Glasgow's 1966 celebrations ruined by Separatists
By Prof. David Starkers OBE WAN KER, England's foremost hysterical broadcaster.
On this most historic of days, the fiftieth anniversary of my country's greatest ever sporting success in which we bested Germany for the third time (if you allow two world wars), I found myself north of the border in the once great imperial city of Glasgow.
Expecting little in the way of celebration from the surly Scotch, I was pleasantly surprised to hear of a parade being organised by the denizens of this dark and dismal town, and I determined to take part.
Consequently, I decided to undertake a short promenade along Glasgow's Great Western Road, stopping to peruse the many designer muesli outlets and beard-oil emporia which are its signature.
Shortly, I became witness to what one can only described as a wave of sweaty undesirables, apparently daubed with woad and approaching my current locus. Notwithstanding their appearance, and foul stench, I prepared to join their sojourn.
I noticed a goodly number of Saint George's Crosses being flown but, strain as I might, I could make out not a solitary Union Jack, the traditional banner of the English football supporter.
Even more strangely, the thousands of celebrants assembled included a great many children and young people who could hardly have been around to remember the heady summer of 1966.
Nonetheless, I accompanied the motley group of ten thousand miscreants and neerdowells as they meandered toward the aptly-named St. George's Square in the centre of the town.
Can you imagine my surprise when, on arrival at the hallowed enclosure, I was informed that the populace was not marching in commemoration of England's footballing success, but rather in favour of Scottish separation from the British Isles - a quite preposterous, not to say dastardly, concept.
I had been marching alongside a nest of narrow nationalists, whose number (I later discovered courtesy of the BBC) had reached almost one hundred. My earlier miscalculation must have been caused by my having inhaled their foul breath whilst marching alongside them.
I surreptitiously made my escape at this point, only to be confronted with the ignomony of passing a statue of the saintly Duke of Wellington astride a magnificent stallion, but 'decorated' by the addition of what must have been some kind of traffic bollard. Most unseemly!
I finally met with one relatively sane member of the Glasgow populace, a gentleman who it emerged was one Cllr. Gordon Matheson, the respected ex-leader of Glasgow council, who told me this:
"These people are the scum of the earth! They have scant regard for decent people and none at all for the peace and privacy of our city's municipal car parks."
We decided then to repair fortwith to a local hostelry and had a charming evening, despite the unpleasantness with which the day had commenced.
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