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  1. A Ceiler Gonof Rust on

    16 roads, are you coming over for the hootenanny at the end of September? If you are I’ll order you a fat burd and a pizza in advance:-)

     

     

    If you are, lets do some drams as it all went a bit wonky last time due to the poor hospitality of my hoteliers.

     

     

     

    HH Bro.

  3. 16 roads - Neil Lennon walks on water. on

    TCR – Sorry mate.I know who you mean now.

     

     

    Nice one. :)

  4. 16 roads - Neil Lennon walks on water. on

    ACGR – Really looking forward to it chief.

     

     

    Should be over to a few Celtic games before then as well.

     

     

    Are you keeping alright mate?

  5. Tricoloured Ribbon on

    a ceiler,

     

    What about an Irish get together of CQN’rs just before Christmas?

  7. Margaret McGill on

    Ah yes the CQN self-fulfilling prophesy. It probably won’t take off, but still……….

  8. YogiHughes on

    Tricoloured ribbon,

     

    Good idea. I’m retiring in 9 weeks. Hope it is fairly central.

     

    Yogi.

  12. Tricoloured Ribbon on

    weefra,

     

    Make sure they sevconians get their cattle feed in the morn…

  13. A Ceiler Gonof Rust on

    16 roads, good to know you’re coming back over for the sept hootenanny. Let me know if you’ll be at any of the games before that, we can get some grub and a couple of beers pre match.

     

     

    TCR, is this proposal in glesga or somewhere in the Emerald Isle?

     

     

    I’d be up for a visit to Ireland for a swally as long as it wasn’t a home game for the hoops. I don’t like missing my trips to paradise.

     

     

    State your case and make it happen.

     

     

     

    HH

  14. Hamiltontim on

    acgr

     

     

    I’d probably agree, darts is a no but golf is a yes.

     

     

    Raymac

     

     

    Only saw your post from last night earlier but not sure I’d agree. Ability would be more important than gender.

  15. Ni on

    There are some moments in time of social, political, economic or sporting significance that will be remembered for generations; tonight is one of them. An astonishing achievement by Andy Murray that may, as much as it pains me to say it, eclipse even Lisbon as a Scottish sporting achievement in my lifetime. And I never thought I would say that….

     

     

    Sign of the times – Prince

  16. WeefratheTim on

    Tricoloured

     

     

    They are only babies at the mo, but all hun ones will be excluded. (Not) . Haha.

     

     

    Weefra HH

  18. A Ceiler Gonof Rust on

    TCR / 16 roads / yogi, now you have a committee of three you can organise the first CQN Irish pish up. North or south, it doesn’t matter.

     

     

    Count me in. That’s four, its not a hootenanny yet but who knows what will come of this????

     

     

     

    Hail Hail to you all:-)

  20. 16 roads - Neil Lennon walks on water. on

    ACGR – Gentleman.

     

     

    TCR – Any venue apart from that Derry place would be good! Only messin’ chief. :)

     

     

    Goodnight and goodluck to all Celtic supporters.

  21. Tricoloured Ribbon on

    acgr,

     

    Aye,I was thinking in Ireland.If there was enough interest would love an old swally prior to Christmas.I’ll raise the issue again in a couple of months mate.

  22. A Ceiler Gonof Rust on

    Ni, you cant compare Murray’s fantastic achievement today with Lisbon.

     

     

    Both were brilliant but only one was unique.

     

     

     

    Hail Hail Andy Murray for putting Scotland back on the sporting map.

  25. A Ceiler Gonof Rust on

    TCR, get yourself over for the BMCUWP do at the end of Sept. I’m sure you’ll have a blast and you can meet up wi the rest of your committee. 16 roads is a definite starter in Glasgow.

     

     

    Should be a good outing if the last one was anything to go by. I’d tell you about it but I cant remember much. I think someone spiked ma drink wi pure Scottish malt:-))

     

     

     

    We Are Celtic

  26. A Ceiler Gonof Rust on

    Bed time and beauty sleep time for me now. I’ve an early rise to make my next sclaffbaw pumping at the hand of the utterly ruthless young acgr then I’ve got to drive up to Alicante airport to pick up Mrs ACGR’s sister so she can spoil the remainder of ma holiday.

     

     

    bahhumbug.com

     

     

     

    Hail Hail Celtic men and wummin.

