In work on Good Friday you say? Ridiculous, make it a half day! So I did. Half-days are like the last day of school, there’s not much point in doing things, there’s a half day of fun stretching out in the afternoon, why can’t I bring in games and videos to have playtime all morning?

Unfortunately in the proper grown up world, where I find myself stuck, this is not an acceptable occupation of my time, so, with a lack of actual work to do, I have resigned myself to blogging with a serious face, interspersed with my thinking face, to give a front of business and productivity. And here we hit the best laid plans bit. I have left my little book of truth, with Chosen One and Lady’s Choice scribbles in it, at home. Given that these are the only new and exciting things I can impart to you clued up rugby followers, my set-aside bloggy time is now a little redundant. Instead we shall have the story of my day.

Driving to work through the frosty sunshine I ran a TopGear commentary in my head, in a Jeremy Clarkson voice, on my gear changes and driving lines through the roundabouts, of which there are many…far too many, and tried to decide if I liked Zane Low. I think I do. I arrived in work a chipper little Easter bunny, ready for a morning of potted work. Not potting work, I live life as a desk jockey these days, no pots involved. On my desk I found the carnage of a lever-arch battlefield, folders strewn and stacked away from their usual home at the end of my desk.

Boss man had been here.

There he sat, happy as the proverbial Larry, across the barrier, on his missing-a-wheel chair, eminating annoyingness. Now, he’s not all that bad, I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be annoying, but for a low-effort performance he does a pretty good job of it. As the week goes by my rage builds, and every day, on top of all the other things, there are the lever-arch files – like the X-files, but not as complicated, and rarely resolved in a single episode. This story has been running for approximately 3 months.

I am no technical genius, I have no engineering qualifications and am not particularly mechanically minded. But I can work a lever arch folder. The whole holdy-in clip thing, and the little ears to keep the folder shut, I’ve got it covered, mastered it within minutes of encountering said files.

Boss man hasn’t had such luck.

The little poly-pockets are left to roam free while the folder stands covers akimbo. Stands, in this instance is a very transient term. With no restraint the files stand just long enough for boss man to walk away and turn round to see reactions-of-a-cat Newshound dart a paw out to catch the falling, flailing folders, preventing chaos. And then begins the rebinding process, squish them down, clip them in, close the cover, stand it up, all is well.

Nearly every day this happens. He watches it happen. He watches me fix the mess. He has a little laugh about the high risk activity of trying to stand a lever arch file upright, inviting me to share his little joke. I somehow manage to contain my laughter. If I leave the office I think he opens them all, unclips the holders and piles them, unconstrained on my desk.

One day he will have no need for lever arch files, the day he meets an untimely death at the hands of an industrial strength hole-punch. Maybe.

A little grim for a sunny morning. But rage dispelled and on to the afternoon. Hen-do fun is to commence in around 2 hours, happy hen-do Rachy-Nic, good luck…for the proceedings I shall be sporting- appropriately, given the sports theme- a free diver outfit, complete with flippers and mask and snorkel. If it weren’t for my incredible control over my faculties I would be literally wetting myself with excitement. On Wednesday I bruches my teeth with my flippers on, yesterday I hung the washing up in full scuba gear. I feel I am ready.

On a final note, happy birthday to occasional Newspup and Hilljill winger lady, little Smith who’s 14 today. Oh, no…17, 24…32? Gads, these Smith’s and their youthful good looks, you never can tell…

Just jesting, Happy birthday little Smith, 19 today :o)

After farmer night came Christmas and more snow, and more freezing, and ice and snow and freezing and ice and cold. Ideal conditions if you are a snowman, or perhaps want to live in an igloo, or fancy a bit of outdoor curling or ski-cross- which everyone should know, post-winter Olympic mania, is the coolest Winter sport ever, even cooler than sledging, way cooler than making snow angels, and cooler than luge on account of being more exciting and marginally less terrifying. Unfortunately, Hillhead/Jordanhill don’t have an igloo/ski-cross/luge/curling section, and the rugby members are, in the majority, not snowmen, so there were cancellations and rearrangements ahoy for the 3 snow covered icy winter months, wreaking havoc with the fixtures schedule, ensuring the calendar stretches well into April.

Not one to be beaten by the weather Chief Keith was on the case and soon, to everyone’s evident delight, secured a number of venues for a few weeks worth of indoor training sessions. Sat-nav not being one of the more prominently featuring strings on this Newshound’s bow the changing venues meant many a night walking the Google map streets, peering into driveways and alleys, over flyovers and round corners to insure against lateness. And so the dread began, just like pre-season, Keith was in charge, we were in a small gym hall, there’d be little space for handling and no chance of contact, which could mean only one thing…fitness.

