The more I think about it, the more I realise that it’s the non-football text that really enhances the ‘Hearts’ segments of the book, perhaps even more so than had it had been written purely in a footballing genre. As well as Heart of Midlothian FC, there are other themes that run concurrently throughout the text, sometimes springing up in the most unexpected of places. Music is one of the most evident themes within the book with songs, bands and artists name-checked and quoted; and collectively spanning five decades. My musical taste is neither commendable nor intriguing. In fact, many people would find it appalling. And what’s more, I might even be in agreement with them! Of course the blame for all of this lies squarely with my brother, Bobby. As a major influence on my life, he should’ve been the one introducing me to the likes of Ian Curtis or Morrissey. But rather pitifully, his pop idol was cheesy Glaswegian crooner, Marti Pellow. What the hell was I supposed to do with that? And why would it be my fault that none of my Saughton Mains buddies had to good taste to buy ‘The Queen is Dead’? Yet whatever the rights and wrongs of my musical predilection; at least there is a ‘soundtrack’ to Two Miles to Tynecastle. In my head, the tape has been manually rewound by a spinning pen, and I’m now pressing hard down on ‘record’, ‘play’ and ‘pause’. Now I can hear Bruno Brookes with this week’s top ten. It’s Sunday; and that means Sunday night is bath night.

I have three great loves in music. They are The Beatles (with subsequent selective Lennon solo material); lots of nostalgic 80s stuff; plus a whole lot of British ‘indie’ bands from Joy Division to James. This basically means that Hip Hop, R&B, Garage, House, and bangin’ rave tunes mean absolutely nothing to me, sorry. I like what I like and that’s that! ‘Prince Charming’ by Adam and the Ants was the very first record I ever bought (from Trax in Gorgie Road) and they were the first band I got into. I loved their songs and their videos and it was all very 1981 (a haunting year for me). ‘Fade to Grey’ and ‘(Keep Feeling) Fascination’ are also quoted in the book, and these two songs typify my love for the early 80s as a whole, and synthesiser music in general (though I subsequently wished that I’d cited ‘The Model’ by Kraftwerk). Moving on through the 80s and there’s a reference to cheesy American ‘rock’ anthem ‘We are the World’; a song that ropes in nearly every all-American pop star from that time. Then in 1987, I became obsessed with another synth-pop act, The Pet Shop Boys; but four albums, three-hundred posters and two years later - I ditch Pet Shop Boys for Erasure, who, as I conclude are “much better” than the boring old Pet Shop Boys. From ‘What have I done to deserve this?’ and all sorts of other ‘Drama’, the 80s were drawing to a close, and as a new decade was looming, I had become entirely sick of the sight of Roland and Bontempti. Yet although the era would bring a completely new type of music into my walkman (Aiwa, not Sony), I surprised even myself with the fact that its origins lay not in the 90s: but in the 60s.

Like a lot of people, I liked some Beatles songs. It’s just that by the fall of 1989, I hadn’t quite realised that yet. I then hired the rockumentary, ‘Imagine’ from Azad video store in Dalry and it was a kind of grande momento. I became infatuated with John Lennon, but it also happened during a dark time in my life (and due to constant night shifts, I scarcely saw any light for an entire year). The zenith of my Lennon/Beatles fixation occurred during my ‘down’ period of supporting Hearts (88-90) and a miserable time in my life. My sorry moods, excessive drinking, lack of esteem and bleak prospects caused my attendances at Tynecastle to diminish somewhat. Instead, I found myself getting very drunk, or moping around my bedroom back in Saughton Mains Bank. I couldn’t blame Bobby that time. It was all Lennon’s fault, or maybe Mark Chapman – I dunno. If I listen to ‘I’m so tired’ or ‘Nobody told me’ now, I’m back in 1990; spotty, ugly, hopeless and working as a cleaner, and I couldn’t get a girlfriend: not even one that looked like Yoko Ono. But eventually, my tastes began to even out somewhat. By 1991, I started listening to the Happy Mondays, James and the Stone Roses; and although that scene was good, I still think the early to mid-90s was a truly crap time for music, and for everything else for that matter. Yet ironically, it was during that time that my love for Hearts was as intense as it had even been, and Hearts were crap too. Such prolonged mediocrity ended though, with the arrival of Jim Jeffries and ‘Britpop’ (and I finally found a girlfriend who didn’t dump me). There was the Blur and Oasis thing, but I preferred Radiohead’s ‘The Bends’ and ‘Ok Computer’, and other Britpop moments like ‘Blinded by the Sun’ and ‘Beautiful Ones’; and that scene coincided with my own (and somewhat dismal) attempt at rock stardom. In more recent years, I kind of stopped spending so much time ‘getting into’ bands. I like The Killers, Kasabian and such like. But in the end, I think my greatest musical moments were probably spent strutting up and down the living room, crossed armed to ‘Prince Charming’, in front of my bemused family.

