Snakes, Ladders & Garbage Trucks

Here we go again, the unwanted guest has jumped in the passenger seat. Let’s analyse – paralyse.

Just ignore him, treat him like that old drunken fool who shouts at you in the street. Just think about something else… but this shouting keeps coming the walls go higher.

The unwanted guest is now in the driving seat, your thoughts are on a hamsters wheel. There is a 100 mph garbage truck now being driven round you mind by the unwanted guest.

He’s picking little files from your memory, some of it from two decades ago, most of it is minimal and pointless but anything to make you feel bad about yourself. The file issues are tenfold and the garbage truck is screeching ‘but what if’ and when you try and get the truck to slow down ‘but what if’ springs another pile of garbage at you. The internal lying critic.

Modern Day Plague

Guilt-Fear-Doubt on a hamsters wheel. Let it be, give it space is the only thing to do.

It’s okay again and we’re on a ladder rising to ‘whatever’ with a good and neutral mindset. We must take care of ourselves and keep healthy though to avoid the garbage truck starting his journey. I will be fine, my family will be fine. I’ll get another job if need be. I can use my credit card.

It’s starting again, the cost of living under a greedy hubristic Tory government, it’s on the news it’s already affecting you. Jobs under threat and strikes for better living whilst they push inflation up. Half the adult population on medication. Rising fuel prices, energy companies competing for a better deal for you! Not them, for you. The gas and electricity all comes out the same fuckin pipe but never mind that. And the cyclical starts, we’re falling down the snake …

The unwanted guest is sitting at the bottom in his garbage truck and we fall into the passenger seat and we’re off. Reaching 100 mph … and we are a piece of dog toffee, unloved, useless and it’s all going to go pear shaped. Think of something positive and the garbage trucks wall comes higher and throws more bin bags at us. We always were weak, incoming paranoia. You may as well have weirdo in flashing lights written on your forehead.

Dante’s Inferno

I walk the walk and talk the talk. Been there and I got the t-shirt as well.

You are not on your own.

Friday’s INs and OUTs

Friday 27 May 2022

Left leg in, left leg out! Shake it all about with the Friday IN and OUT!
In conjunction with David Rosling productions.
It won’t be televised; for social media platforms only.


Stanley Baxter playing the Queen for the first time on British television 2012

Debating the best chippie in Rosyth/Dunfermline area.

That Beautiful Sunday song with changed lyrics.

Big Ange

Bouncing about in the singing section at 52.

Koyogo doing his thang

The marvellous Craig Gallagher

Blasting and singing the SAM song by Irish Brigade

Lisbon Lions anniversary after ’55’ years.

Deciding to wear Nike Omega Flash again.

The sinister emergence of hooligan darts crews.

Twatting anyone who says ‘bants’

Twatting anyone who says ‘nom nom’

Fi Gal an inspirational individual.

The marvellous John Gilmartin

The marvellous Jamie Devine

35 year reunions.

Double dunting berocca twice a day.

Necking a whole box of Go Ahead Bars coz it says so.

Pottering around the garden and twirling yer compost bin.

Pottering around the attic and finding the original copy of the bible.

Lazy spa summer nights and Magnum classics.

Cold Water exposure – beak in reverse

Stevie Gerrard becoming a complete roaster.


Big Boots Big Toots.

Gene Gallagher wearing the Hoops.

Beard Gardens (you only get in with a beard)

Days out not nights out.

Doing a runner from Pizza Hut in Windsor and shouting ‘cheers now’

Arthur Shelby being a Tim


The cost of the about the costly Jubi-fucking-lee 2022 £823m!

Thinking yer 10 years younger than everyone!

John Lundstram — Ninja assassin

The cost of living

SEVVIE’s singing ‘we hate Kaffliks’ in the middle of Spain and seen as just a Cirry oan

Teeth suckers in the workplace, not my job attitude ae life!

Saying ‘thingio an that ‘

Normal looking lips.

Fuzzy hair styles in Old Swan.

Man buns, shit clobber.

People telling you ‘so I got them telt’ when they telt them f*ck all!

Hibby Gammon heads

The ‘so a turned around and said’ quote

SEVCO Herrenvolk Hurbis attitude.

Anything by Simply Red or Meatloaf.

Having a ball without a ball in sight.

That ‘build me up buttercup’ song on the radio every half hour.

Nazi hipsters.

Thinking you’re Tony Montana after a few stripes

Hiding from the ‘online’ delivery fella, as you have severe beer-fear.


That’s it for this week. Eay yer greens, switch everything off at night. Keep on Keeping on. Mirror, signal, manoeuvre and yer off.
Cheers now.

Come and see the team at HWS Towers, 96 Holywell Street next to Celtic Park, get yersels roond.

Bill Brexit & Bobby Gammon

I’m sick of those browns coming stealing our benefits Bill says to Bob. I’m sick of them scrotes stealing our benefits and them disabled’s!

But I don’t mind having surgery for free on the NHS cos I smoke 20 a day, binge drink every weekend and put three for 100 up my conk whenever the wife lets me out.