The kind of fitness that makes you wonder if death is less painful, and if, in fact, you can ever have liked this angry-faced man inflicting such pain. The man who tells you that mental weakness is all that’s stopping you holding a plank for 13 minutes, when in fact you know that you have, in that 13 minutes, developed at least one hernia and probably ruptured your spleen through physical effort. No, Keith, just because you can lie there like a waxwork, unphased by the pain, apparently untouched by gravity, does not mean this is normal. You are clearly a freak of nature, an intolerable, though accomplished, planker…

So, yes, generally it was awful, turnout was variable, but those who stuck it out felt the benefits, being fit little rugby-bunnies come the end, and there were some light moments of hilarity to keep us going through the torment. Have you ever seen a Chicken skip? You really should, a lasting memory to make you smile in the very darkest of times.

On one fateful mid-season fitness evening the crowd was split with the girls sent off to play ridiculously disadvantaged rugby netball with the tall boys, while the 1XV were stuck with Keith for some circuits and running and other such fun. And then we swapped. It seemed the hall the 1XV had been using had been recently varnished, with an all-over high gloss finish. It soon became apparent, as you set foot in the hall and found yourself skiting across into some wall bars that, in fact, the room was doused in man-sweat. This sea of man-sweat was very nearly augmented with puddles of girl-puke. Now I don’t like to think I’m narrow minded, I’m not averse to a bit of man sweat, if it has been sweated on me personally by a hot rugged man, say, if Jason White instead of wiping his brow post gym session, were to dog-shake his head and shower me in his man sweat, then I may not object, I might even enjoy it a little bit, but a medley of 20 Hills’ man-sweats? It doesn’t have quite the same appeal. Yet there I was, rolling in it. I feared my life may have been slip-sliding out of control that day. When you spend your leisure time engaged in a hobby that involves sliding face first in the recently perspired sweat of young men you really have to take a good look at yourself, and probably get yourself on some kind of fetishists anonymous circuit. Help is always available.

For all the pain and trauma we came out the other side alive and kicking and fitter for our few weeks of hell, a couple of early morning astro sessions saw the hands warmed up, the contact back on, and girls’ and boys’ teams raring to go, building to finish the season on a high.

Considering the lack of rugby on the day the turn-out for the farmers’ subcrawl was not too shabby. Heading up the real life farmer contingent were Fraser and Hoggy, hailing from Dumfries these two know their stuff when it comes to sheepdip, milking and turnips and brought an element of authenticity to proceedings. Most present looked suitably farmerish, with the theme interpretation ranging from new age farmhand, through flower-pot girl to ye olde farm master, with an array of flatcaps and tweed to behold. A couple of outliers, who appeared to have come as a fisherman and the Fonz, were suitably punished.

Captain Stu, after a day lacking in captainly boss-around type duties appointed himself shepherd to the small flock of ladies present. This self-appointment met with mixed response.

The farmers were soon on the move leaving the coaches and physios behind to enjoy their civilised Christmas Dinner. Captain Stu’s attempts at shepherding having been snubbed, Rose-dawg took the reigns as team enforcer. With his whistle at the ready a number of ridiculous rules emerged along the way.

At this point we’ll have a brief intermission, to give an opportunity to express a deep, heartfelt appreciation of Rosey’s costume. As a rough and ready wee ginger kid Rosey had always felt hemmed in by the Knightswood city limits. On his way to school up Great Western Road he played at army men(probably on his own). He rolled about in the mud at rugby, and dreamed of a life out in the open. Most of all, more than dreams of freedom, of sheep and hens, of barns and farm cottages, of farmers wives and milking maids, most of all, little Rosey dreamed of driving a Landrover Defender, one with a snorkel.

Much like Martin Luther King, Stuart Grainger Rose¹ had a dream. On farmer night this dream very nearly came true, thanks to the wonders of creativity, card-board, green paint and industrial strength glue(as provided by Messrs Fleming and Martin-and John, and maybe a little bit Adam) Rosey was a Landrover Defender, complete with spare tyre, snorkel, number plates and headlights. It was quite a sight to behold and, after a few minor blips, being mistaken for a tractor – how very rude- Defender was quite the man about town, vroom-vrooming here, snork-snorkelling there. After a successful run round the subway the Defender was eventually parked up in the big Multi-storey in the sky after a run in with a humour-deficient doorman near George Square. He had a good life. The Defender that is, the doorman, to my knowledge, is still alive and refusing entry to anyone smelling vaguely of fun.

Meanwhile, back on the trail…with young Fraser nominated team-boy and off to buy a round of Discovery tickets the team had their first rapid pit-stop at Curlers and were soon subway bound where they ran into a rival crew, spying over the rails at Hillhead, rather more topically dressed, and slightly merrier, a tribe of scruffy Santas.