Now talking of dancing in front of my mum, there was a popular TV show back in the day called ‘Tales of the Unexpected’. I used to stand in front of the telly and ‘do the dance’ to the opening credits (you know: the sexy woman in the flames?). ‘Dance’, it seems, is another, yet quite unlikely theme that runs throughout my book. Now if my relationship with Hearts; and Saughton Mains; and to music is something of a paradox: then my association with ‘dance’ is also a real cause for alarm and absurdity; though not without comedy. In Two Miles to Tynecastle, I write about being forced to participate in new-age ‘donce-movement’ gym sessions at Stenhouse Primary School. I also get caught up in a ‘Breakdance’ inspired riot. In another incident, I heroically try to perform an emergency ‘Robotics’ routine to evade a mass mob-kicking; and then there’s my ambitious attempt to pass a dance audition to partake in the 1986 Commonwealth Games. As well as all of that, there is a more recent nightclub dancing disaster and an outrageous footballing ballet that honoured a man suffering from stress and depression. And the one thing that binds all those grisly episodes together is my comprehensive inability to dance in the first place. I remember watching Henry Smith watching me dance at the Westfield Hall’s (no longer there) 1989 Hearts’ Player of the Year disco. I always felt that Henry knew fine well just how uncomfortable I looked, and how inexcusably bad my side-step dancing was. I simply can’t dance, and to this day I hate doing it. ‘Dance’ was a theme I could neither avoid nor forget. There were just too many memories.

With music and dance in the book, there then follows fashion. Oh dear: I admit to committing some sickening crimes against fashion over the years, by wearing some truly horrifying garments. Yet looking back, I am surprisingly comfortable with my 80s wardrobe. There are two reasons for that. On one hand, I didn’t really have that many clothes in the 80s, or at least: nothing worth berating myself over. I do remember my brother and me having those dastardly quilted pullover jackets from What Every Women Wants (but not one bloke does), and nearly everything else was either handed down or bought for me. My second reason for excusing 80s fashion is that much of it is now perceived to be quite cool again, although personally, I always found it cool. Unlike the 90s, the 80s at least had a great sense of identity, for better or worse. The 90s, and particularly the early 90s, were crap. And my fashion sense epitomised that by a cringe factor of 10. Typically, 1991 was white jeans with turn ups, a stomach-churning yellow Sonneti shirt with what looked like my granny’s tea towel sewn onto the front. With all those pastel colours, I could’ve been the fourth member of Rod, Jane and Freddie as I impersonated a dipped egg soldier. People say “the 80s is the decade fashion forgot”. But I reckon it was the 90s. I doubt anyone would’ve mistaken me for a casual.

But getting back to my opening sentiments of this section: How do the non-footballing themes of my book enhance and help explain the chapters that focus on and ruminate over Hearts? Well I guess that by giving the reader a frank and tumultuous life story to further chew on, it adds greater essence to those emotions that are afforded to the ups and downs of following my fabled football team. By relaying real life pain or elation, my football passions gain more value because there is something to compare and contrast it with on the outside. Or put it another way: could I have justified crying about Hearts losing the league in 1986 had I spent the surrounding years eating caviar on a yacht with Peter Stringfellow and his leopard-skin trunks? In my book, I’ve tried to convey that there is raw feeling behind the feelings, and there’s a real person behind the writer who bore witness to himself; and he is flawed in many ways. As I said, my taste in music and fashion will be repugnant to some, and maybe comical to others. But those themes, however badly represented, are there as a means to create a story that is stacked with endeavour and passion. It doesn’t matter if I mimed to The Farm’s ‘All together now’ in my bedroom in 1990 as a skinny, spotty sixteen year old virgin wearing white jeans. It’s not embarrassing to me that my best chance of getting a girlfriend came in the guise of a bottle of ‘specially scented’ aftershave that I purchased from the ‘Personals’ section of The Sunday Sport. But what does matter is that I did it with feeling. I’ve learned to become comfortable with my choices, just like I’m now at ease with the place where I grew up, and the things that happened in my past. Sometimes we make choices through choice, and sometimes we make them through necessity. The rest of life is just thrust upon us and we deal with it. Writing a book can help take the things that once made us squirm, and reincarnate them; and to see them in a new, nostalgic light. Time, is a great healer: and a sense of humour helps too. You need one of those when supporting Hearts.