21st July 1968
A Sunday, which meant that I had to run the gauntlet of Celtic fans after Mass. It was getting to the ridiculous stage where even grannies who had never been to a game of football in their lives were asking questions about what was going on at training, what was Jock Stein like and so on. And, of course, the priests who said the Mass liked to have me to themselves for a short time afterwards to ask their own questions. Eventually, my Mum and Dad just went home, leaving me to deal with – as my Mother once said – my public!. And not a cup of tea in sight!
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