WORD reaches me that the Boss is with child. Well, not literally, because that would be a great story to boost circulation. Rather, Lady Boss is with child and her delighted other half has been coming up with a host of names for the unborn offspring.
Sources tell me that it was a straight shootout between Kenny Dalglish Boss, Lou Macari Boss, Charlie Nicholas Boss and Jock Stein Boss. It's fair to say, though, that Lady Boss put her foot down when the suggestion came through that the babe should be named Simpson, Craig, Gemmell, Murdock, McNeill, Clark, Jinky, Wallace, Chalmers, Auld, Lennox Boss after the famous Lions of Lisbon European Cup-winning side. Oh well, can't win them all.
Then, at the latest scan, rumour has it the Boss's hopes of a future Celtic striker were further crushed by the news the baby was missing the bits required to compete in a man's game. Myself, I don't see a problem here. With the standard of defending in the Scottish Premier League I would have thought any female with an ounce of footballing nous could bang in 20 goals a season for Celtic. He may still yet name her Henryka, I understand. "Ga an, the wee (wo)man!"
Dinner at Kempy's on Wednesday was fab, but walking into the front room I felt like I was making a guest appearance in that 1970s Sci-Fi epic Land of the Giants. Surrounding me on the walls were pictures of giant animals which could knock you flat with one blow of their mighty paws.
A closer look revealed it was actually one animal in particular, mutated out of all proportion as if it had got too near the power station at Sellafield. Pillow's beady eye follows you around the front room. He has been photographed, then blown up and put on canvas. Kempy's Lasagne was gorgeous, and the garlic bread tasty, too, but I couldn't help feeling that if one morsel remained on the plate Giant Pillow would pounce. Scary.