Two Miles to Tynecastle by Andrew-Henry Bowie

Author:Andrew-Henry Bowie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Andrew-Henry Bowie, Heart of Midlothian, Football Club, Hearts, fan, football, soccer, autobiography, life, childhood, growing up, Edinburgh, Scotland, Scottish, 80s, 90s, 1980s, 1990s
ISBN: 9781908548696
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2011
Published: 2011-07-20T00:00:00+00:00

G6

Hearts were an enigma under Tommy McLean. On one hand, we were struggling, plus he was such a grumpy looking little man. The club was skint and we were bringing in bargain players like Colin Miller and Willie Jamieson. But often, the football was really good and there was something temporarily refreshing about Tynecastle and its new stand. Stevie Frail, the talented right back was in scintillating form, and I remember him scoring a stunning goal versus Aberdeen. Yet history will show Hearts as a floundering side, teetering towards relegation, and not many Jambos revere old ‘Hamster Chops’. It was as if we knew we were crap and in transition, but nonetheless, ready and waiting for something better to happen.

I was waiting for something to happen; anything really. Like Forrest Gump, I would sit around waiting for ‘my Jenny’ to appear: even though there was no actual ‘Jenny’ or anyone else for that matter. I ghosted around the house, avoiding my mum and her partner. I walked to work in the dark. I mopped the floor, and listened to the same crap songs on Virgin (I swear they had Sheryl Crowe’s ‘All I Wanna do’ on some sort of loop). I served the customers and waited for the shift to end. Then came my favourite time, around 5am. It was close enough to feel the coming of the end of the long, ten hour shift: but quiet enough to get the kettle on and read the morning papers, looking for Hearts stories. I’d put the flower stand and the fire extinguishers outside, ready for the rush hour and the walk home, to Saughton Mains Bank.

Snowy December came and went, bitter January arrived, and still I waited for something exciting to happen. And in arctic February, something did happen; something good. Sean, Allan and I were in the Wheatsheaf, when I pointed out a girl I fancied. She was young and cute, had curly hair, a beautiful big smile and round blue eyes. She looked strangely familiar, as if our paths had crossed, but I didn’t know her. Whenever I was in the pub, she would smile at me and I would sheepishly approach the bar, tuck back my curtains and bashfully ask for a “lager and lime, please”. I didn’t think she fancied me, but I fancied her. It was coup de foudre. I would look out for her, always timing it so that she would be the one to pour my pint and dash it with lime (hey, I’m from Saughton Mains. My brother wore a shell-suit. Deal with the fucking lime!). I would go back to Allan or Sean and nudge their arm,

“nice, eh?”

Allan gave me the low-down. Her name was Lesley, same age as us and most importantly, single. A real point of interest though; she was a massive Hearts fan, and even worked at Tynecastle on match days. As Allan was next in line for his 21st, he suggested I asked ‘Les the Barmaid’ out. Ask her out? It was time for a history lesson.

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