“More Gammon and Carling Bill?”

“Right you are Bob”

“Another thing Bill, I’m getting really riled with them lot vandalising and trying to knock over our statues, I’m sick of it. It’s usually them paki lovers.”

“You are so right Bob and if anyone says otherwise they should be threatened and attacked on the spot”

Just because we wave our Union jacks it does not mean we are right-wing.

“Bill, you see all them foreigners coming over and stealing our jobs? If I could work I would be picking that fruit and picking up them spuds night and day myself”

“You are correct Bob, they’ve spoilt it, but listen mate, we are going on us hollibobs soon with our wives. I’m reading Majorca has the best Sunday Roast eatery in the whole of Spain, it’s run by a bloke from Morley in Leeds. He also does proper breakfast’s with proper bacon and British butter and has Carling on draft. I wouldn’t mind moving there myself”.

“Good idea Bill”

“I’m glad they got Brexit done though Bob, it’s been like our Independence Day and we have a blue passport to show for it”

Poppy the Bulldog is sitting foaming at the mouth, this could be down to heavy breathing, distress, agitation or anxiety.

“Give him some Carling Bill“

“Great idea Bob. Looking forward to the Jubilee mate?”

“Yes, my son!”

The Celtic Jersey

By Macaroon 12th February 2023

It looks as if Paul John Dykes might have struck gold with his latest book The Celtic Jersey.

The gallery and stories of the Celtic jerseys of the past is his fourth publication following on from …

The Quality Street Gang, Smiler and Hoops Stars & Stripes.

Here at HWS, we are nostalgic about all things Celtic from major to minor detail. I and Paul Kealy were recently discussing which hooped tops went with which player and which years, Being the trainspotter I am, I recently decided to invest in all the remakes of the kits I wore as a kid from around 1980. This is why I’m eager to see PJD’s gallery.

“A match worn jersey from virtually every one of the home and away shirt variations worn by the club over the last 90 years”

Paul John Dykes’ second book named Smiler was a tribute to club legend Neilly Mochan. This was also an exciting read, being very well presented with an artistic front cover. The research into this book recording immense detail on Mochan’s life was one of the best I’ve read on Celtic’s past legends.

The Celtic Jersey will be another piece of excellent work. A coffee table book basically shows a gallery of the Celtic jersey, what is not to like; it is a keeper.

Order from Amazon …

League Cup Final 1982

By Macaroon 21 May 2022

On the 4th December 1982 Celtic win their first League Cup since 1974 against Rangers at Hampden. This trophy always seemed to be a bit of a bogey for us. The only player from that ‘74 win still with us was Danny McGrain.

I always recall Rangers being no threat to Celtic in the early ‘80s. It was Aberdeen and Dundee United that were our challengers for the league. However, Rangers always seem to win this trophy despite coming forth in the premier league on occasion.

So, although we were the reigning League Champions and a far better team, I didn’t know how this would pan out. The weather was appalling, heavy rain on a cold December. The north terrace at Hampden was closed for repairs so the crowd wasn’t capacity, just the two terraces behind the goals and the main stand. The Celtic terracing was uncovered and theirs sheltered in line with their superiority complex with SFA deciding to not cover the Mount Florida end of the ground.

I reminisce to the 1981 and 1982 years when the song “we’ve won the league again fly the flag” was born. This was to the tune of the British Airways advert “we’ll take good care of you”. The Rangers end had their version this day: “we hate the I.R.A. fuck the pope” which was quite a standard reaction for them.

I remember the old Hampden terraces being made of wood and grit which meant if a goal was scored there was like a smoke would go up and on a day of horizontal rain it certainly was not ideal. No way was it a normal warm cup final spectacle.

Into the match and Celtic are very dominant and showing why they are the champions. On the 22 minute mark Charlie Nicholas receives a pass from Davie Provan and he finds the smallest of gaps to squeeze in the opening goal. The Celtic end erupts and stops the Rangers end singing one of their sectarian ditties about the IRA. Nicholas was my hero, the coolest player from that era with a cracking wedge haircut. He was an outstanding talent and on the radar of many English clubs and was promoted as the next Kenny Dalgleish

It was around the 30 minute mark that Murdo McLeod put us two up with a complete thunderbolt. Celtic were cruising and Rangers could not get a grip on the match. They had one shot on goal in the first half.

Just into the second half Jim Bett scored for Rangers with a free-kick that completely caught the Celtic defence out and Pat Bonnar perhaps being out sighted looked stranded.

There was a few shaky moments in the second half, but Celtic were worthy winners with a 2-1 win. The man of the match for us was Davie Provan. He didn’t just set up our two goals his passing and movement throughout the game was immense.

The match

Celtic v St Mirren 15th May 1982 League Decider

By Macaroon 15th May 2022

This was perhaps one of my most memorable games growing up watching Celtic. The league title was fought out between Celtic and Aberdeen on the last day of the season, Celtic v St Mirren at Parkhead and Aberdeen v Rangers at Pittodrie.

