Mogwai, F**k Buttons, Errors, and Crashing Celtic Connections Launch

Yep, I get about a bit. Just got back from Edinburgh, it's 01.50, pishy wet and windy and cold weather, I fancy tunneling under my duvet covers and hibernating for the rest of the winter.

Celtic lost 3-0 to Man U. Just so's you know. But when people weren't watching that, including the very band, they were at the Corn Exchange for the brilliant line up that was tonight - Mogwai, supported by the very very very fantastic F**k Buttons and Errors. Great stuff. Nae Bad, as King Rab C might put it.

So here's the pictures in their mighty raw form, just incase y'all thought I did my pictures from memory.


Mogwai, Finale



Mogwai, Green.



F**k Buttons ( but if you can read and you're young/vulnerable enough to be scarred, then I'm in trouble...)

Plus I also managed to get along to the launch of Celtic Connections at the Royal Conert Hall. Was really moving actually; it looks like it's going to be an amazing lineup for January/Feb 2009. Seriously, it looks really quite something!

Clash of the Titans: Old Firm, and stories from Iraq

Watching the Old Firm Game from Inside the Glaswegian.

Detail.

'A Fiery Old Firm Clash saw a red card, missed penalty, last gasp winner & ugly scenes at the End'.

This is the quote from Hotmail at 02.22am.

I think I was lucky just to lose my bike light and not my head when I decided I would get my pens and pencils out in a notorious Ranger's pub The Glaswegian. I came in after the kick off, which I'm sure wouldn't have endeered anyone to me. I quaffed 2 bottles of Magners (they didn't have any ginger beer or ale) and I didn't know any of the songs.

I wasn't the only one not singing, but by crikey, it was a much more heated affair than the last Old Firm match I drew in the Brazenhead (notorious Celtic pub). After being treated so nicely there during that weekend afternoon match, I felt like a traitor standing there tonight in that pub. And I don't even bloody support football in any shape or form. But I am Catholic. And that might have mattered...

I did get a load of curious glances and stares and I was just bloody nice and friendly back. There was me giving a nod and a smile when Rangers got their goal, and there was me still nodding and smiling after drawing lots of the tasteful phrases I was hearing and the 'jubilant' atmosphere, and there was me still f*****g nodding and smiling after I noticed somehow Rangers has got another goal; so it was 2-1 to Rangers ey? Shame. Guess Celtic didn't have their chance then.

What a bloody fool I am.

There was me curiously staring at all the drunken celtic supporters starting up songs under the Highland Man's umbrella (Argyll Street under Central Station), and crowds of strangers joining in from the other side of the road, with me thinking 'Aw, that's nice. Look how well the Celtic Supporters are taking it.'

Now I realise, perhaps, why some serious looking woman in a black bob, glasses and red top, at the end of the match, demanded what I was doing in the Glaswegian, and Where was I from?

Ah Jenny, with her wits about her, smiled gleefully and proclaimed 'Och I'm just an Art Student!'

'Oh that's alright then' she grunted and left me to it. I wish I'd been a fly on the wall as I haplessly pratted along with my picture mistakenly believing that everyone was exultant around me.

Hah.

So then I rushed back to the Arches for a quick bladder relief call before zipping into the 'light relief' of Bluey, the autobiographical play by Phil Spencer and his monkey/Dad Alfred.

From the perspective of an imaginative young boy witnessing his Dad going to the war in Iraq, believing it all pointless and stupid, and reflecting on the stories they shared, interjected with angsty adolescent male music, strobe lighting, smoke machines and 'right in there' audience participation.

Sharp and well practiced. The comedic look at an individual's experience of a war going on the theatre, was still honey compared to the raw redness of what I experienced beforehand.

And is that your last Old Firm documenting session Miss Soep? Have you had your fill of adrenalin fuelled drawing experiences? Are you going to stop, or join a side?

It's 2.49 in the morning. I'm ready for my pit, and by the way, No Comment.

'Tiorchar Ar La'

Warning: Expletives abound in Following Drawings - Not for the Young 'Uns.

'Are you a Celtic Supporter?' 'Well, eh..em' 'Just say Yes' 'Okay, Yes'

I'm going to admit something. I am not a football supporter. I don't support any sport, but if I was to support any football team, it might be Celtic, particularly after my experience in one of the supposed roughest pubs in Glasgow, The Brazenhead.

After suggesting what my plans were the previous day, when everyone had told me I was mad, I retorted 'I'm short, I'm a girl, and I've got a sketchbook - how threatening can I be?'

I found out today, that someone's friend had been put in a coma there a couple of years back, and one time the bouncers had been dragged round the corner under the bridge and stabbed to death. I wonder if I'd known that, would I have gone?

I guess having the Old Firm games now start at 12 in the afternoon must quell some of the violence. I did witness an arguing couple a few hours later, the guy of which had obviously had his ego pricked, turning on some random guy busting in his face infront of the green light traffic. No-one ran over to help; I guess you've gotto know the whole picture, but there's just no need for that.

I did meet some lovely people in the pub though: Cheryl, Big Tam, Wullie, Mick and a few others. They all got drawn tho' the drawings of Wullie and Mick are on my mobile since I gave them the pictures there and then. I've since bought a new digicam for such occasions in the future. Looooooong overdue - you can borrow your friends' only so many times...

During the match, venom was spouted forth from many mouths, as I'm sure all you real footie supporters would be well aquainted with, but all in good humour from where I was sitting and when Rangers scored, the pub had one of the quietest moments during the match. The camaraderie in there was great though with the non-pc anthems baled out in good key, and when the game ended with the undesired result, the live music was quick to start. A folk band got up, tuned up and entertained the flag waving masses.

The bar itself is actually a fascinating and quirky 'big wee place', full of character with loads of past football tops hanging from the arched ceiling, memorabilia and photos. There is a few dents here and there which could have been left by a couple of 'heated debates' in the past.

I found a spot on the far end of the bar in the corner where a fairly big burly bald bloke stood looking a little fearsome if it wasn't for the wooly jacket he was wearing. His girlfriend Cheryl from Fife was sitting there looking immaculate and wearing a black blouse with stars on it. She looked like she would have been more at home in a nightclub, but she wasn't the only gal dressed up for the occasion.

I have to say, I expected it to be full of 'sweaty swearing thugs', and it really was just like your local community pub, with a big variety of people old and young, pretty girls and young well manicured guys.

One of the 'older wiser' folks - Wullie, has impressive eyebrows, twinkly eyes, and a cut on one of them. Cheryl thinks he looks like Mel Gibson, Big Tam says he looks like Sid James. I did a quick waterpencil drawing of him which I was pretty pleased with and he seemed to like it too 'Check oot thae photae she did fur me!' and I got myself a pint out of it - nice one.

I have to say, I think I got a good deal - they all took care of me and made sure I was alright, perched on top of the pool table on my make shift 'throne with a view' - 'Artist, ye wanna drink?' 'Ooh, yes please - some water!'' Wus that Vodka and Water?' 'No no, just water please!'' Wullie, buy the girl a drink - Vodka and Water.'

It was a great experience and one of the best introductions to watching football in a pub that I could have had, even if the results weren't what was desired.

As someone pointed out ' Tiorchar Ar La' apparently meaning 'Our day will come' in Irish. I hope so - they've had a good run up to now. And it'll be good again, according to my sources...

Note: I've since been informed that it's spelt 'Tiocfaidh ar la' pronounced 'Chucky ar la' and refers to the day when the IRA will get what they desire. It's a beautiful phrase though, and the Celtic supporters I've met use it with pride when results don't go their way.