Glengoyne Comment of the Month Winner March 2012

Every month we award a bottle of Glengoyne 10 year old single malt – the finest whisky available to humanity – to a commenter who tickles our fancy…

Jonathon Green has an incredible facility for evoking an era. Slang obviously helps – words, rather like smells, seem to have the ability to mark a time and place. The rest must be down to deep learning and extraordinary writing. Last month he worked his magic on an aspect of the sporting life from before the Great War, recounting the history of The Sporting Times, aka the Pink ‘Un.

JG’s generous gift was made manifold through at least a couple of treasurable comments. Jonathan Law, rightly envious of the ‘Dwarf of Blood’ moniker, with one. John Halliwell with another, serving up a thick and savoury slice of Lancastrian sporting experience:

I was a kid in the mid fifties and stood about 5 feet 3 inches. I spent every second Saturday afternoon, from September to end April, on the Old Trafford terraces cheering on Busby’s brilliant teams. I was often lodged between rough, tough Mancunians who always seemed to be unshaven, spat a lot, swore even more, wore shabby raincoats, cloth caps, hobnailed boots, and seemed to me to be at least 6 feet 7 inches tall; they just don’t make women like that any more. It was wonderful: no threat of violence; no overt hatred of visiting teams and their supporters, relative tolerance shown to the failings of officials. And the slang – glorious slang: “You bleedin’ wazzock” “Shut your gob, you f***ing barmpot”, “You sken-eyed mard arse.”, On the final whistle, 60,000 fans seemed to converge at the very same moment on the railway bridge on Warwick Road, and I swear my feet never once touched the ground; I was carried over the bridge wedged, and rapidly turning blue, between two large, but always good-natured, chaps. The point is simply this: by the time I’d gasped and staggered my way to Warwick Road railway station, about half a mile from the ground, I was able to buy a copy of the Manchester Evening News Football Pink, which carried an account of the match I’d just attended, including photographs. Unbelievable! I then relived the match through the pages of the Pink on the 40 minute train journey home; then into the chippy for fourpenny’s worth and do you know what? They were wrapped in that day’s Football Pink!

Perfect. We hope the Glengoyne helps keep the memories and words flowing, John.

By the way, we all – Dabbler editors and contributors – do this blogging lark for the fun. For the laughs, conviviality, glory, showing off; the learning, sharing, enthusing, connecting; even for the opportunity to use the odd semi-colon. We none of us do it for the money (not one penny – ok, perhaps the odd review copy).

Sadly and inevitably, however, it does require a bit of money to keep the site ticking over. We also need a few pound notes to fund the occasional round of beers, essential for maintaining the robustness of editorial policy as well as contributor morale. If you want to support us please go to the League of Dabblers page where you can subscribe as a member or just make a donation (scroll down to the bottom of the page). Thank you.

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The Dabbler is the culture blog for connoisseurs of everything.

5 thoughts on “Glengoyne Comment of the Month Winner March 2012

  1. Worm
    April 17, 2012 at 09:32

    I never miss an opportunity to get my semi-colon out

    John Halliwell
    April 17, 2012 at 18:15

    Thank you very much, Editorial. I am most grateful. At the risk of being thought disingenuous, I would be delighted if many of those who read Dabbler posts but who don’t comment decided that if a retired old git can win the glorious Glengoyne on two occasions then so can they, and go on to post comments. It would certainly add to the interest of many posts, as brilliant as they are.

    April 17, 2012 at 21:41

    Hear hear that man! Commenting is surprisingly easy once you give it a go, and drinking a bottle of whisky whilst you’re doing it makes it even easier

    April 18, 2012 at 18:40

    From the older of the two retired old gits to the younger of ditto, well done that wrinkly. We, on the back seat of the Shearings omnibus, salute you.

      John Halliwell
      April 18, 2012 at 19:42

      Thank you, old boy, and to all those on the back seat. I suppose 79 year old Gladys will be coming visiting the passengers shortly, lipstick on her teeth; over-dosed on rouge, collecting for the driver – rattling the coins in her battered old buscuit tin. Well she was always there on our charabanc trips to Blackpool. I think my Mam would have died of shame if she hadn’t had a couple of tanners to drop in.

      I often say ‘With age comes maturity and wisdom’; such a shame that Mrs H always fails to stifle a laugh….

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