  27. RalphWaldoEllison remembers ALS victims Jimmy Jonstone & John Cushley on

    WeefratheTim

     

     

    Tomorrow Govan, next week Kinning Park.

     

     

    HH

  29. NatKnow - "We welcome the paper-chase..." on

    Zat it?

     

     

    Everybody away tae their scratcher?

     

     

    Was enjoying reading all that nonsense…

  31. Summa of Sammi.... on

    .

     

     

    Tom..

     

     

    I Don’t think we should refer to Andy Murray as Wimbledon Champion..

     

     

    We should use his proper Title..Champion of All England..

     

     

    As l said last Night it is the Best British Sporting achievement since ‘Britain’ Won the World Cup in 1966..

     

     

    Hope Yir Guid..

     

     

    001Bhoy

  32. Murdochbhoy, yermanfromMK on

    Good morning CQNers,

     

     

    Great weekend for the British – me, well, being from occupied Ireland I don’t much care for all the union jack waving over a July weekend.

  33. Eurochamps67 on

    Kalimera from the delightful Dedocanese where Sunday is still very much a day of rest unless you are an overly pink spotted Scottish exile in search of some antihistamine and anti itching salve.

     

    Wandering about 10km in 32c heat trying to locate a pharmacy that trades on a Sunday is no’ easy but does have its consolations, like stumbling upon Poppy’s Pension Plan.

     

    Now, back in the day, Poppy was a singer, “she once made a record”, apparently she could play the piano standing up. The proceeds of said career had been intelligently invested in a large seafront family residence and taverna. This is a proper Greek family, maw Poppy cooks, da tends to the BarBQ, brother fishes and gardens and sister waits tables. It is not a family blessed with the looks of the Greek gods.

     

    Poppy’ s stage persona is long gone but her “presence” has doubled.

     

    One eyed da, in his cropped greyish joggers, those plastic clog things, bright green and grimy simmit, tends BarBQ grill one handed as the other is used to convey his roll up between mouth and ashtray when he has to flip the grill items.

     

    The cats are nice, all in all if I were choosing a cast for the remake of Deliverance I know where I would go. I’m sure Poppy must still retain her Equity card.

     

     

    These are tough times in Greece and having walked extensively in the searing heat, Madame EC67 and I are in serious need of sustenance and refreshment, we are at the end of a very long single track road, Poppy’s it is.

     

     

    Greek salad, bread and copious amounts of cooling water later we are ready for a lunch of barbecued grilled fish. “Caught this morning here by my brother, Costa, here from this beach”. Initial signs were mixed, the smell of the charcoal grilled fish infused with local herbs juxtaposed against the sight of da back handedly swiping beads of sweat from his forehead while holding the fish in one hand and his fag in the other, well it was not the most appetising. But the outlook was beautiful, we were hungry and you know when in Greece…

     

     

    Result. The most stunning fish I have ever tasted. Head, tail, bones flaked away easily to leave the most ( I want to say succulent and moist but both have too many Hun connotations now), white flesh, grilled to perfection. It was heavenly.

     

    I tried to compliment the chef but da, speaks little English and was already engrossed in his next roll up. Efharisto polee had to suffice.

     

     

    Onward to the war museum and the real story Alistair Maclean based his novel on.

     

     

    Yassas,

     

     

    EC67

     

     

    ManyhappyreturnstomydarlingwifenocashrequiredforthebusCSC

  34. Tom McLaughlin on

    During the school holidays in the mid to late 60s, I spent many hours sitting with my grandfather watching Wimbledon on has small, grainy, black and white television set. These were the days of Laver, Roche, Newcombe, Hewitt, Emerson, Santana and Rosewall.

     

     

    There was an English player called Roger Taylor who came on to the scene. He was the great British hope for at least a couple of years. It may have been more. If my memory serves me correctly, he reached the last eight on one occasion and I recall the excitement at even that level of achievement as we all began to dream of a British success at long last.

     

     

    Taylor never went beyond the last eight and he faded into oblivion.

     

     

    I thought of Roger Taylor as I sat in my house in the early hours of an Australian morn, some 45 years later, and savoured the sight of a Scot battling for the elusive crown and when the impossible dream was within our grasp, I thought of my grandfather and it immediately struck me just what a momentous achievement this was for Andy Murray.

