Cut and dried. Make that cut and died. Willie McEwan’s family have had to “abort” their plans for May 19. Tomorrow is his birthday. The big one, he’ll be 60.
The counter attraction is a football match at Hampden. Says Edinburgh businessman and fanatical Hibby Willie, 48 hours away from the kick-off and all a-quiver: “My son David organised a party for me. It was to be a big secret. A knees-up with a 007 theme.
“The invitations are out, I’ve now discovered, and David’s got it schemed for the 1875 Suite at 7pm on Sunday at Easter Road Stadium. Hopefully the cup-winning Hibs players will be there.
“Don’t say a-quiver. I’ve no doubt we’ll do the business on Saturday. I’m not quivering. I’m confident.
“It’s the dream come true. I’ll be at Hampden with my dad. He’s 83 and for him it’s been a long, long wait to see his team lift the trophy. For all of us.”
Mr McEwan, don’t make me eat my words.
No getting away from the match of the century. Slaters, the George Street outfitters, were summoned to Tynecastle to measure up the players for their cup final suits.
Black suits. Smart but, some might think, a tad ominous? They’ll look the part with their white shirts and club ties.
Careful with those pies, lads. The gravy can make a helluva mess.
Afterwords . .
. . . Possibly the last words one would ever want to hear, the kiss of death, must be the hapless host of the BBC’s stultifying teatime quiz Pointless saying “You do, of course, take home our Pointless trophy.”