After much deliberation at Fortress Hughenden it had been decided that the farmers were far too posh(and more than a little bit too scared) to stop south of the river in their flatcaps and Barbour jackets, so the route consisted of Partick, then all the way round, surfing past the Southside, to St Enoch’s. This plan held strong until approximately 10 seconds after Partick, when it was decided that nowhere was too scary for this bunch of farmers, and if there was a bar, they’d be frequenting it. Chopper, resplendent in a full boil-in-the-bag waterproof ensemble set the pace, and chose the drinks, a serious personnel error as far as the ladies were concerned.

Specifics mould into one big clockwork orange in these circumstances, so the night has been squished into a mish-mash of rules and potted events, as follows…

1. We’re cool- we don’t ride the subway, we surf the subway. Don’t touch anything but the floor when the subway’s in motion.

2. If you’re from Fortress Hughenden you’re always ready – when the whistle goes you hit the deck.

3. You’ll drink what you’re given. And be grateful.

4. All the backs are gay.

5. If Rosey decides you’ve to race up an icy concrete hill of danger, or run up a down escalator you do it. In fact, what Rosey says goes.

6. Never leave your Captain behind…uh…except if he’s dawdling…then it’s ok.

And to the highlights…Wigan mysteriously appearing dressed as the Fonz, and equally mysteriously disappearing a short time later after some (fairly standard for him) crimes against society. A young farmer, possibly of the Hoggy variety, falling down the escalator on the escalator challenge. Hats on the tracks. Trying to dissociate ourselves from the roughest looking Santas in the world at the far end of one subcrawl too far from the North Pole. Viper antics, these will be left to the rumour mill, and have most likely been distributed and over taken by new tales by now.

A good night had by all, the pain I felt on Sunday after running up the down escalator in highly inappropriate shoes while Rosey barked at me from the stairs, is a pain I’ve only ever felt after pre-season, but, for that one brief moment, at the very end of the subcrawl, as I leapt, gazelle-like, from the escalator, after the leg-drive of champions got me to the top against all odds, for that one brief moment, I was at the top of the travelator on Gladiators, the foam hands were pointing at me, Another One Bites the Dust echoed around the arena, Ulrika-ka-ka-ka-ka was waiting on the far side of the swingy paper-breaker thing in hideous high-waisted PVC trousers and an inappropriate-for-teatime-tv 90s crop-top; for that one brief moment I was a winner.

Reverse-escalatoring – highly recommended, Stuart Motivator Rose available by appointment for a small fee, usually in the form of food.

After Garnock came Ardrossan, the only team to have beaten Hills in the first round of fixtures. The gloom of Ardrossan came to the fortress and overshadowed what was a fairly uninspiring game, and has been rightfully scratched from my usually razor-sharp rugby memory…the first half was fairly horrendous, a stern talking to from a rage-filled Keith saw the boys lift the standard and close the game out to win 27-6. Chosen one went to D’Armstrong who looked lively but lacked the spark around him to make anything of his efforts. Ladies choice, after considerable deliberation and discussion(involving men, which may well be outwith the rules of the award…) ranged from Gus to Angels to D’Armstrong, and evetually settled on a team award for lifting the game from dire to mediocre, with a special mention to Keith for whatever he said at half-time that brought this change of pace. All round, nothing to write home about.

To round off the year was the Hills inaugural Farmer subcrawl brought to you by the not entirely present farmer types from Dumfries. Snow and ice saw the game at Cartha called off and a bit of Christmas fun training at Scotstoun instead. Coach Keith’s face fell as he made the oldies v youngies teams, over 30s v under 30s…there he and marty stood, the cut off got younger, add a fisken and a Gaffer…and younger still, Stu Ross…and again…eventually the teams had evened up, with the cut-off at about 16 and a half, youthful as the Hills squad are. Competitive coach found himself in with a band of forwards on the wrong side of a drubbing from the kids. Less than impressed was the expression for the day…but fun was had by all, and off the trooped to the fortress for an afternoon of Edinburgh v Bath folowed by a night of subway surfing in finest countryside garb…

Stories of the night to follow. Bed calls, again the gainful employment is entirely to blame. A rundown of things to come in the not too distant but undefined future…

• Farmyard tales
• The sweat fest that was winter training
• The big trip to Dundee, many stories, minimal rugby
• Newshound and little pup hit the capital, eventually, after a few wrong turns..
• Back up to Howe for a top table encounter

Exciting times ahead, with chosen ones, ladies choices and drama aplenty, don’t miss out, all written up soon…ish….as possible…no promises…

After a few stressful minutes trapped in the Fortress car park by a man brandishing a very high quality, good value, Hughenden Christmas tree newsteam was on their way, with some travelling support. Soon the stinky smell of countryside wafted through the poor city born Micra and we ground to a halt around Johnstone and the Villages- surely a potential band name, Johnstone and the Villages, modern, off-kilter country with a light undercurrent of Village people. Eventually we got through, and, after some enthusiastic gesturing, fear-filled calls to the bossman, and vague reference to an actual map, we found our way to Lochshore. It was tres muddy, as they say in Garnock, but with 2 games sheduled and no rain to be seen an afternoon of rugby was to go ahead.

