Lording it up in Inverness

I'm 47 and last night I hosteled for only the second time in my life. Teenage Fanclub were playing in Inverness and I needed somewhere inexpensive to kip afterwards, it's preferable to falling asleep at the wheel driving back to Aberdeen.

Last time I stayed at a traveller's hostel was 1993 on my stag weekend in York. I remember nothing about it. This time I was able to soberly absorb the glory of hosteling and while possibly catching nits, found it a thoroughly pleasurable experience. The dormitory was shared by ten of us and was indeed grotesque, the bedclothes were minging, but in every other respect my stay was a delight. No prissy corporate welcome from a uniformed receptionist, instead a warm welcome from a heavily tattooed, black vested rocker who took my fourteen quid and exchanged my driving licence deposit for the room key. I dumped my gear, went to the gig, shuffled back and crashed for the night.

In the morning I chatted with a young Australian traveller in a communal lounge replete with flat screen telly, Netflix, wifi, guitar, books and Monopoly. Her travel log was fascinating, I departed inspired, with an only slightly dented bank balance and a dose of nits but these seemed a price worth paying. Up yours Premier Inn.

75 reasons to carry on

Stonehaven Golf Club is trialling a new course layout during the winter whereby the eighteen holes will be played in a different order. For those familiar with the course, you play the first four holes then the gully, then the field, then 5th-8th before playing the last three. I like it. The gruelling gully comes early in the round while you've still got some energy and since I broke my handicap with an imperious 75 in my first trial, I'm all for it. I vote Yes.

Ultimate Betrayal

I dropped into the golf club this week for a spot of lunch. Food was good, company too but my visit was somewhat spoiled by a cursory glance at the noticeboard as I departed. There on the winter league pairs sheet were the names ' Douglas & Ferguson', the Douglas referred to being the very same Keith Douglas whom I partnered in last season's event and carried to runners-up position. This was the first I'd heard that I'd been dropped, we'd had every intention of playing together again this season.

I have to say it comes to a pretty pass when the person you've played golf with every weekend for the entire winter league season, four months all told, sacks you without a word and chooses someone else to partner instead. I shouldn't be surprised, he has so little class, nevertheless it was somewhat chastening to learn of my dismissal through the backdoor rather than face to face. Well up yours Douglas, I hope your assault on this year's trophy falters spectacularly and you sink without trace you witless weasel. Good luck with your poisoned chalice Ferguson, you'll be needing a psychiatrist come Springtime I promise you.

Mearns FM this Thursday

Heard the gag about people having the perfect face for radio? Well I'll be proving that on Thursday when the good people at Mearns FM broadcast our talk about Stoney Baloney. I do have a good voice for radio but only if the audience understands a Brummy drawl so whether the good people of Kincardineshire understand a single word I utter remains to be seen. I've been interviewed on the radio before but it was on BBC Radio West Midlands, they crammed me in one Sunday morning between tips on growing radishes and a travel report detailing roadworks in Tipton. Rock and roll people.

I'm informed the red carpet for my appearance is being purchased from the finest furnishing company in Edinburgh so I'll be careful to check my shoes for dog dirt before stepping onto it from the limousine. My agent has informed the station about my rider requirements (white pudding supper, Mars bar and a can of coke) but I regret the autograph session has had to be canned since a satisfactory fee could not be agreed. If I could politely request all groupies form an orderly queue afterwards, we don't want anything unseemly when you fight over me.

Holte End reaches Aberdeen

This photo in the P&J last week has given me my cheapies and no mistake. Not the article itself but the photo. I've been trying to spread the word of Aston Villa to anyone who'd listen up here in Scotland for years, ever since first moving up in 1982, nobody has listened. So to hell with it, after over three decades banging my head against a brick wall, trying to explain who Villa were and that yes we're still 'all that' despite several seasons in the wilderness, extreme measures have been taken. When asked to submit a photo by the P&J to accompany the article about Stoney Baloney, I offered the above, a photo of me and my two brothers standing on Villa Park's Holte End taking a selfie in the packed stadium. How sweet to have Villa Park brought to the people of Aberdeen this way, finally Aston Villa have broken into Aberdeenshire. Up yours Delors! It's those little things in life you know!

Woeful Westwood

I have two Westwoods to blame for a rotten weekend, Lee and Ashley. The former muffed a tiddler on the closing hole on Saturday night to hand Ryder Cup momentum to America, the latter shilly shallied on the football allowing Preston to secure a decisive second goal in their defeat of Villa.

