Webs of extremism, the death of blogging and barefoot bowls.
Rumour has it that summer's here and so are the sporting events and regular vapid weather speculation conversations. The World Cup being the most gripping and enjoyable bit so far. I took a lot of it in, avoided the pundits and the back stories and concentrated on the basics, the matches and the beer and cutting the grass. I wasn't disappointed but it was gone in a blur, like Alan Hansen. The tennis at Wimbledon passed me by as if it was some ghostly event populated by unrecognisable players and blonde clones – once Murray was bumped anyway. Now the spotlight is on the mean city of Glasgow, an unbridled opportunity for Scotland to look...seriously and determinedly Scottish. I already have a strong sense of trepidation over these over hyped games as they are duly hijacked by the clumsy efforts of the less subtle factions in both the Yes and No camps and the ever hysterical BBC. This will be a defining moment that, like most so called defining moments fails to define anything meaningful, yet everybody will be on the look out for one to cherish, grasping their own personal bit of belonging to whatever unpleasant nonsense the Commonwealth represents and what the UK and Scotia might mean. Scotland will most likely sink without a trace in the blue chip events and we'll, as usual assume the position of polite loser and genial but badly spoken host. In the heat of the moment our grammar, dress sense and deodorant choices will let us down but eventually some bright young hero will arise and thanks to relentless over exposure inspire the masses only then to have his or her medals stolen by some dumb ass who thinks they really are gold. It'll be fun, I can hardly wait and I've already got all the tickets I need...for Wickerman.