We trudged through puddles, over a mudslide in a potentially scary strip of forest, round a fence, navigated a rabbit hole and found the warm-up pitch, only to find out that to get to the actual pitch we had to renegotiate the rabbit hole and fence, sneak through the scary forest, up the slippy mudslide, through the puddles, across a bog, up a wee hill, down a wee hill, knee deep in thick unforgiving grass, across wild deserts, through arctic Tundra, leap over a bear pit, wrestle a crocodile, climb a tree, zip slide over some wetlands, trot past the Garnock support and settle into our technical area. It wasn’t really that dramatic, and wasn’t even that far away, but it was wet, and muddy, and yukky.

With two regular props unavailable Dave Simm and GoldenWill started, D’Armstrong had his first start since coming back from injury, which saw Haddon move to the wing, and Angels shuffle in one to 13, with the return of Captain Stu DC was back at 8, with Fisken and Ed completing the pack. Cammy McC has returned to the 10 slot with Mikey Martin off back up the road to Hawks.

Garnock looked to upset Hills with their early kicking game, something Hills would normally thrive on given their recent success in organisation among the back 3, and their fit mobile pack, but they became a bit fraught on Saturday, some frantic fielding of kicks eating into their time, Garnock doing well to pressurise the Hills possession. The boys failed to take control of the game, and the good flashes of creativity and solid phases they built were very much played to Garnock’s schedule, slowing the Hills game down. A bit frantic in possession Hills didnlt give themselves much chance to play their game.

A number of infringements lead to the sin-binning of Fisken, and soon after D’Armstrong joined him in the bin. Hills responded well to the pressure of the Garnock 2-man overlap defending well and closing down Garnock’s chances, their good organisation and communication in defence making light of the deficit. The scores came in fits and starts among the flashes with Hazzy and Gussy making it 13-3 at half time, Captain Stu and Andy Leslie, beautiful hair only slightly affected by the damp conditions, added the other two tries and the game wound up 27-3, a good win, but no bonus point in a game where Hills should have picked one up.

A few shiny stars glittering in the mud were Dandan, who made an impression when he came on with good leg drive in the contact to set good ball, D’Armstrong who’s delivery was quick and accurate as usual, but could do with a bit more chat from those around him, Hazzy who looked usefu in the loose and did well to score, keeping phases moving, Dave Simm who scrummaged well and had a few good ball carries, dynamic and unrelenting with ball in hand, Ed was influential and ever present in the contact, leading the Hills defence. Captain Stu raise the spirits of the crowd as with a chase from a clearing kick he ran full pelt into the receiving Garnock winger who saw him coming, but couldn;t quite get out of the way…how we laughed, and winced a little bit, must be like being run over by a little truck.

Awards for this week, Chosen one as nominated by Chief Keith is Dougie Crichton, who had another solid game at 8, adding some sparkle and lifting the pace when Garnock tried to slow the Hills game down, was solid in the contact, giving Garnock nothing, and creative with ball in hand, making space and options for the boys. Ladies choice this week is a joint award from two travelling lady supporters who stood in the mud for an hour and a a half, for their efforts we thought they deserved a nomination each, so for some great tackling, the kind that makes ladies swoon and Garnock cry, some good ball carrying and solid work leading the front row in the set-piece, well done to GoldenWill, and secondly for good running, pressure in the chase and linking and interplay among the backs, well done to Andy Leslie. Well done boyos, a back and a forward, ladies choices from some muddy-footed travelling support.

Finally a chump of the week award, runner up this week goes to Haddon whose boots weren;t made for running in mud apparently and fell apart, faced with such trauma Haddon didn’t know what to do, but, knowing that physio’s are also trained in the arts of leatherwork, footwear and cobbling he approached the physio, “Physio, physio, my boot’s broken…” mewed young Haddon, his petted lip starting to quiver…”Will I wear one of Robbie’s?”. And so it was, only a runner up chump as he did solve the problem himself, and saw out the gme with one black and one white boot, always one for a bit of diversity and equality.

True chump of the week goes to a supporter, who, having gone to buy special, though highly inappropriate, shoes for standing in the mud which nicely topped off the rugby chic outfit which was almost entirely non-waterproof, will these ladies never learn? Anyway, they stationed themselves behind the Hills technical area. Being a well-known, established member of the club, Bossman did not think it inappropriate to entrust his match day Sports Mix to this Chump nominee. Some way into the second half it was clear to anyone in the vicinity that the bag was nearly empty, having been munched by all and sundry. Luckily Keith, while angry, was not overcome with stress and pressure and demanded no Sports Mix, but what if he had? What would you have done then? Given him a handful of mud and hope he didn;t notice? Plead ignorance? Sports Mix, what Sports Mix…? It’s a dangerous game you’re playing chump-features, best of luck…between footwear and Sports Mix, chump, we suggest you be a little more careful and less generous in the future.

