Imagine your peaceful town having thrust upon it one day an influx of drunken debauched young men. Drinking foreign ales, shouting and jeering in terms unknown to you. All sporting the white tabard with red cross upon it. They arrive and insist on support from the natives in their pilaging activities or the thinly veiled violence they represent will be unleashed. Moving like squads from a rabble army, they wander from hostelry to hostelry, scaring the innocent back into their homes. Roaming the streets in their drunken gangs, spreading violence and disorder as they pass. Breaking property and soiling in all manner of excrement the pathways and premises they pass.
Welcome to the football world cup.
The louts and small minded who find it in some way appropriate to behave as a rabble on the pretext of national pride I find easily detestable. If you want to be proud, be proud, not a drunken abusive mess of violence, intimidation and disorder.
I will not be out drinking in public on days when games are on. I'll be working like a blue arsed fly, earning my pennies and having myself a nice summer holiday as a result. I'm a Scot and an egg chaser. Overpaid weaklings in bad hair-do's don't excite me at all.
Occasional postings from a toe-to-toe customer services physical interface operative.
The ramblings and collected tales from a jobbing licensed doorman. Tales of drunken woe, machismo, loose women, loose fists and 99% boredom. Hopefully updated as thoughts worthy of an audience hit my mind.
'Over a decade at it and not winning any beauty contests'
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