     

    I really never thought I would see it in my lifetime.

     

     

    A fantastic effort by Andy and he deserves all the plaudits that will come his way after this.

     

     

    PS. Back in those days watching Laver et al, whenever the umpire uttered the words “thirty-all” my grandfather would, without fail, call out, “Bertie Auld.”

  35. Jobo Baldie on

    Good morning friends from a heat-haze (or is it just fog) covered East Kilbride. Whatever it is it’s obscuring my view of the weather. But it certainly feels as if it’s a warm and soon to be bright morning.

     

     

    Last half day at work for ole Jobo before a (ahem) well earned 3 week break. Can’t wait.

     

     

    Happy Birthday Mrs EC67

  36. TinyTim on

    Does anyone know what the split of the tickets was for the Celtic v Liverpool Dublin decider match on 10/08/13 ?

     

     

    TT

  37. Summa of Sammi.... on

    .

     

     

    Eurochamps67..

     

     

    I Used to Love trying to find things in Greece..Because l got to use My All Time Favourite Word..Poo.. Where..?

     

     

    Especially if you were Looking for someone called Ian..

     

     

    You Would Say:..”Poo Ian-ie..?” Where is..? so ‘Poo Ian-ie Ian..?”

     

     

    Looking for the Chemist..You would Say:..”Poo Ian-ie Farmer-Keeo..?”

     

     

    When You arrive at the Aforementioned Drug Den..Point to Your ‘Plukes’ and Say:..Itchi-ous Aloti-ous….;-)

     

     

    Ps..He will probably give You Iodine..If you Use it make Sure you cover the Hole face..See Martin Bain..

     

     

    Summa of MindYourLanguageCSC

  38. macjay1 for Neil Lennon on

    Eurochamps67

     

    06:35 on

     

    8 July, 2013

     

     

    Was it yourself who suggested Anthony Quinn was Greek?

     

    Sorry,mano.Mexicano.

     

    Father Irish Mexican.

     

    Hence the Timmy name?

  41. A Stor Mo Chroi on

    I always wondered about the father.

     

     

     

    I’ll be calm on top – but welling up inside: Andy Murray’s father Will, on bringing up his boys alone and his nerves on momentous day

     

     

    Will Murray will walk unnoticed through the massive crowd at Wimbledon to take his seat on Centre Court today.

     

     

    Yet there will not be a prouder father in the land as his son, Andy, steps on court in front of an estimated national TV audience of 20 million to try to win the Wimbledon championship that has evaded every male British tennis player for 76 years.

     

     

    Murray, 57, will be casually dressed as usual. While cameras will concentrate on his former wife Judy Murray, Andy’s coach Ivan Lendl, a former great champion, and his manager Simon Fuller, the creative inspiration behind the Spice Girls and David Beckham’s fortune, Murray will slide into the back row of the best seats in the house with minimal fuss. It is his preferred style.

     

     

     

    ‘I’ll be like a swan,’ says Murray. ‘I’ll appear calm on top, but underneath my legs will be going like the clappers. Emotion takes over when I see Andy walk out to play really big matches. I well up.’

     

     

    On Friday after Andy had beaten Jo- Wilfried Tsonga to claim his place in the final, Murray could be found dabbing tears from his eyes as he left Centre Court. ‘I don’t think it can get any better than contesting a Wimbledon final if you are British,’ he says. ‘Frankly, I am lost for words. I am so proud.’

     

     

     

    His older son Jamie, a doubles specialist, is already a Wimbledon champion, having won the Mixed Doubles title with Jelena Jankovic five summers ago. Will Murray smiles at childhood memories of his two sons, brought up by him for a handful of years in the family home in Dunblane, Scotland, after his marriage to Judy ended in divorce.

     

     

    ‘The urge to win was something Andy had from a very young age,’ he recalls. ‘I filmed the two boys when they played in Solihull in an under-12 tournament. It didn’t matter that he was playing his older brother, Andy didn’t just want to win, he wanted to crush Jamie. He was so little, the racket was as big as him.

     

     

     

    ‘Andy was always so competitive. We used to go to North Berwick on holiday and there always seemed to be a tournament on. He played against adults and beat them relatively easily. Once he was playing a much older boy, and it was usual to call your own lines. The big guy didn’t like being beaten by the little guy, so he started calling some balls out that were in and vice versa. Andy gradually got more and more furious. Then it all kicked off. The big lad was maybe six years older and a good foot taller. It was just an early indicator of Andy’s competitive will to win. He wouldn’t let anyone climb all over him. He isn’t afraid of any reputation – and he carried that with him into professional tennis.’