I was a 12 years-old two-tone fanatic with a crew cut whilst acknowledging a shift in styles from jeans to sta-press and skins to wedge haircuts. One of the things that drew me to the matches at Celtic Park was the sheer volume and noise of the jungle, especially at a big match.

The league title should have been wrapped a couple of weeks before on the 3rd May on a wet Monday bank holiday. This was also against St Mirren in a game in hand, we only manage a 0-0 draw; this was after defeating Hibs 6-0 two days before at Celtic Park.

So, it’s up to Tannadice on Saturday the 8th May to play Dundee United and we require a draw to win the championship. United back then were also a very good outfit under Jim McLean and they had been up the top of the table challenging in the much of early ‘80s.

We come a cropper in this match losing 3-0 and it’s all about questioning the minerals of Celtic for the last game of the season .

The 15th May 1982 is very vivid in my memory every time Celtic win the championship I can’t help but reminisce back to it. Me and my guardian for the day Stevie Burns arrive at the Janefield Street and I get the obligatory lift over the turnstiles, I still managed this but I know I’m growing in size.

The noise is immense, the soldiers song is in full flow as we walk through the middle of the jungle. The music on the tannoy is either chart music or the Celtic song by Glen Daly. The other tannoy favourite at the time is Wild Rover and after the first line of the chorus there is a chant of “God Bless the Pope” from most of the terracing. That was our heritage music at the time. I recall the jungle also chanting “Argentina” this was in support of the Malvinas conflict; the reaction from the police was a picture to behold, wanting to react but couldn’t.

The game was very tense much like the 0-0 draw the week before where St Mirren fielding a young Frank McAvennie and dug in and parked their badger bus. Celtic had a good season but were missing both Charlie Nicholas and Frank McGarvey through injury. The main chance in the first-half was a ball about to fall to Murdo McLeod from a cross but young Danny Crainie put his head to it when he should have left it for McLeod.

So, half-time arrives and the tension is increasing. Obviously the old Rangers had their flip-flops on at Pittodrie and it’s Aberdeen 4 Rangers 0.

Coincidentally, the scenario is, if Celtic get beat and Aberdeen beat Rangers by four goals then we lose the title. So it’s job done for Aberdeen.

At 0-0 I didn’t think anyone thought we would lose to St Mirren. It was tense, however, in the 62nd minute Celtic took the lead through George McCluskey with a screamer to the top corner showing our intent. All through the match I was sitting at the top of the exit for number 8 in the jungle. Each time Celtic attacked a group of older men were ready to grab me; and that’s exactly what happened. This was the first time I had witnessed a goal with such relief and hysteria it took around two minutes for it to all calm down.

The final score 3-0 to Celtic with McCluskey again and Tom McAdam grabbing the other one.

The Celtic boards Tom foolery stating the attendance of 39,699 on this day was an interesting one. Perhaps the rest of crowd got lifted over the turnstile.

An emotional day and summed up by the terraces chanting Johnny Doyle. “We won the league for Doyle.

Down the Old Kent Road

By HWS 10 March 2022

The Bowling Club bar was a place me and John Paul would also hang around in during the midweek days. It became like a hub during those mind-numbing unemployed weeks in the hope just to numb out the mind-boggling melancholy whilst watching horizontal rain rattling off the window. We always had visions of moving abroad to maybe live in the sun and be unemployed there, at least it would be fuckin hot.

Whisky nose McCulloch, Bruce Campbell and Arch Thomson were also regulars in the bar during the week. You could never meet a bigger trio of bitter bullying auld twisters in all your living days. As much as they were cringe-worthy; you could always kick back and observe them and give it lashings of disdain or you could die of laughter or toe-curling. Whisky nose was christened his label due to his big red cricket ball nose as a result of his daily tipples of Bells whisky. He had a real resemblance to Sid James and consistently wore the same black shirt with small silver tassels on the collar, it reminded me of something that Johnny Cash would wear.

Bruce Campbell was an avid supporter of the Rangers. Although he would refer to them as “the fuckin Rangers” which sounded like that angry self-entitlement persona that a lot of their support seems to carry. Bruce’s regular attire was those adidas samba training shoes, snow wash pieces of denim, brown leather jacket with big flaps. Also prominent, was his tight curly hair almost pubic like, sporting a big brown moustache and silver-rimmed specs. Lager top was his favourite tipple preferably McEwan’s. He seemed to like that wee bit of froth on his moustache so he could lick it off. The year was 1987 and Rangers were sponsored by McEwans Lager. Also on the go was the McEwans Lager advert “you’ve got the power” by the band “Win” this gave Bruce a sense of belonging.

The three amigos were constantly trying to get us barred from the bowling club as we were “not of the correct calibre to own a membership to a respected establishment” This of course made things less boring which was a bit of a bonus in the grand scheme of things.

One dejected wet afternoon during the monotony, myself and John Paul was in the club drawing pictures and crushing beer mats whilst supping on Cola. We decided to sketch a music group consisting of Arch Thomson and his followers. The band was named “The Firemen” in opposition to “The Police” ironically because the video jukebox was playing Walking on the Moon and Arch is miming the words with his comrade Whisky Nose as they are playing dominos.

