Hibernation to Hibernian

Having been deprived of any football-based titillation or, more commonly, consternation since mid-May, it's (almost) a pleasure to report my first football fixture attendance of the new season. I went up to Edinburgh on Saturday to see Boro take on Hibernian in a pre-season friendly at Easter Road, where we lost one-nil thanks to a late - nay, last gasp - goal. Not that it really mattered. These are generally dull and lacklustre affairs, with the main purpose only really being a stretch of the legs for the players who've no doubt spent their entire close season awkwardly hunched over Scrabble boards. Maybe. Plus, pre-season friendlies mean us fanatics get to see some of Boro's summer acquisitions in action for the first time, particularly our tantalising Turk Tuncay (pron: Tun-chai, pronunciation fans). He looked pretty good from what we saw of him, since you asked.

I was accompanied by Dan, Edinburgh resident extraordinaire and fellow contributor to intrepid Boro fanzine Fly Me To The Moon. Despite the fact we'd only met once previously in a face-to-face/tête-à-tête manner, he was kind enough to agree to let me linger overnight on the favourably long sofa in his living room. It was long enough that I didn't need to dangle my handsome calves over an arm rest, and could actually lie straight, as if in a coffin. But one you wake up again in. Great hospitality from the host (rather than hospitalisation, which befell the host for my last trip to Edinburgh). I found out on Friday night that Foz from down this way was also up that way for the weekend, and we met up with him and his decidedly Scottish uni friend, Ewan, inside the ground. Very nice chap wearing a good jumper. Over the course of the day and night, many public houses were frequented and many pints of ale and bitter consumed. I won't bore you with the details - except that it was a delightful experience - or I'll begin to resemble William Hague and his dubious, drunk-demographic-targeting claims all those years ago. It wasn't like that: I'll never be as hardcore as Hague. We did visit a pub called John Leslie's though. Although, sadly, it was neither owned nor frequented by the celebrity Hibs fan and woman-botherer. Maybe they named it that in a bid to attract that vast, marketable drinking group - the accused (hello, lawyers) rapists. Didn't see The Proclaimers either. Not that they're rapists.

Here's another picture of a football ground to look at, since that's been the most telling function of this blog since its inception. I know it's what keeps the reader (singular) coming back time and time again, rather than all this lexical gibberish.