Eventful day. Not bad. Not at all but certainly eventful. Hibs, being my 2nd team and Celtic being my 3rd, I’m half-thrilled, half-horrified by today’s events at Celtic Park. The first Hibs v Hearts Scottish Cup final since 1896 is now set for May the 19th. I predict an epidemic of coronary arrests and anxiety attacks on both sides of the Edinburgh divide anytime between now and the final whistle. Christ, apart from my own swooping-and-soaring emotions I felt every beat of my dear friend and comrade, Eddie Truman’s undeniable Hibee-til-he-dies roller-costing heart.
Cool time, as always, rappin’ with brother Mick Wall. We had, I think it’s fair to say, a lively time, Friday night just gone, but today concerned matters of weightier import. Easy-like-Sunday-morning, though, as always when we chew the fat. Right to the heart of the matter with our respective shit squared away and a deeper understanding arrived at. Tres cool. As is Mick, bless his black-and-white-chequered-pavement of a soul…
Snuck in a quick visit with The Auld Yin, too. A man who, apart from labouring under the indescribable burden of being my Dad, continues to both humble and provide me with an example of something to which I, one day, unrealistically, hope to aspire; that of being a person of similarly unimpeachable integrity, boundless compassion and indestructible moral fibre. One day, maybe, the GA willing…
Amongst all that, I’ve finally, hallelujah, finally, finished a piece for the most bodacious Joe Daly of The Nervous Breakdown, America’s premier arts and culture ‘zine. Thing with Joe-Boy, though, is he aint just an editor but a writer of no mean talent, too. As a Future Publishing colleague, at Classic Rock Magazine although he’s also a Metal Hammer regular, Joe sees both sides of the fence and plays both sides of the pitch. Can’t bullshit a guy like that, see? Made life a little tricky with my TNB debut. So much to think about with this piece; make it accessible for a foreign audience but don’t talk down to them, don’t assume huge swathes of prior knowledge but don’t patronise them either, make it informative and factual while reigning in my own strong and very partisan feelings on the subject at hand (Scottish independence and the strategic and ‘defence’ implications thereof for the US of A, if you’re interested).
Also experienced one of those odd moments where the sense of the years hurtling by step up and batter you straight in the puss (for English readers that does not mean ‘cat’). Caught sight of a picture of Sam Metcalf’s nipper, Ted, on Facebook. Me and Sam go waaaay back to the Post-Militant-then-to-be-soon-post-Socialist-Party days when we fought, if not the good fight, a bloody and determined fight in the Communist Party of Great Britain. Haven’t seen Sam in years although we’ve maintained a loose contact via Facebook. I first knew Sam as a lover of the most ridiculous Indie-Pop nonsense, the possessor of a quite remarkable quiff and a self-effacing determination to make the world a better place. Gave me a start though, seeing his young lad, bursting with life and energy, grinning up at me courtesy of the wonders of the world wide web. Maybe we’ll hook up if you’re going to the Malcolm Pinnegar Memorial Service (date TBA).
Talking of Malcolm Pinnegar, who was one of the architects and leaders of the ‘Dirty Thirty’, a term, initially of abuse but then a badge of honour, coined to describe those thirty stalwart class-warriors who maintained the Great Strike in the scab Leicestershire coalfield during those tumultuous days of ’84/’85, I was deeply saddened to learn of his recent passing. David Bell, an admirably indefatigable writer, chronicler and historian of so much of our working-class history conveyed the news.
I was privileged to hear Malcolm speak on at least two occasions and I suspect we met at least once but, to my deep regret, memory fails me. In any event, spare a moment for a brave and honourable man and a true class hero. Bloodied but unbowed during the Great Strike, death finally succeeded where Thatcher failed. Well done, thy good and faithful servant; well done. Sleep well, comrade.
Joy, though, has visited in the form of POD suffering the hang-over from hell and losing a (relative) packet on lottery scratch-cards. About which I’ve mocked and sanctimoniously pontificated. Obviously. As you do. Certainly, as I most assuredly did.
Said joy, though, was short-lived as SheWhoIsNeverWrong, AKA She-who-never-allows-me-a-well-earned-moment-of-Schadenfreude, drily remarked, “Hmm, let’s see, shall we? Excessive boozing? Check. Gambling? Check. So, definitely your daughter then…”
I see. Aye, right; cheers for that…
I’ve just had a thought Harry. Have you ever considered writing a definitive book about the Strike of ’84/’85? I’m sure a writer of your talent could shine a bright new light on the events of that period.
I gather, from the above, that you have written something you will actually be paid for LOL!! Good stuff – keep it up!! The more I hear about your Dad the more I would love to meet him, he sounds like a VERY special man.
Thanks for this one Harry, enjoyed it very much, and would be interested to see this article you have penned for our American friends.
Happily, Martin, I’m now getting paid for more things I write than not these days. A writer getting paid? Who’s ever heard of such a crazy idea!
Regarding The Great Strike, that’d be a pretty massive undertaking and there have been some excellent accounts already written and, as you intimated, the only point in adding to their number would be if a fresh angle or a new take on things could be offered.
I’m working on my first book at the moment which will touch on those events and I’ve got a further idea for a novel set during the strike but a comprehensive account of that seismic year is a few miles down the road yet, I reckon.