The cartoon drawings have Arch Thomson on vocals as he did seem to have the loudest aggressive persona, a bit like John Lydon but not in any good or talented way. Whisky nose was strumming the bass guitar giving it pure attitude. We then illustrated Bruce Campbell giving it big bashes on the drums much like he would in an orange walk scenario. An additional character who was quite harmless was auld Dougie. We threw him into the band and sketched him just standing there tapping a tambourine. Auld Dougie’s attire was a dead ringer for that Harry Enfield character’s with the catchphrase “Now I do not believe you wanted to do that, did you?”

Arch Thomson was at the bar ordering his drinks when we hear the rustle of a crisp packet and he’s looking straight over at us all macho whilst shaking a pack of ready salted crisps. Raymond the bartender has a pickled egg on a tablespoon and proceeds to drop it into the packet. Arch then gives the packet another shake and he is still glaring over at us with this “square-go-now-then-ya-cunt” expression”. It reminded me of a western movie but with crisps instead of a gun.

He didn’t seem to like us young dudes enjoying ourselves. Incidentally, this pickled egg and crisps mix was his lunch and it saves him from “going hame for dinner” he would often tell the regulars and “it is a balanced meal I’ll tell ye, and I sometimes add peanuts, full of nutrition”.

As we are drawing and imagining Arch singing in a band we can’t help but laugh like little girls, he then calls over “what’s wrong wi your kippers”? To this day I have no idea what this means. As he is munching on the crisps he gives us the obligatory fantasy threat again: “you lot are no so clever when I see you in Tesco and you go white wi fear!”. This comment has been thrown at us many times. So, once again me and John Paul need to inform him and for the benefit of his audience that “we have never seen you in Tesco” John Paul additionally highlights the famous Socrates quote: “Aye mate, when the debate is lost, slander becomes the tool of the loser”.

Predictably, Raymond, the barman rolls over and attempts to defuse any potential tension. He informs us: “I don’t believe in mindless violence gents so can we all keep things civil, the club has a good reputation”. Of course, he only seems to be looking in our direction with his request. This will be due to his fear of Arch and him also being a supporter of the Rangers I would strongly predict. Raymondo always wore a Scotland or a British Lions rugby shirt and this would alternate each day. Today it was the British Lions. His head was always shaved to the bone and it always looked as if he would polish it with some sort of oil making it shine like a pool ball.

Incidentally, Raymond was very impressed with our sketch. It was John Paul’s handy work he did have good talent and had flirted with going to art school in the past.

“That is talented drawing lads,” Raymondo tells us, possibly in a deflection tactic. He was so impressed he asked if he could have the drawing having no idea who the characters were. We obliged, and to this day the picture of a band named The Firemen hangs above the Bar at the Bowling Club; with only JP and myself knowing who the characters are.

Sitting away from the crowd were two great gentlemen. Eric Boland and Professor Yaffle who had no liking for Arch et al. Eric was a really good soul who used to crush your hand after a few beers and tell us: “I’ve just rode into town” this was likely down to his fondness of Western movies. His physique was still solid for being in his sixties and he wore a deerstalker hat at all times. The deerstalker added to his character, I loved it when he tied the ribbons under his chin whilst he tippled his glass of whisky with his pinky hanging out.

I think Eric had a bit of bitterness running through him. As legend has it, he was a famous Rugby Union player who went down to the north of England to play Rugby League where he would earn money for his trade. This was seen as the cardinal sin resulting in cliquey rugby union people disengaging with him. Arch and Whisky Nose seemed to judge him on this decision as well by just jumping on the small town bandwagon.

Eric did not care and would inform us “see that lot at the bar, thir a waste o claes” referring to Arch et al. “Fackin arseholes”. JP and I could certainly relate to this.

Professor Yaffle seemed to be Eric’s right-hand man but he would just sit there and say nothing but laugh with this “nyick nyick nyick” tone. This resulted in us baptising him “Professor Yaffle” in honour of the carved woodpecker from the ‘70s children’s programme Bagpuss. He just so happened to wear those round lensed specs as well like John Lennon

Professor Yaffle’s full name was, “Augustus Barclay Yaffle”, he normally was the brains of the outfit, or so he’d like to think. He was very knowledgeable. However, our bowling club version is quite a complex character who just nods in unison with Eric and us.

Augustus Barclay Yaffle

Eric would tell us stories and give a sideways glance swinging his thumb towards Yaffle for confirmation, “he’ll tell ye” … and the Yaffle would just respond with a smile proceeded by that woodpecker squawk. JP and I would love just sitting there, we had much love for the two men and their mad sense of humour and we related to it; possibly out of boredom but who gives a fuck.

Eric was giving us his daily anecdote which always seemed to have a cowboy twist to them, mimicking a gun as he rode into town.

“I rode into town and dan the Old Kent Road and stopped for caviar and truffles”.

