Expertxorz and poolz
I've been on The Politics Show talking about the growing problem of embalmed squid fondling on the No 26 bus (or something). It was much less scary than I thought - though I did have to maintain a continual inner mantra of "Don't pick your nose. Don't scratch your arse. Don't grab yer baws. Don't call anyone a 'cock-thirsty arse-nugget' even if they are one."

I've been sighted behind the dugout of Easter Road during live matches exhibiting a range of facial expression that makes your average Kafka novel look like a happy-go-lucky romp.

However, the most entertaining was my first appearance, as an eight-year-old curled up and sinking to the bottom of the swimming pool for 10 seconds. (It was on a TV programme about, err, curled up sinking eight-year-olds???) This was filmed in the Commie pool in Embra. In the many delays we had the run of the diving pool and, joy of joys, could jump off the high competition boards where there is normally a fascistically-observed "no jumping" rule.

It was bloody marvellous launching yourself off into what seemed like the stratosphere, feeling the rushing air for an hour and then thumping onto the lead surface of the pool. Plunging deep into the warm water. Over and over again.

That remains one of the happiest days of my life. (In the end was on screen for less than a second. Curled up. Sinking.)
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Thu 11 Jun 2009, 15:16, Reply)