     

     

    Will Murray is now in a long-standing relationship with Sam Watson, 46, an optician, who will be next to him at Centre Court this afternoon. But he spent years alone, so as not to further distress his sons, after his marriage to Judy failed. His story is a heartfelt one.

     

     

    ‘I had to tell them their mum was leaving home. It ripped me apart to have to hurt them by telling them what I did. They were distraught. They are very different personalities, but they both took the news in much the same way, and I remember they were very upset.’ Murray, 57, an area manager for Scottish newsagent chain RS McColl, added: ‘I worked full-time, but I cooked when they came home from school. I did the washing and ironing. I wouldn’t say I was a single parent, because Judy stayed in Dunblane and she was around. She still took them to tennis, but I was the one in the family home with the boys.’

     

     

    The past has been buried now. Jamie is married, and has a flat in Wimbledon where his father and Sam are staying. Andy lives with his girlfriend Kim Sears in a £5 million mansion, a 20-minute drive into Surrey from Wimbledon.

     

     

    Murray Senior, a good-natured man, gets along with them all. Andy has paid for him to watch him play in the US Open and at the Australian Open. He can trust his father to always disappear into the shadows. Yet Will knows more than most just how hard his younger son has worked, and how much he has sacrificed to place himself on the threshold of history.

     

     

    At 15, Andy left home to broaden his tennis education at a specialist academy in Barcelona. He knew no one and spoke no Spanish. ‘The night before Andy went, he was really looking forward to going,’ says his father. ‘He had seen the long line of his peer group who had gone down to England, including his brother, to do the LTA [Lawn Tennis Association] thing without great success. He said that was not for him, so he was prepared to go abroad.’

     

     

    Andy’s 18-month stay in Spain at a cost of £40,000 was paid for with a contribution from the LTA, some sponsorship driven by Judy, and personal family sacrifices.

     

     

    ‘People who come to watch Andy now see a star,’ says Murray. ‘But they don’t see the effort and sacrifice that he made to get to this stage. He has given up a lot, because he was so focused on what he wanted to do. Now when I walk behind him and hear fans shouting his name, or wanting an autograph, I remember when Andy was just like that.’

     

     

    Murray flew to Israel when Andy played his first match for Great Britain – a Davis Cup doubles tie.

     

     

    ‘That was like going into the lion’s den,’ he says. ‘People booing and whistling at my son as if he was the enemy.

     

     

    ‘He was just 17. Seeing him in that environment that day I knew he would be all right. A lot of players freeze, or become intimidated in situations like that; but Andy never flinched.’

     

     

    He has never accepted that tennis is a middle-class sport, the province of those with a privileged education and monied background.

     

     

    ‘I am classless, so are my sons,’ says Murray. ‘Tennis is not an elitist sport. To succeed you need a mindset to work hard, which is what two little guys from Dunblane have done. How many people in British tennis have done what Andy has done?’

     

     

    And how will his son cope with the eyes of the nation, of the world, on him today? ‘Before matches, Andy always looks very calm,’ says Murray. ‘He seems relaxed, and that’s down in part to the people around him doing a good job.’

     

     

    And this afternoon, when history beckons for Andy Murray, his father will do his best to convey an air of serenity. It will be a lie, of course; because his heart will have never beaten faster, and he will be fit to burst with pride.

     

     

    HE’LL ARRIVE QUIETLY IN A TINY VW – AND COULD LEAVE AS THE MAN THE WHOLE WORLD WANTS TO KNOW

     

     

    For the past 74 years, this nation has hosted a glorious party. Sadly, we have never stayed around to see the last guests depart. But shortly before two o’clock this afternoon, a tall, faintly frowning young man from Dunblane will walk on to the Centre Court. And a weary tradition will be laid to rest.

     

     

    Andy Murray’s presence in the Wimbledon final has provoked a swirl of daring dreams. ‘What if.  .  .?’ has become our favoured phrase. What if Murray should go one step further and defeat Roger Federer in today’s final? What if the likes of Jessica Ennis, Rebecca Adlington and Mo Farah should deliver a golden treasury of Olympic medals? What if Luke Donald or Rory McIlroy should win The Open golf?