Our table of four was on that infectious laughter, in the moment vibe enhanced by Yaffle’s response. However, Arch Thomson is glaring over holding the invisible wheelbarrow posture.

As the beer and cola flowed Eric folded a beer mat into his mouth and in the name of fun with a London twang gave us a repetitive rant …

Dan the Old Kent Rowd

Dan the Old Kent Rowd

Dan the Old Kent Rowd

This set us all off in infectious hilarity and watching the dead beat response from Arch et al made this even more hilarious to the extreme.

Raymondo the barman was collecting glasses and was also not finding this amusing.

Arch does not seem to relate to this at all and responds by roaring over to us, “IRA bastards!”

Once again slander is in the air. Personal insults and slander – the last bastion of the loser in an argument which was not even an argument. With this bizarre accusation Raymond takes the easy way out asks us to leave the bowling club due to our apparent political views; all confirmed by the jury of Arch Thomson and encouraged by whisky nose McCulloch. By this point none of us can even find the passion to debate anything. We are still in laughter.

As we leave the club and approach the exit, Raymond is feeling a sense of strength and is guiding us out the door like a herd of sheep. Although we are leaving anyway and care-free about the whole situation. We observe Arch et al rubbing their hands with glee. However, Eric gives Raymondo a parting shot …

“Raymond, I see yer hair is getting very wavey at the back!”

“How’s that?” Raymond asks touching the back of his head with a confused look.

Eric let’s rip, “Waving fuckin goodbye!” while giving a parting wave goodbye to the bowling club.

Say the Hail Mary

Up against your will
Through the thick and thin
He will wait until
You give yourself to him

Under a blue moon, I saw you
So soon you’ll take me
Up in your arms, too late to beg you
Or cancel it, though I know it must be
The killing time
Unwillingly mine

I believe that the loss of personal bohemia causes nostalgia. Paradoxically, although nostalgia can be mentally draining for its practitioners, it is also part of what attracts the next generation of enthusiasts to the same vibe. When looking back at this counterculture it seems it was very grounding. I have always been a bit of a flaneur so looking for the next locale was perfect timing.

It’s 1983 and I’m walking through the Barrowlands in Glasgow on the London Road side of the market. Myself and a friend are dressed in post -Two-Tone attire with wedge haircuts and baggy jeans. Aberdeen appear.

I’ve heard it said and I agree, “Where’s the next scene?’ Nobody sees it coming, ah it’s over there.” – (Casuals DVD)


It was every Saturday in the mid to late ‘80s. Glasgow City Centre seemed to be occupied by us the (CSC “the Celtic Soccer Crew”) A lot of the time I’d recognise a face and a nod was given. Other times you would approach a group and anticipate it could go off. Some lads would interrogate by asking your authenticity with “say the Hail Mary”. However, as time proceeded into the late ’80s it just seemed to always be Celtic in the city centre.

Inevitably, before any home games; it was a dash from George Square, along the end of Argyle Street and it would kick-off on a big scale at the island in the middle of the road at Trongate. From there, the away firm would head onto the London Road side of the Barrowlands we would go the other way (the Gallowgate). The drill was to go through the Barras and catch the away mob as they walked up the London Road side of the market. Many a time on the corner a crowd of mods were gathered at the ice cream kiosk. I vividly recall the young ginger baby crew member from Posso would tag the first one and the rest would follow through. Mods, yesterdays subculture especially that second generation type, one dimensional with targets on their back, what did they expect.

Most weeks when Celtic played at home we would approach Bridgeton Cross there would be a mob gathered at the bandstand. Like clock work about 10 of the crew would make a dash over to this Bridgton Derry lot and they would bolt before any of us remaining had even followed through.


Celtic first went out as a crew in a Scottish Cup match in 30 January 1985. This was away to Hamilton under the name (RCC “the Roman Catholic Casuals”) which was not a decent or suitable moniker I think we can all agree.

My first outing was a couple of months later on 20 March 1985 at Celtic Park v Hearts. We numbered around 50 and we had positioned ourselves next to the Hearts fans in the old Rangers end at Parkhead. This was just before they put a fence and plastic screen down the middle of the terrace. All there seemed to be was police segregation. The attire was sportswear and those half ‘n’ half ski-hats which wasn’t exactly anti-suss; but I think at this stage we actually wanted to be noticed. I recall over hearing a Celtic supporter commenting: “I didn’t realise we has so many casuals” this would be on the assumption it was an Aberdeen thing or perhaps Motherwell.

At the age of 15, I was just loving the camaraderie, the labels worn but I am posturing as a foot soldier. It was also a good game to have chosen for antagonising the away support. Hearts took the lead and were two nil ahead within 30 minutes. However, Celtic pulled one back through Mo Johnston just before half-time. Late into the second half Murdo MacLeod equalised, then on 92 minutes Brian McClair scores the winner for Celtic. The raging Hearts fans are trying to break through and attack, they still have this Gorgie aggro Skinhead look among their support mixed in with their firm.