This post was brought to you with a soundtrack of Bob Dylan, The Bare Necessities and Loch Lomond, with an accompaniment of toast and honey.

This week sees Ardrossan come to the Fortress. Having recorded their only loss down at Gloomy Ardrossan Saturday’s should be quite a game. 2pm kick off, be there or be square.

So Dumfries, the first game of the second half of the league, after the excitement of Falkirk it was either going to be another step up the ladder of pretty rugby that would see the hale and hearty Hills boyos run the soggy southerners ragged, or it would be a nose-dive from the heights of top-table clash into a swamp of anti-climactic drivel. They opted for drivel.

Scottish rugby TV, with the man with the magnificent rolly-R commentary voice made it look good, but in reality very little happened. Hills made a meal of it, and the Bossman got rage. Not usual rugby rage, the kind we can absorb and join in a little bit with, but rage with his own lot. Standing within hearing distance of Keith shouting at the boys is like listening to your parents argue. I stand and freeze, praying they will do something to make him happy, I can hear him shouting and it makes me sad inside, and I feel a little bit like it’s my fault, like I should be doing something…but all I can do is watch and listen as it gets worse.

So please, for the good of our health, please start playing proper rugby. A quick rundown saw the boys looking fitter and stronger as ever but failing to exploit their advantages, they made heavy work of going forward with lots of basic mistakes. A positive can be taken in recording such results despite playing like a blind, drunk netball team. That is blind, and drunk, as blinddrunk often sees a peak in talent for rugby boys. 25-3. Unremarkable, no chosen one, we were to scared to ask Keith, thought it better left blank, Ladies choice went to Angels for some good pressure running from his wing, and good cover in defence. Best of a bad lot really…sorry Robbie. Chump of the week, in a good way, goes to Gus for his spangly new kickable penalty move, which saw the ball carefully struck to knock off the upright and out to the on-rushing Hills back line for a score. We’d like to see that one again soon…

A few days later saw the Hills ladies in what was set to be a flood-lit thriller on a chilly Tuesday night at the Fortress. Was set to be, but turned out not to be…it finished 32-5. Hills ladies got off to a flier, but the points away early, endured a bit of freezing hail, and some ridiculous stoppages for problems such as badly fitting shorts, exercise-induced shortness of breath and general unfitness. These were seen as reasonable complaints, but slowed the flow of Hills fast moving game. The early loss of Captain Jules to injury saw a bit of reshuffle with Super-Emma going to 10 and the Willis reconverting from hardy forward to saft back to come on at centre. The backs did well under the pressure of the reshuffle, showing the depth of squad in the ladies. With some more ridiculous gas from Moggs and little Pup, fairly standard in the Hill camp these days, a bit of boshing from the Dawg at 8 and some good runs from new super-tall Jade who aced the defensive line-out, proving a formidable match for the accomplished Watson’s pack.

Rachy Nic was snipey at 9 as usual and kept the pace of the match up. The unfortunate situation of having a referee who’s partner was playing for the opposition, a situatin not often encountered in the rugby world did little for the Hills game, and the match quickly descended into a bit of a farce. With unexplainable calls and a number of imaginary Hills infringements seeing the ladies heavily penalised the Hills discipline lapsed a bit as frustration at the man in the middle grew. A number of hilarious but largely unacceptable calls from the Hills ladies saw penalties marched up the pitch and eventually saw the try-line broached for the first time this season.

Blame is easy to pass on to the ref, but truth is Watsonians weren’t good enough to score against us, and whatever the circumstances it shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and we have lots to work on in training to get us back disciplined and on form. Though “Get your f**king wife onside!” is back-chat not heard often enough in the modern game…I would give a shiny pound to any boy who’s willing to say this in one of their games. The game finished 32-5 and was followed by tasty cake. Again, not one to be remembered.

And then there was to be another top-table encounter with Howe of Fife in far away Cupar. So my day went a little something like this, up early, obviously as a highly organised newshound I was packed and prepared and had arranged all of my clothes for easy assembly to battle the cold. Unfortunately in the night someone had come in and disorganised all my organisation so mild panic ensued. I ate some porridge, I live in hope that one day when I’m making porridge the Scott’s porage oats man will appear to reach the box down for me. It hasn’t happened yet. So one bowl of porridge, no Scott’s oats man, a bit of mild panic and 23 layers later I was on my way to the club. Which was busybusy with lots of boys, though notably not the porage oats man, or Ed, who was late(Oats man didn’t show at all). Silly Ed, incurring the wrath so early in the morning. He rolled down to the car park politely flustered enough to make Keith laugh instead of beating him to death. And off we trundled, the 2’s were headed for Edinburgh for a clash at Meggetland, and we went off up to Cupar through the freezing fog.

