of our cherished Bentley Flying Spur trying to remove the smell of fish suppers from the leather upholstery with Fabreze. Which reminds me that I must give the old girl a tuning; and book the Bentley into the garage for good measure. I could get a mobile valet round, but a wave of nostalgic reverie envelops me as I watch Nat getting hot and steamy in the back of our car. It reminds one of our courting days. I’m now banned from taking the Bentley to the local frying emporium. I’ll have to revert to Cherie, my convertible deux chevaux or Nat’s new Tesla, which I’m fairly certain takes down the entire St. Giles grid when charging overnight.
When my thoughts turn to Ibrox, I’m torn between the latest edition of Angling Times and the Rangers Fanzine, The Evening Shark Jump. Nat gets a copy of the latter by subscription as cat litter for Superally, our pet Siamese, who more often than not is a dirty stop-out. Dumping on Chris Jack’s copy is catnip to Superally. I have not got the heart to tell him that Jim Traynor of Level 5 has beaten him to it.
Will the Old Lady of Edmiston Drive be wearing a mantilla of netting when we next visit? Natasha has been through the white pages looking for adrenaline sports insurers, to no avail. We were offered a Siegried & Roy tiger package, but as the magicians had lost their no-claims bonus the premiums were too high. It would appear that swimming in a child’s paddling pool with irikanji and box jellyfish is less dangerous than visiting Ibrox. Natasha has arranged a Skype call with the Las Vegas Flying Elvises, so I remain hopeful :
Is the clear and present danger of roof collapse at the heart of the conspicuous absence of King, Murray and WATP from the directors’ box at Ibrox? Did Paul Murray demur from wearing a hard hat as it threatened the integrity of his well coiffed bouffant? It was rather alarming to note that the three leading lights of the hostile takeover, the Satanic Illuminati, all went fishing for the day. Were they trying out the roof nets in a local salmon farm, prior to a visit to Blair Drummond Safari Park to assimilate how the nets would thwart a spate of attempted suicides by Bears as the gap between Celtic and the Sevco Strollers reached thirty points?
Could their absence be linked to Dodgy Dave picking up a cool £10m and change from the sale of his Financial Services division, Micromega Malfeasance? £10m that could save the roofs from developing the properties of Hindenburg Zeppelins? Mr King did not want this information in the public domain and arranged for Jim Traynor to sit on it. If it were not for your exclusive and Martin Williams’ Pulitzer Prize Plagiarism four days later, one would not be aware that King now has the wherewithal to fix the roofs. Of course exchange controls might prove a stumbling block but surely they would be no barrier to our dear leader who had a ‘favourable result’ with SARS?
Meanwhile El Warbiola, who does not know his arse from his elbow or his play maker from his paella maker, is being saddled with another Mac Bung casualty. A John Toral’s Knees Meccano set might be the ideal Xmas gift, but is somewhat lame in January. Toral is not in any way an Ace, just another Mac Bung deuce. Does Mac Bung receive a bonus for placing crocks? Finding a working knee at Auchenhowie should not require the services of a metal detector.
Natasha has pencilled in our next visit to Ibrox as the home Scottish Cup tie after we deal with Motherwell on the 21st. The SFA know that we badly need the money, so a home tie against a ‘diddy club’ is a gimme.
I’m sure Paul Murray and Stewart Regan will work it out over foie gras at Hotel Du Vin as they engage in a playful game of ‘Toupee or To Pay.’ The player who identifies the least syrup figs from a list of Scottish football slapheads must settle the bill.
There are a couple of people pressing the video intercom at the coach house. Natasha has just asked whether we would entertain guests from The Church of Latter Day Saints. That will be those bloody Osmonds again. They believe that dark skin is a curse from God for wickedness. Not exactly a winning formula at the Notting Hill Carnival. They are whistling some ditty about Ugandan discussions apropos a hirsute Scouser, hoping that I’ll let them in, but they’re onto plums as far as I’m concerned. I suggested to Natlicious that she send them packing with a posy of paper roses.
On the topic of Uganda, Barbara sends her love. She really enjoyed your tryst at Xmas, prior to your exile in Asia.
Stay safe JJ,
Yours in Rangers,
Edward (Teddy) Bear Esquire,
The Chalfont Edwardian Estate,
Chalfont St. Giles,
Always a pleasure to hear from you in a faraway corner of the globe. I thoroughly enjoyed Xmas at the Coach House and my meaningful Ugandan confrontation with Barbara. Please send her and Lady Bear my love.
Things at Auchenhowie are not what they used to be. When the rag and bone man rolls by on the Milngavie road shouting ‘Any old iron‘ a number of players furtively glance at their knees. Some like Senderos should be sold for their scrap value.
John Toral, who was not selected to face Real Madrid, was the subject of Keith Jackson’s most fanciful claim that he could not join Rangers until he played against Ronaldo. I wonder how his non-selection will be spun for the blue massif? Was he saving himself for Rangers? Should he not arrive in a wheelchair or on a stretcher he’ll go directly into the first team squad. If he arrives on crutches, El Warbiola will have to make a judgement call.
Meanehile Celtic have signed Kouassi Eboue and await a work permit. He looks like another who could command a lucrative premium after a couple of seasons in the SPFL. He has joined up with his new team mates for some warm weather training in Dubai. All Rangers can afford is jogging on the spot in the night watchman’ s greenhouse.
To top up his Garrion Securities stipend, Paul Murray is giving a talk on his part in the £25,000 acquisition of hacked information, black propaganda, share devaluation and carpet bagging. Just what you would expect from any CA worth his salt, or anyone passing himself off as a CA as was the case with King. Dodgy Dave’s ICMA from the University of Brigadoon does not bear much scrutiny.
King is at pains to conceal how much he trousered from selling Micromega Malfeasance as there are many hungry mouths to feed at Ibrox, including Stewart Robertson who pulled down £233,000 including a £53,000 bonus. I wonder who leaked this information to the press?
Is Robertson being briefed against? Will Ally’s garden shears find a good home? Apparently the highly paid factotum has been having robust discussions with the career criminal apropos a prospective move to Hampden, as per the Woolgar Hunter recommendations. Meanwhile Glasgow City Council continue their Guinness Book of Records attempt for the longest game of I-Spy in a coal bunker.
Robertson should console himself with the discovery of the Ibrox catacombs which lead directly to the old SFA headquarters in Park Gardens. Will King approve their extension to Hampden to get Robertson off their books?
Yours in exile,