Going into the 85/86 season things were starting to change and grow. Sportswear was replaced by shirts and cords, more dress down anti-suss. An umbrella was an accessory for some and more shoes being seen then trainers. Boys were becoming men. The Celtic ski-hat had gone. The Celtic support thought they had got rid of their casuals. However, there was a much sinister not so obvious crew sitting opposite them at the bottom of the main stand at Celtic Park.


Friday IN and OUT shake it all about with David Rosling enterprises

IN …

Chewing chuddy and drinking coke.

Nazi’s getting a cricket baw nose in Wishaw.

ickle ickle ickiling by Harry Lauder

Choo Choo’s nail bar

Dan the old Kent Road … Dan the Old Kent Road

Being a roadie for young Stevie Dodds in Lochgelly.

Pogoing to Yeke Yeke

SEVCO fans dookin for wasps!

Cold Water exposure

Saffiyah Khan.

Berocca and Avocado

Restoring yer classic adidas trainers.

St Pat the Dog

Pil payin pitba pum! (explanation given if required)

Losing it on a Friday afternoon.

Wearing the deerstalker hat in the workplace.

Pop Doodle instead of Pot Noodle.

Supping tea with Ross McKenzie.

Disco lifts by Shaun Kelly

Reading the bible in the bath.

Kellogg’s advert ‘it’s gonna be grrreat!’

Two hats in one day.

St Pats Fenian Band


Ruth Davidson

Song Lyric ‘the eye of the tiger, Cause I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me rooaaaar!’

90’s Hard Core Rave Music! (never in)

Morrissey and his attention seeking right-wing rants.

Gary Barlow.

People blaming the ‘winny works’ for today’s society problems.

Depression stigma number 300 ‘eat fruit’ by I’m alright Jack!

Mental Health Stigma number 310 ‘choose to be happy!’

The Sun Newspaper!

Heating or eating choices


Throbbers on holiday with Union Jack hanging over balcony.

Billy Campbell types from Norn Iron.

When folk ask ‘happening’ instead of ‘what’s happening?’

Black dog.

Guys wearing a t-shirt saying ‘I don’t need to google’ plastered over the front!

Jammy Tribute Acts.

Bully Beefcakes.

restyled adidas Jeans trainers.

Blowies for Beak

The day after the day after … Beer fear!

Hangsxiety Beer Fear

Bobby Madden pandering to SEVCO NINJA ASSASSIN’s

Roasters in Town who kick off after a stripe

The ‘My life is so perfect’ crowd on Facebook!

Nazi Hipsters.

That’s that! Keep on the Tramazi and the Cameron Diaz. Hug yer brers. Cheers now!! Never let yer public down … spin them right round, like a record baby right round. Remember … mirror, signal, manoeuvre and on ye go.

Any complaints speak to the HWS team at 94 Holywell Street next door to Celtic park (see below). Or come and visit us. Get Yersel’s roond.

CSC 1993 Welling riots

By Stef Kelly  15/1/19


Going with our CSC articles, Holywell Street caught up with one of our finest lads, passionate in every department. He’s certainly old skool and with a colourful past. I first met Stef around the 1985/86 season at Tynecastle. From baby crew to front-line.

Here he chats of a day when Celtic went on a famous anti Fascism demo.

As I sit here and try to recall my time as a casual, as a proud member of the Celtic Soccer Crew, I struggle with age, the odd concussion and the reality that my time as one of the crew is muddied by the fact that I was an addict in fully fledged addiction for most of it. In actual fact the anticipation that came along with being part of a mob and having so many men and women at my back was the biggest high for a long time but, like all other highs, it eventually ran its course and stopped offering the freedom from self that it once gave me. Still, I look at the early eighties and the many names that came and went from my life, with fondness and a deep nostalgia that lingers even still, as I near the half century mark.

There are most certainly many Celtic bhoys in my thoughts who have died for one reason or another; many from the very same addiction I found respite from but, there are also a few of the mortal enemy; the huns; the ICF, who have died and who played a part in making the man who sits here writing this essay. I feel sad as I write but, nostalgia does that; it is an odd feeling filled with good memories and sad ones. I’ve discovered in this age of social media that nostalgia has its place and that it is important.


Anyway, on to what I can remember about 1993 and the Welling Unity Demonstration that led to me being sentenced to two years at Maidstone Crown Court. I was charged with riot, which was the worst of the charges on offer to all those arrested; disorderly conduct being the least of the three and affray coming in second. As it transpired the whole event was orchestrated by the authorities to push the criminal justice bill/act through parliament. Myself and the rest of the crew that went down were willing pawns in their game. I remember when we got there that I commented to my old friend E.F, (whom, I would dearly love to have contact with again), who was our liaison with the Anti-Fascist League organisers, that we were being set up by them also. If it kicks off, we will be there at the front and will likely be used as scapegoats for any trouble that ensues. For the sake of clarity here, I followed that assertion with, “don’t get me wrong E.F, I don’t care if we are being used but, lets not kid ourselves.


