…pound for pound (Sterling money, that is) what would Georgie Best in his prime be worth today on a football field?


…by accident, I discovered the following chart on comparative salaries (called wages, back when) for professional soccer players… have a wee look:


1. Jimmy Hill (Fulham,1953) – £20 per week. 
2. Johnny Haynes (Fulham,1961) – £100 per week.
3. George Best (Manchester United,1968) – £1000 per week.
4. Falcao (Roma,1980) – £10,000 per week.
5. Roberto Baggio (Juventus, 1990) – £50,000 per week.
6. Sol Campbell (Arsenal, 2001) – £100,000 per week. 
7. Carlos Tevez (Manchester City, 2009) – £200,000 per week.
8. Wayne Rooney (Manchester United, 2010) – £250,000 per week.
9. Cristiano Ronaldo (Real Madrid, 2013) – £288,000 per week (after tax).

…it won’t escape yer notice that these are weekly pay packets, a reflection of the imbedded truth that football at its base was always a working man’s game, and yer normal working man was always paid weekly… granted that inflation has grown through the years since Jimmy Hill’s battle against the 20-pounds-per-week maximum wage changed that whole payment landscape for big-boys-who-belted-balls… and additionally that television sponsorship for the game worldwide has infused Croesus-style monies into the sport… but have a look at number 3 on the list above… the incomparable (in my not so ‘umble view) Georgie Best… a snake-hipped magician of a footballer, a genius who’s flaws were off-field, rarely if ever on-field… and I ponder often—pound for pound (Sterling money, that is) what would Georgie Best in his prime be worth today on a football field?… a neat excuse for me to throw at yeez again, with no apologies, an article I did a while ago on the man, … real football people won’t mind reading it again… others won’t have read this far anyway… enjoy…


…a trip down memory lane and a look at one of the greatest footballers of all-time, George Best…

…it’s not just because I’m a Manchester United nut…(I was born six years later in the same street in Govan, Glasgow as Sir Alex Ferguson)… fifty years ago, as lads in the school play-grounds, and on the dirt pitches around Glasgow, we played a different sort of football from the modern stuff currently served up on the television screens every weekend… no fancy coaching… up to twenty-a-side street teams versus neighbouring street teams… a tennis ball or rubber ball no bigger than a cricket ball (whatever that was) served the purpose, until the cheaper Mouldmaster real-football sized versions became accessible… I often wonder if the pedigree athletes swanning around on the deck every TV match I watch are capable of using the ball for more than a one-touch pass… dribbling we called it back then… and tackling wasn’t a dirty word… no less so ‘shoulder-charging’, including the goalies, most of whom, by the way, could look after themselves very well physically, thank you very much… little wonder, when I worked in London (as a Scot, I told them I was there as a missionary) that I look back on the few occasions I had the chance to watch live, the great Georgie Best, and realize just how good the man was…at one match at Crystal Palace (yes, they did populate the top flight at one time)… the pitch was doing a passable imitation of a mud bath obstacle course… remember the balls back then were heavier beasties than the featherweight ping-pong balls they seem to smack 1,000 yards nowadays… it didn’t matter that there were ten other United players on the field that day… Georgie swiveled and turned the whole ninety minutes …the old cliché is that with one body swerve he could send the entire crowd the wrong way… be that as it may, what I saw him do all day that day will live in my mind forever… he may have played in grander matches and scored umpteen goals, captured in reels elsewhere… amid the mud and desperate lunging tackles, he danced away every time, as if the ball was part of his toes… and we… we of a certain age, ballet-danced through the mire with him… back on the play-grounds, scoring through the piled jackets of goal posts in countless open-scrub yards in cities up and down the country… I’m a grown man, supposedly a hard product of the docklands in Govan, but the day Georgie Best died, I sobbed my guts out… the world had lost an icon… one of the finest, if not the finest, exponents of the beautiful game… his back story and struggles are well recorded and I’ll let others dwell on that… but for me, the most magical player I’ve ever seen play live… simply the Best

…see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



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…yeez’ll never guess… what do Crooked Cat Publishing, the Middle East, and Tobermory on the Isle of Mull have in common?…

…sum’times yeez just know when the Main Man upstairs in the Big-Writing-Den-In-The-Sky is having a laff… yesterday this ol’ Jurassic was delighted to announce the contractual engagement with Crooked Cat Publishing

Crooked Cat Publishing

…in and of itself, a terrific day for yours truly… during the course of the ensuing several hours, many wonderful well-wishers from the Crooked Cat writers’ stable sent messages of welcome on Facebook… a new name to me popped up to introduce herself and say ‘Hi’… the lovely Yvonne Marjot, Author of ‘The Calgary Chessman’...