     

     

    And what if, wonder of wonders, Bradley Wiggins should take the Tour de France? Historians tell us that the Coronation summer of 1953, when Gordon Richards won the Derby, Stanley Matthews took his FA Cup Final medal and England secured the Ashes, represented the high-water mark for British sport.

     

     

    Yet, this storm-buffeted, rain-drenched summer of 2012 may be about to set its own extraordinary standards. But first, there is Murray. Yesterday, he arrived at Wimbledon for a spot of gentle practice.

     

     

    He was watched by a congregation of 60 photojournalists, a dozen camera crews and 25 ball-boys and ball-girls. And yet, for all the manic intensity of the scrutiny, we know precious little about the man. We know nothing of his politics, his stance on the great songs debate, his views on Afghanistan, the deficit, the Union, the Monarchy.

     

     

     

    At 25, he has surely formed opinions on these matters, yet he keeps his own counsel, and he is right to do so.

     

     

    And so, in the absence of solid evidence, the sages impose their own ponderous stereotypes upon his elusive personality. He is, it seems, an ‘outsider’, motivated by his Scottishness, by his distance from Middle England, the spiritual dwelling of British tennis.

     

     

    This apparently explains why Murray is rabidly determined to succeed, while dear old Tim Henman was placidly prepared to compromise.

     

     

    And Murray has grown up – overnight, it would seem. Yesterday he looked like the kid convinced that the world is conspiring against him. Today, he has entered the sunlit uplands of maturity. He answers questions without swearing, deflects compliments with a deprecating waft of the hand and pats the heads of children. Today, he is a paragon.

     

     

    Now all this may well be true, but we don’t know, because Murray chooses not to let us know.

     

     

     

    But the last Briton to win Wimbledon was quite different. Fred Perry was born in Stockport, the son of a cotton-spinner who became a Labour MP. An engaging extrovert who was champion in 1934, 1935 and 1936, Fred was as free with his opinions as he was with his affections.

     

     

    Marlene Dietrich took her place among his array of conquests, a fact he would concede with a stage wink and a discreet leer. In 1984, in a series of interviews with me, Fred poured out a stream of robust reflections and lusty anecdotes. He had forgotten nothing, except two of his four marriages.

     

     

    Murray’s personal life proceeds on rather more conventional lines. His girlfriend Kim Sears is beautiful, and doubtless devoted to Andy and their border terriers. But I doubt she has ever stood in her underwear in a smoke-filled cellar and sung Lili Marlene.

     

     

    However, times have changed – changed utterly. Like every major sport, tennis has improved beyond measure. The players are faster, stronger, infinitely more athletic. Perry would have won no more than a handful of points against a man like Murray.

     

     

    Federer, however, is a different matter. In his case, elegance, grace and impeccable courtesy conceal a ravenous appetite. His six Wimbledon titles were acquired with a noble demeanour allied to the instincts of a junkyard dog. He will enter today’s contest as the properly overwhelming favourite.

     

     

    For his part, Murray knows he has much to overcome, including a whiff of resentment from those who once worshipped Henman.

     

     

    But as this multi-millionaire drives his little Volkswagen down the A3 to Wimbledon this morning, he may reflect that Fred Perry was not unreservedly loved as he worked his wonders. When he won his first Wimbledon title, the aristocrats of the All-England Club did not celebrate his triumph.

     

     

    As he lay in the bath, reveling in his victory, he heard footsteps outside. The Wimbledon champion was awarded membership of the Club. The symbol was a club tie of green and dark blue. He emerged from the bath, draped in a towel, and he spotted the tie. ‘They just strung it over my chair in the locker room,’ he said. ‘Nobody wanted to know me.’

     

     

     

    If Andy Murray should prevail today, he will find a warmer welcome. The whole world will want to know him.

     

     

    Why, after these endless years, his reward will be a kind of immortality. And he will deserve it.

     

     

    By Malcolm Folley Mail Online.

     

     

    PUBLISHED: 23:31 GMT, 7 July 2012

  42. BOBBY MURDOCH'S CURLED-UP WINKLEPICKERS on

    Jimbo67

     

     

    They had to use it all to sluice the streets after they had been befouled on Saturday.

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