Grant in the smelly forwads bus gave us a half hour head start and caught us up somewhere around Charing Cross, Keith nearly took us for tea at the in-laws by accident, and we had an entertaining stop near TITP, a few months too late, where a certain young Lothario came across a foreign conquest on some kind of special international bus trip…not special like special needs. Well I don’t think it was…I didn’t see any window licking. So a sharp exit was made. Not before a quick shake-up warm-up sess in the Burger King car park. People wandered past open-mouthed, a few through coins in appreciation of the talent, or sympathy for the poor team who can’t afford grass to train on.

Eventually we got to Cupar. It was frozen. The whooooole village was frozen, including the pitches, so we turned round and high-tailed back to Glasgow, one rugby match short of a league fixture. Needless to say calm Keith was less than impressed. Like good little show-ponies the backs tried to quell the rage with their awesome rugby banter on their way home, knowing the content and meanness of the upcoming session at Hughenden was resting on their skinny shoulders.

How better to entertain the bossman than the Herald crossword(first draft)? Well, how about an in-depth film review session, oooh, I really liked paranormal activity. Really, who did you go and see it with? I couldn’t go and see that it’s too scary for me…how many stars would you give it? Oh, oh I’m not sure…maybe 3 and a half?

Laps of the stand were rapidly added to the session…it’s a long way from Cupar to Glasgow, on this long way we learned many things: Dan is unable to get chane from a shop on account of his gimp arms, Haddon may or may not be half-way through his course at uni, they haven’t got the bits of maths yet that would let him work out if 3 was more than half of 5. It is a toughy…

And so we got home to happy Hughenden to watch Scotland be beaten. Not a great day all round.

The blog having made an initial attempt at public persuasion with the Double A’s, is going to herald a new cause, the temporary renaming of the fortress to Huggenden, where hugs will be had, potentially for money, but not in a soliciting or prostitutey type way, in a fund-raising kind of way. Hug a Hill day? Hug a HillJill day? Hugs@Huggenden day? Suggestions on a postcard please.

That is all, Garnock on Saturday, come watch, wear lots of clothes it will be brrrwrrr chilly.

A few changes to the usual team as Captain Stu jetted off to Vegas, Vice-Captain Gaffer at 12 out through injury and Cammy still out of the game with a shoulder injury, Dougie Crichton filled the gap at 7 with Donald Pitkethly completing a formidable back-row at 8, Michael Martin taking the reigns at 10 with newbie Archie slotting in at 12. Marty took on Captain duties from the row, with Rosey backing him up as VC from 6. The quality of the squad shows through as 3 key players are easily covered for a big match, but Hills are lucky to have struck a deal that sees Michael Martin covering the 10 slot for a few games on loan from Hawks.

There was a great crowd down, a fair few having travelled from Falkirk, and Hughenden massive making up the rest, the noise was incredible, the atmosphere was brilliant, tension was high and the game went on…

A couple of penalties early on saw Falkirk go ahead, then Hill equalise. Both defences stood strong giving little to the dangerous runners from either team. Hills were quick to re-set from contact and Falkirk had to work hard for any ground they made. Soem good kicking fom Mikey Martin with untiring pressure in support from the wings Angels and Andy Leslie(the boy with the most beautiful hair. In the world, probably). Another penalty knocked over by Gussy saw Hills 6-3 up, but just before half-time good awareness and timing from Jinky McJinkerson from Falkirk saw him past a few tackles then kicking ahead for a good pick up and Falkirk score. 10-6 at half time.

By this point Newsteam had been quietly hyperventilating into their layers for approximately 39 minutes and had maintained a heart-rate within the realms of imminent danger for around…38 minutes. Half-time served as some release, though memories of what was actually said are gone…

So take two, 40 minutes, 10-6 down. So there was coming and going, to–ing and fro-ing, and Falkirk found themselves 13-6 up. We began to cry a little bit inside. Time for a change as David Armstrong came on at 9 with Haddon moving to the wing. Hills made their superior fitness work for them as the Kid kicked for spaces, taking the play deep into the Falkirk half with the Hills wingers scampering after and putting pressure on the tiring Falkirk backs. The plan paid off as Hills composure and discipline in reorganisation fielded the Falkirk kicking game easily and Gus and the Kid outwitted the Falkrik D(with a bit of help from Keith hollering on the sidelines) and Hills started to make inroads. A couple of penalties took the score to 13-12. It was very almost nealy too much, ladies were seen fainting in the crowds, one man may have exploded from the excitement. Maybe. Some quick service from Davey, and swift hands through the back saw Haddon fool the last line of defence(when he turns sidey-ways he very nearly disappears), dance past a couple of Falkirkians and score, the unconverted try took the score to 17-13, with not very many minutes to go.

Not very many minutes can be an awful long time. People can die in not very many minutes. Some people almost did, of heart failure.