…the ‘Calgary’ is the original location in the northwest of the beautiful Isle of Mull, and which lent its name to the Stampede/Roundup City in Canada (more throwbacks to the Scottish Highland Clearances a coupla centuries ago)… now here’s the thing… as some of yeez may know, fifty years ago, I lived and worked in the small town of Tobermory where, to quote m’Lady, Yvonne, she is ‘a lost scientist working in the school office to pay the rent while she tries to make her fortune as a fiction-writer-for-hire… she also does the odd poetry workshop’… splendid stuff…



Tobermory, Isle of Mull

…I was supposed to be in Tobermory this week as part of the local gaelic singing and poetry festival called the Mod… business pressures here in the Middle East unhappily have meant the postponement of that trip, but out of the internet blue, comes the connection from Yvonne, now a fellow stable-mate quill-scraper of Crooked Cat Publishing…. yeez couldn’t make this stuff up… incredibly, our common friends and acquaintances on the island bridge five decades… particularly the evergreen Janet Macdonald, who as Janet Tandy all these years ago, won the Ladies Gold Medal for singing at the National Mod… so, already, if I never sell even one copy of my masterpieces through Crooked Cat Publishing, they’ve provided immense pleasure with another excellent connection to my past… who says the Web’s a waste of time?… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



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…meeiiaaaooow! what’s new, Pussycat?… I’m joining the Top Cats… Crooked Cat Publishing…

Crooked Cat Publishing

…soul mates are hard to find, and even harder to keep… for we quill-scrapers, the equivalent must be finding a home for yer masterpieces, where the FILSOFIE matches yer own… it has been a source of querulous wonder to this ol’ Jurassic why, with over 80,000 Amazon sales/downloads since I joined the scribbling gig, that no publisher has yet seen fit to risk their reputation with me… now I know why… when the time is right, and the moon and the stars and all the other machinations of the Literary Gods align themselves properly, out of the mists comes the answer… the ‘match’ wasn’t there…until now… enter stage front, Crooked Cat Publishing… based in Edinburgh, the brain child of Laurence and Stephanie PattersonCrooked Cat Publishing,  an entity which ‘gets it’ in respect to what many authors seek and need in the rapidly-changing (changed?) universe that publishing has become in the last decade… my ‘self-publishing’ tag still holds good for some of my other WURK, but the emphasis on e-channels goes hand in glove with the manner in which I’ve developed my wee writing career to date… I’m still immersed in the SOSYAL NETWURK whirl, and the blog continues apace… it means a bit of welcome sharing of the promotional activity for my tomes… but access to outlets that my mono-pair-of-hands and more-than-addled-grey-cells did not have time to manage nor have knowledge of… in less than an hour after Crooked Cat Publishing announced our engagement, stacks of great Author pals sent their congratulations…


…the warmth of that flood of well-wishers is absolutely humbling… many of the same people I interact with on the Web already also link with the firm…some I was aware of, others not… but to a man and woman, excellent friends… just LUV this fabulous wannabe Nobel-ies family… as an aside, the fact that I’m now contracted with a Scottish-based firm seems to have had a direct and immediate impact on the polls for the Independence Vote… not my fault! … see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



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Do you have the can-do factor?

Seumas Gallacher:

Oh, dear, Master Gallacher clocked 18…am not sure if I’m supposed to be embarrassed by that or not, but I agree with Jane Dougherty that the persona of a writer these days is expected to be a split one… author, then publicist… interesting piece..:)

Originally posted on Jane Dougherty Writes:

Reading through Monday morning blog posts, my eye was caught by Clare O’Dea’s post about the narcissistic possibilities of blogging. At the end of the post she proposes a test to check your narcissus score. I know I’m not exactly oozing with ‘can-do’ but was still a bit shocked to find how close to the ocean floor I was crawling. Somewhere between the bit the Titanic’s resting on and the bottom of the Mariana Trench.

I don’t think I am falsely modest about my writing—I believe that it’s good. Not exceptional, not brilliant, but good. In fact it would be pretty strange to go to the trouble of publishing books that I considered to be a load of rubbish. If one of the 40 questions had been ‘Do you reckon you are a good writer?’ I could have answered in the affirmative. One brownie point to me. But there were…

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…sum’thing they DID teach me at Harvard…

…nearly thirty years ago, the business group I worked with in the Far East decided my brain needed some retreading… the result was a place in the Advanced Management Program (AMP) at Harvard University Graduate School of Business in Boston… (how’s that for a neat bit of name-dropping, Mabel?)… the AMP is basically a two year advanced business education syllabus crammed into three and half months… there were 160 of us on the program, mostly older, well-established senior executives… to give yeez an idea, I was the second-youngest participant at the tender age of 38… so yeez can p’raps imagine the kind of stressful cramming on the case studies (three per day, each case shared three different times each day with different mixtures of high-powered captains of industry)… exhausting, frightening, and exhilarating all at the same time…