I remember there was a nominal fee of three pounds for the bus to London from Glasgow, it really was a no-brainer for us that went. I sat with Gary S if I remember correctly and I did heroin and ecstacy on the way there. My next real memories are of the boys raiding Lacoste in London; I missed out because I was either behind or in front of them. We also had a little run in with Millwall at Kings Cross station, or was it Euston station? They were getting a little mouthy at first, they thought we were Spurs and really did not wanna know when they found out who we were.


My next memory is us walking up the road towards the intersection where the riot started and ended; anticipation building as we had no idea what to expect. There were professional rioters all around us. Three years before this demo, the Poll tax riots had happened and there were the same folks who had been rioting at that demo at the Welling demonstration. This I later discovered because a couple of my co-accused where at both days.


At the end of the road we came to the intersection where the riot cops were awaiting our arrival. This was where I got excited; remember I’m there to represent the Crew, we don’t like fascists, yeah but, I’m a 24 year old addict who is so self-obsessed and riddled with low self-worth I was going to make it about me making me feel better and hopefully raising the profile a bit of the CSC at the same time.


When we reached the section that the cops where never going to let us past, the organisers of the march started asking everyone to link arms and get ready to sit in and refuse to move. I looked around and saw that on the roof of a garage of a nearby house there was a large camera; a television camera I thought. So, I wriggled free of the interlocked arms that held me and jumped out into the 8 or 10 feet of no-mans land between us and the bizzies and screamed Celtic Soccer Crew on tour ya Bastards!!!!! I was the first to break ranks and it all kicked off right at that moment. A funny aside here; as I screamed, my false teeth flew from my mouth and landed at the feet of a riot cop in front of me. I stopped and looked down at the same time as the copper looked down; we looked up at each other and I hesitated for a minute, weighing up my options. The chance of club on the back of my skull was all too real but, I thought ‘fuck it’ and I reached down and grabbed them without being rendered unconscious by the copper. They spent the next few hours snuggled in my pocket for safe keeping. Incidently, this is far from the only time that my wallies went airborne when I was screaming at someone. I fought through legs in the jungle at Celtic Park a few times, to retrieve them.


Anyway, from there on in, it is a bit of blur; the bizzies charging us, bricks being thrown from the church wall that was destroyed by fellow rioters. Fellow Crew members would come in and out of view at varying times but, to be honest I think most of them did not partake in the riot as much as I did. I was mask free and hell bent on creating some infamy for myself and the Crew. Ed later told me that I was the one that kicked it all off and in my skewed, less than mature thinking of the time, I was so happy with this. I did get trampled at one point by riot cops and I thought “shit, this is it, this is where I get arrested” but, they just ran right over the top of me and I was able to get up and get away again. This incident is actually recorded on youtube, if you look for Welling riot. I had a dark green jacket on and a red Lacoste hat.


The riot went on until it fizzled out; myself and young Kevin Mc, made our way back to the buses. We barely made it back home. The bus we had come on had left and we ran and stopped another that luckily for us was heading to Glasgow.  We got home late and I crashed out at home. Still at my parents house in Provanmill. I awoke the next morning and the first thing my dad said was “there’s the TV star” I asked him, “did you tape it, did you tape it?”. Sure enough he had recorded me on the news the evening before. I watched it and carried that VHS tape with me for weeks afterwards, I was so proud of myself. When I walked along the street that day, the neighbours; little old ladies and the rest where yelling at me “you fucking hooligan Kelly” and the like. I loved it; the infamy and 15 minutes of glory that I sought to fill the void inside me, I had it. It transpired that my picture was in newspapers all over England, less so in Scotland but, my brother in law, who is a Manc, called and let me know he had been heading to work the on the bus, the day after the riot and saw my picture in the Mirror or Sun or whatever tabloid he was reading.


As time went on, I moved further into my addiction and forgot all about my fifteen minutes of notoriety. My days spent thieving and looking for ways and means to get drugs. Going to the odd game with the bhoys and always being supported by them. I probably did some time in the months that followed, as was the pattern of my life, until one morning, about 8 months after the riot, I’m awakened by 4 CID in my bedroom. Two from Stewart Street and two from Scotland Yard; one of the guys from Scotland Yard said “you know what this is about Steven” and I replied “yep, you took your time”. I was flown back to London and taking to Bexley Heath cop shop to appear at Bexley Heath magistrates the next day. I was granted bail and went home. I went back and and forward a couple of times and finally thought ‘fuck it’, if they want me they can come and get me again. I stopped appearing at court and was on the run with an arrest warrant out for me. I got picked up for shop-lifting somewhere and was laying in London Road cop shop. The screws there were pretty sure that the cops from London would not come up for me, as they rarely did for warrants in Scotland. I knew better and told them that. Sure enough, they came back and said that coppers from London where on their way up to get me. I was taken back down and remanded to Elmley nick on the Isle of Sheppy in Kent. Where I spent three months on remand before pleading guilty and getting sentenced to a deuce; with a third off because I had pleaded guilty at my earliest opportunity. It was reduced to 16 months and I did another 5 months on top of the three months I’d already done. I’ll never forget seeing the bhoys jumping around in the road in Maidstone when I went to court for trial. My heart felt full and I was proud of them for showing up. It was a treat.


