It was a very sad start to the day. Rangers playing in the UEFA Cup final last night may have been great for Scottish football, but the rioting that followed the game has shamed the whole of Scotland. Fans battling in the streets of Manchester with riot police, reports of a police officers being jumped on and losing their teeth, and even a Russian supporter being stabbed by three Rangers fans outside the stadium, were splashed all across the newspapers.
Why? Because one of the large TV screens erected in Piccadilly Square broke. Boo fucking hoo. It was disgusting. No longer can Rangers proclaim to be the Scottish patriots they all too often say they are. Genuine Scottish fans go to games and have the time of their lives and have won awards for their excellent behaviour; Rangers fans don’t get their way and the whole nation pays the price.
Looking at the newspapers of all the rioters covered in blood while draped in Union flags, it reminded me somehow of England fans who have a habit of this kind of thing – coincidence?
Meanwhile a real tragedy was unfolding when news that Tommy Burns had died earlier in the morning. Tommy was a Scotland and Celtic stalwart who had already fought off skin cancer before it returned, this time to claim his life. One of life’s good guys – but isn’t that what always happens?
Then another blow. My editor at Daily Writing Tips has put my articles on hold, so no more income from that stream. It’s a blow, because I was really enjoying writing for the site and I had half a dozen articles in progress. Hopefully it won’t be for long, but with the news that there isn’t anything major in the pipeline from my biggest client as well, it’s beginning to look like a slow summer is on the cards.
All I can do is keep scouring and plugging away and hope that some substantial work comes my way. I wonder if it’s anything to do with the “credit crunch” or if this is just the expected cyclical way that freelance writing works. I suspect a bit of both.
By the time I had hobbled into my third osteopath session this evening, I could hardly walk. The pain over the last couple of days has been excruciating, to the point where my leg can often be seen dragging behind me, and stumbling over kerbs a regular occurrence.
Ailis took pity on me, and while her treatment is perhaps one of the most painful things I’ve ever had to endure, the relief from the manipulation and traction was huge by the end of it. Not enough to cut the pain out altogether, but enough to allow me to at least walk in relative freedom. I was unable to get totally dressed myself though, because bending over creates shooting pains right through my hip. So there I was, feet up in her hands as she put my shoes and socks on. Brass Neck Chas, they call me, and for good reason!
Thankfully, I got picked up by a friend to save me having to hobble through Leith afterwards, and sat with an ice-pack on my hip for the rest of the night.