So Falkirk found themselves camped out on the Hills line with their weighty pack bish-bash-boshing pick and go after pick and go from about a metre and a half out, but the Hills defence stood solid, thank the Lord, the boys kept their composure and Falkirk went nowhere, but surely they couldn’t withstand it for much longer. And then the ball appeared. at the feet of young Armstrong…he whipped it back to the Kid who kicked it deep into the Falkirk half, a full 15 chase ensued as Hills attempted to stop the counter, so with 15 Hills boys chasing up field, just over the half way line, the ball got a bit scrabbley, and come chirpy little Falkirker saw a lack of next line of defence and nudged the ball through on the ground. We all saw it happened. I nearly started to cry, the ball was through, Falkirk man was haring after it, he was going to pick up and score, they’d done so well. Sad faces.

And then from nowhere, Haddon Supermanned backwards out of the flat footed Hills chasing line and flew about 20m(give or take 17m) through the air, pouncing on the ball in front of the on-rushing Falkirk folks and saving us from a world of pain. And for a minute we all loved him. A wee bit of play happened, the ball went out and the whistle blew. 17-13, game over. Even writing about it makes me smile.

Things that were good. Defence was amazing, the superior fitness showed through as Hills were first up and away from every contact, rucking and all retention was a lot better than it has been, the pack did well in the scrums, and livened up in the line-out towards the end. Gus and Mikey Martin played a great heads-up kicking game, Andy Leslie, his beautiful hair, Angels and Haddon were relentless on the wings in defence and attack, making life difficult for the Falkirk boys. Good work at scrum-half by Haddon and latterly by Davey making life difficult for the Falkirk 9.

The pack have to be commended for their defence, great front-up tackling from the back 5, the Row once again playing as an extra pair of back rows, some great close-quarters tackling from the front row. DC was influential in defence, quick off the scrum and playing out in the backs stopping some hard-running from the Falkirk backs. Donald and DC played well together offensively, Donald looking a lot more commanding and confident at 8 than earlier in the season, and Dougie Crichton making some dangerous runs, making the transition to 7 look easy, though the crowds like seeing the danger man with ball in hand at 8. Muchos competition in the Hills back row.

Rosey was dominant at kick off time and in the line-outs, Hazzy worked well in set piece and looked dynamic in open play, Golden Will, Vinnie and Longwell were all strong in the contact, presenting themselves as options for Martin at 10. Marty had the difficult job of Captaining a tense match but kept the boys focussed and was useful as ever in open play and stole some good ball at lineout time. Ed looked lively in defence and put in some great hits, and was also a key factor in the Hills counter-ruck with good quick support upsetting Falkirk’s quick ball.

Haddon had a great game again, looking useful at both scrum half and on the wing, Mikey Martin kicked well from 10 and is looking massively more confident than he did last season, his spell at Hawks has done his game a lot of good, a commanding confident 10 he directed the play, giving a solid platform for the backs to play off. Archie did well slotting in at 12, making some good tackles for a little ‘un, Dan ran some dangerous lines, looking aware and dynamic breaking the contact and brutal in supporting the contact in attack, the wingers were both fabby, and Gus was dependable as ever at the back, with some added magic this week lookign very dangerous with ball in hand and heading up the counter attack from Falkirk’s kicking game. He was also influential in keeping Hills defence organised, covering the formidable Falkirk attack. Well done Gussy.

Armstrong made an immediate impact when he came on with his quick decisive delivery and more physical game at 9 upsetting the Falkirk play from the outset, Davey is also influential in defence, committed to the Robertson Body-on-the-line defensive style we do worry a wee bit about him…but he always seems to bounce back up. Vinnie was another impact sub, adding to the Hills dominance in the scrum later in the game, and contributing to the solid defence. Fisken also came on and seemed to settle the line-outs adding some much needed experience and calm to organise Hills offensive game in the pack.

Dave Simm looked dashing in his sub-suit but didn’t get a run this week. Everyone loves him anyway though.

All in all a ridiculously exciting game, the performance undoubtedly boosted by the vocal support, so get yourself a crew to come watch for all the home games, great to watch, well done boys. Everyone deserves a mention, and well done the Keith and Grant too, your boys done good.

Chosen One is a team award this week, Bossman is still undecided so Newsteam’s executive decision judges all worthy of the praise. Haddon is ladies choice this week, for his match saving leap at the end, his tireless efforts at 9 and his versatile switch to the wing, well done Haddon.

Chump of the week this week, a bit unfair as he did have a great game, looking aggressive and ruthless in defence, goes to Ed Rider for his mountain climbing efforts as Ed, who was born ready, so we heard…got impatient at the back of a ruck with the slow Falkirk folks taking their time getting the ball away Ed, not being one to break the rules(he has numerous nominations for both “Nicest” and “Politest” boy in the world competitions) went through the gate and clambered over the ruck. I think even he, as he bounded up and over the bodies piled 3 high, wondered a little bit what on earth he was doing, or what he might do when he got to the other side of the mountain…so Ed climbed over the mountain, to see what he could see, and there, sparkling and glinting in the distance was a much coveted Chump of the Week award with his name on it.