I can forgive Lee. He's been an integral member of winning Ryder Cup teams over the years so has earned his spurs. Ashley on the other hand epitomises all that's wrong with Aston Villa. He wasn't good enough for the Premiership and he's not up to Championship standard either yet he's a virtual ever present at Villa in recent seasons. He pulls out of tackles, scuffs shots, drifts in corners for keepers to gobble, never scores, can't beat an egg and has no pace whatever. He can point a lot and he applauds the travelling support after the final whistle, this is the sum of his contribution to AVFC and he has to go. Likeable bloke, good looking lad, I'm sure his Mum loves him but if my football club has ambitions of returning to even a shadow of former glory he shouldn't be anywhere near our first team.

Back to Lee and the Ryder Cup, it wasn't ineptitude that cost him his match but simply a dose of the squits while delivering a monumental putt. You can forgive him his miss given the match had been competitive enough to reach the 18th green, Ashley on the other hand, in golfing parlance, would have been handed his dog licence if Marjorie Proops had played him left handed. Defeat with honour is acceptable, surrendering week after week and hiding all over the pitch is not. Lee you are hereby forgiven, Ashley please accept this one way ticket to oblivion and take all your team mates with you.

AVFC Supporters Club - Auchenblae branch

Following my relocation last summer, it's taken longer than anticipated to build the Auchenblae branch of the Aston Villa Supporters Club. I had some early success when strong arming my three year old son Ernie into a subscription but there have been no additional enquiries since then. I can't quite put my finger on what the problem is.

It's over thirty years since I last lived in this area, when Villa were European champions, the darlings of English football, even Cloughie admired us. We were sexy then, blonde haired poster boy Gary Shaw scoring goals, toothless keeper Jimmy Rimmer saving them, captain caveman Dennis Mortimer bulldozing his teammates to glory. Great side, big support, even our iconic kit and match day programmes won awards until it all came crashing down with a humiliating relegation in 1987. We've never truly recovered. Yes we've enjoyed sporadic flirtations with second string silverware, winning a brace of league cups before fluffing our lines in two FA Cup finals, but a repeat of full former glories has eluded us comprehensively.

In particular the Chelsea defeat in the 2000 Cup Final epitomised the reasons for the dearth of interest that Aston Villa now suffer in British outposts. That day we stank out world club football's set piece event so pungently with a lily livered surrender that the public has never forgiven us. Like a drunken Uncle sabotaging his nephew's christening, our irredeemable display cast us asunder in the hearts and minds of hitherto empathetic football followers, many of whom might have favoured Villa as their 'second club'. Gone was the goodwill and bonhomie, replaced by grudge filled resentment. Even the kit we wore that day betrayed the club, the players looking like they'd left their pyjamas on. It was a turning point, Villa unofficially dropped by distant admirers and consigned to shoulder shrugging status. Leicester City beware, your time may also come.

Recent seasons have seen Villa competing purely as Premiership make weights and latterly, cannon fodder. For years the annual dalliance with relegation miraculously ended happily until last season demotion was achieved with such sustained haplessness that even Blues fans felt sorry for us. Such ignominy awoke the Villa faithful from their Lerner induced comas and they were compelled to tell the club just what they thought of the malaise. The final straw was the attitude exhibited by Villa's players who cocked a snook at fans with ill chosen social media faux pas, confirming their indifference to the club and obsession with wealth's trinkets. Supporters' patience snapped, gallows humour was replaced with furious protest, having lurched from one rock bottom to another fans had seen enough. The roll call of ritual humiliation in recent seasons had 'boasted' regular cup exits to lower league opposition including a semi to Bradford City, routine local derby defeats, three victories in an entire season, ten games without a goal, and these just a glimpse of the torture suffered by a once proud club, a founder member of the league. It was almost a relief when we were relegated last season, relegated with knobs on, the inevitability obvious before we'd even started the reverse fixtures in December.

Will the worm turn? Can Aberdeenshire's coach companies expect fortnightly excursions to the West Midlands or will a Ford Fiesta continue to suffice? There's a lot of making up to do by Aston Villa, not least to their own supporters. How can the club expect to win new recruits if the existing faithful remain disillusioned? A season long restitution period is called for culminating in direct promotion, not a sassy shuffle through the playoffs, perhaps then a bridge might be built with the faithful and foundations laid to entice further followers. Perhaps then I can plan the Aberdeenshire supporters club's growth, meantime committee meetings can remain in my lad's bedroom.