I did my remand at Elmley and when sentenced moved to Aldington in another part of Kent; an old army barracks converted to a jail. The whole time I was there I was wasted, drugs, jail hooch, it was an easy sentence. Five months of Art class and cookery classes and stoned for most of it. Easy time. In my first week at Aldington, inmates broke into the pharmacy and stole a bunch of drugs, particularly valium. This event in and of itself is hilarious;a break in inside the jail but, the posters the guards put up in the dorms afterwards where downright ridiculous. These posters told of dangerous drugs being stolen and could they please hand them back in. Needless to say that for a couple of weeks the jail was the calmest it had been in years. Another time the canteen was robbed and various items where scattered around the place until used up.

The best incident by far was the time a Belgian fella escaped from the dorm I was in.

The jails in Kent were full of smugglers, guys who trafficked tobacco and hash to truckloads of cocaine and other contraband. Guys from all over the continent: Holland, Belgium, Turkey, Greece as well as the from Glasgow and beyond. In my dorm there was a fella from Belgium, who was pining so badly for his family; many of these guys where used as bait, set up by the real criminals to take a fall whilst the big shipments went through elsewhere. This guy it would appear, was one of these mugs, who was used as fodder for the cops. He was not cut out for jail, never mind a jail in England. Some of the boys in the dorm decided to help him get home.

At 6pm every night, the guards would do a head count and  go on a break and the new shift would come back at 7 and open up and do another head count to make sure everyone was there. In that hour the count went down by one head, literally.

The story goes that sometime before 6pm the Belgian fella had made his way onto the roof of one of the buildings at the jail and hid there waiting for the guards to all go off on their dinner break. At the same time in Hythe Dorm, the dorm I was in, the guys had made up a dummy and used the hair from the many haircuts we gave each other in the dorms to create a dummy head and put it in the bed for the count at 6pm. The guards would just come in and count bodies/lumps in beds, never expecting it to be anything other than a guy sleeping there. Once they had finished their 6 o’clock count, the dummy was disposed of and the bed space was cleaned up of any evidence. It would take the guards an age to figure out which inmate was missing in a jail with around 130 bodies. The Belgian fella had scaled the fence and razor wire using blankets.

There was some panic for a while, a lock-down ensued and everyone denied any knowledge of knowing where the guy had gone. Presumably the guard who did the count got dragged over the coals but, not much else happened afterwards as it really was an embarrassing event for H.M. Prisons at the time.

The icing on the cake was when we received a postcard from the guy back in Belgium a couple of weeks after the escape. A happy ending I’d say.

An interesting sub-plot to this whole experience for me; the riot and sentencing and doing the time, revolves around a scouse fella called Gary. Now, Scouse Gary as we called him, had first appeared on the scene sometime around 1985/86, after the Heysel Stadium disaster when Liverpool fans fighting with Juventus fans caused a wall to collapse and what happened, happened, as awful as it was. Scouse Gary told us that he was one of the Liverpool fans charged as part of the group of fans who where arrested. This was never substantiated by any of us and it was not as easy in 1986 to just look up who was and who wasn’t a part of this conflagration. Google not showing up for another couple or three decades. We just took him at face value and he became part of the scene for a short period, hanging around Queen Street station with myself and the other Baby crew folks who hung around there.

The strange thing about Scouse Gary is that, when I was in the cells at Maidstone crown court during trial and at preliminary hearings, eight years after I had last seen him, he shows up in my cell and claims to be one of my co-accused or, at least charged in connection with same demonstration. Our re-connection was a bit awkward; I may be wrong but, I’m now pretty sure, the Scouse fella was a professional informant; a plant; a fucking double agent if you will and had been for a number of years. Perhaps even and undercover screw, they where known to exist back in the heyday of us hooligan types. I’m not sure if he expected me when he came in to the cell, he wasn’t there long and like before he vanished in the ether never to be seen again, not during my remand or sentence.

A shady fucking character indeed.

The other notable events during that distant time in jail in England, were the thousands of letters I received from all over the world, from Holocaust survivors, from anti-fascists. From little old ladies and students and just people in the street who wanted to offer their support for a cause, a cause that I barely respected. My selfishness back then was immense; I was incapable of recognising the enormity of the cause I had tied my flag to for a day of notoriety and self-indulgent vanity. Still, I have no regrets. Life has come and gone and persists in presenting me with moments of clarity and growth; I look back with fondness and sadness; that beautiful feeling of nostalgia once again on my jail time in England and would not change it for the world


So, this is what I can recall now, as I sit here in bed in my home on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada. 4,401 miles from Glasgow and 26 years from doing time in Kent for rioting. A lifetime ago; I am a father and a husband now, Capable of so much more than I was back then. I am a Registered Social Worker with a Bachelors Degree in Social Work; and I work as an addiction counsellor at a Maximum security Correctional Facility in Victoria and marvel often at how life is so different now.

Hail Hail and CSC # 1

Many thanks to Stef and Red Casual