An epic tale, with actual rugby details, as ever, stolen from the Mitchell, any inaccuracies are entirely his fault.

Photographic evidence of this action packed epic is available courtesy of Falkirk photoman, including first hand footage of Ed’s chumptastic rucking technique.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/frcgh/4090021244/in/set-72157622768406058/

You can listen to it direct from the website or download it to your favourite MP3 player (we don’t do free advertising for Apple on this blog). If you like it, tell your friends. If you don’t like it, keep that to yourself as we really don’t want to know.

More details here – happy listening.

Radio Hughenden! – coming in your ears.

With a number of insightful interviews with secret mystery guests, not secret in a top secret kind of way, if you ask the right people, or are largely not blind and deaf, you’ll probably have some idea who they are. And some yet-to-be decided filly-in bits, this is a potential new club institution not to be missed…

All will be revealed. Soon…so keep checking in for info.

Jelly Hill the perfect pit-stop for pre or post match drinkies, coffee, eats, up on Hyndland Road. Especially fabulous are the milkshakes and sparkly cupcakes. And the beautiful staff, helpful and smile they make Jelly Hill what it is. And they sell Jelly beans…which makes a place at least 20% better…

Italian Bistro newly opened just over the fence at the far corner of the training pitches, which is always lively with friendly staff and tasty Italian foods. With a great value lunch menu, and all of 5 minutes walk from Fortress Hughenden this is the perfect Saturday lunch before kick off, or if you fancy a bit of Italian post-match they’re just round the corner for dinner.

The Rock up and over the hill on Hyndland Road, great for Sunday dinner…as tested by a disappointed, soggy, cold HillJills team after a pointless trip through to Edinburgh for a match that was then cancelled. Sausages and mash in the giant yorkshire pudding- tip from the top. Tastytasty…

Coia the hairdressers across from Peckhams down the hill from Hyndland Road, well known among a few of the ladies having come to the rescue on disaster hair day for a certain youngster. Lovely ladies and guys, great service, good hair.

AMR just along from Coia, beauticians extraordinaire. Worth a visit, great attention paid by the lovely ladies inside, very kindly donated vouchers, a great reputation in the West End, head there for all your beautifying needs.

Thankyou all! So now you know, on good authority, where’s hot in our West End world, go visit guys and gals.

So Halloween was celebrated with an assortment of fabulous costumes, with homemade efforts appreciated, some engineering and invention, some sewing and gluing, a it of body-painting, some bought from shops(effort only slightly appreciated) and some slightly disturbing…but appreciated nonetheless.

DJ Vinnie did a great job MC’ing, kept the dance floor busy with some classics(?) plenty people joined in with musical statues, childhood classics are the best, though some dubious judging saw a few key players (ahem…notably Newsteam) unfairly ejected, well before their time. The next, partnered game, which needn’t be explored in detail was won by ladies coach Kitch and Jane, their winning pose- “The Angry Pirate” if we remember correctly- is one of the funniest things witnessed at Hughenden in a good while. Good work Kitchener.

Many costumes were also worth a wee mention, there were lots and lots, so apologies if anyone’s missed out. Special Newsteam mentions, based on entirely different criteria to the awards on the night, which began as costume nominations and deteriorated into hot girl, potentially in fancy dress, nominations…go to-

The eyeballs, Dan-dan and his considerably shorter friend made for a bit of a squinty glasses action. But good thinking, and great effort. Pac-man, mega points for home-made efforts by Kieran, Irn-bru ladies- beautiful interpretation of the Glasgow tan by Jenni and Louise, Dame Edna, Wayne’s World, Lumberjack, the Robin Hood’s one of whom was far too forthcoming with his take on the pros and cons of wearing tights, to He-man and Gollum who wore not very much, but good interpretations we supposes…a Chillpepper, a couple of gladiators, some cavepeople- complete with incredible hair- a star-trooper, maverick, a roman…and lots, lots more. Great efforts peoples.

Finally, outside the usual run of play, we have a chump of the week to award. To a boy, who, caught up in the annual problem of where to keep things in a pocketless costume, was heard confiding…

“I think I’ve lost a fiver in my boxers, it’s soo annoying.”

“Oh…right..why don’t you just, you know, go and…take it out?”

“Don’t worry. I’m looking for it.”

And we’ll leave you with that…the question of how wasn’t broached, in fear of the answer, but there he stood, next to the dancefloor, both hands visible to all, looking for his fiver. We don’t know if he found it.

Lots of money was raised, loads of fun was had, roll on the next funtimes Hughenden partaaaay.