…the faculty numbered some of the finest academic teaching professors on the planet… but the one that made the most impression on this ol ‘Jurassic (then in my pre-Jurassic meta-form) was the guy who taught the human resources’ ‘soft skills’… the hows and wherefores of surviving as a human (heaven forfend, ‘human’?) in the rat race that often constitutes the murky universe of commerce and finance… he highlighted the fact that the majority of the attendees had probably spent the major part of their working careers excelling in the rarefied atmosphere of the corporate world… too often that means the subsuming of family life, of other interests, of friendships…of being part of Life... one helluva cost for far too many… his advice was simple… he said, ’every year, try to get immersed in some activity, however foreign to yeez, that has absolutely NUTHIN to do with yer job… and give that as much attention as yeez give to yer work’… at the time, it made a lot of sense to me, and immediately when I returned home to Hong Kong after the three and a half months, I decided to do something which had scared me all my life… at the age of 38, I learned how to swim… got a proper tutor, and spent three more months acquiring that skill set, the thought of which had terrified me all my life until then… it proved to be one of the best summers I’ve ever had…


…since then, each year I’ve tried to find some new pursuit… many of them with more or less success than others… different languages… guitar playing, Acoustic and Electric … professional singing lessons… six years ago, it was deciding to write my first novel… and since then, more and more of the SOSYAL NETWURK involvementNUTHIN is too scary now… I seldom seem to have any ‘down time’ and that suits me perfectly… I enjoy keeping what’s left of the grey cells moving up there… maybe a wee thought or three in there for some of yeez?… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



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…Kristie K.S. Haigwood brings yeez her latest masterpiece… ‘Accepting The Moon’… have a wee peek…

…there’s nowt like a great cover page to draw yer eye toward a great book… my pal, Author, Kristie K.S.Haigwood nails it right here …   if ye’re into vampire-y goodies, have a wee peek…




There is a new Alpha Wolf in town, and she is about to change everything.

Mena had all she wanted in life: a nice house, money, a successful husband who treated her like a queen.

That was, until she found out her marriage was all a lie, and things she never thought could exist, did.

Vampires are real.

Werewolves are real.

And Mena is not human anymore.



About the Author


Kristie K. S. Haigwood

Ever find it hard to talk about yourself? Yeah, I have that problem, too. I have been married to my soulmate for 8 years, who wouldn’t pick up a book unless promised that it was filled with pictures. I have a beautiful 7 year old daughter, Riley, that talks too much and has a very vivid imagination. I have no clue where she got those traits. My step-son, Hayden, is 16 and very into football and hunting. I am a writer of paranormal suspense romance. If you enjoy a great love story with a massive amount of drama about angels, demons, ghosts, vampires, witches and fairy tale creatures brought to life through a twisted mind, then you might just enjoy reading my work.



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… ‘Hippocratic Oath’ versus ‘Hypocritical Oath’?… a few thoughts…

…those of yeez Lads and Lassies who follow this Blog will know that I normally eschew political, overtly argumentative, or outright ‘soap-boxing’… however, as is my wont,  a wee body swerve on that is in order today… a few thoughts on watching the absurd human anguish caused of late by the case of a five-year-old cancer victim boy in the South of England, whose parents took him from a hospital against doctors’ advice, in the good faith intent to carry him abroad in search of what they believed would be treatment to alleviate his suffering… it is not my place to comment on the rights or wrongs, errors, misjudgements or actions taken by the various constituent players in that stressful drama, including the parents… what attracts my thought process more is that as a byproduct of the publicity generated by the story, many kind-hearted people have donated funds toward the possible treatment for the boy in a clinic in Prague… my question is plain and simple… down to the varnish here… why does it have to take private individuals’ money to get the best treatment that this child may need?… extending that line of thinking, it begs the question as to why medical treatment is not universally free globally?… daft idea?… well, cast back to the origins of medicinal ethics, and the Hippocratic Oath


…in it original form, the classic Oath embraced many aspects of doctors’ behaviours and attitudes toward the caring for emb’dy who comes to them in need of care… modern versions of the Oath have also been redrafted in recent times… the core of it all in my mind, is that money, or any pecuniary consideration should never be on the table… like many of yeez, I have a relative who has been afflicted with a life-threatening illness… in her case, lung cancer… and I recall with anger the hurdles and barriers which were constantly presented to her in seeking the desperately urgent treatment she needed… thankfully, eventually the operation was done, and successfully so,  but the stress of waiting and fighting for it certainly didn’t help her state of mind at the time… I could go on at great length, and bore yeez all even further, but one of my pet peeves is wond’rin’ why Mankind can spend billions of dollars in sending a machine the size of a small railway carriage all the way to Mars to find enuff water to serve a small latrine versus that same money being invested in the well-being of these millions on this planet who are screaming out for medicines and medical treatment…


…’Hippocratic Oath’ versus ‘Hypocritical Oath’?…. rant over… move along folks … NUTHIN to see here… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



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