The National:

BACK in the day, this Scotland v England gig was an annual event. One year at Wembley, the next at Hampden. Obviously, we went to both. We took the best seats we’d ever had at the London national stadium one year, after doing it all properly and having a decent meal first. By the time we’d got suitably settled we were 2 nil to the bad. Final score 5-nil.

Walking up Wembley Way we met the late and much lamented Jimmy Reid. He put a comradely arm round my shoulder and assured me “och it was a moral victory hen”. May I never have another one.

When the return bout was held at Hampden, we had a flat 10 minutes away. So we always held a come-all-ye pre match victory lunch. Trust me, when you’re a die-hard Scotland fan, it’s always safer to get your celebrations in early. Preferably before kick-off.

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One year my lovely husband also ran a film show; something he’d taken time to edit himself. It showed a succession of Scotland v England highlights with all the England goals omitted. That’s my my kinda movie!

Our cartoon lunch invitations always had the generous footnote that English fans would be made welcome. Provided they came accompanied by an adult Scottish one. One year the aforementioned J Reid took us at our word and arrived with Jack Charlton and Lawrie McMenemy in tow.

A pal rushed through to my mini kitchen where I was washing glasses and conveyed this startling intelligence. I told her to start taking more water with it. But it was so. And they behaved impeccably. Rather more so than the 11 chaps they stuck on the field in an England strip a couple of hours later.

To be a diehard Scotland fan is to endlessly engage with the triumph of hope over experience. To be at Hampden when a referee gives the Italian who had barged down wur boay our free kick. From which he sends over a cross for a mate to score. And puts us out another World Cup.

To be there when the legendary Lewandowski does likewise for Poland. To watch Leigh Griffiths smash two cracking free kicks into the English net at the death throes of a game against England only for bloody Harry Kane to go and score.

The National:

To be at Wembley at Euros ‘96 when McAllister missed a penalty for us and Gascoigne hit a brilliant strike for them. Gordon Brown said in an interview it was one of the most memorable goals he’s ever witnessed. Most Scots who agree would never dream of saying so out loud.

We were in France ’98, little knowing that this would be Scotland’s swansong on the big stage for over two decades. It was a brilliant holiday. Pity about the scores.

Tomorrow night a pal with whom I used to go to Hampden with the Tartan Army will join me at home to watch the latest encounter. Our respective strips have been selected – hers a proper Scotland one, mine a Yes Sir, I Can Boogie T shirt. Her partner, not exactly a time-served footy fan, will have been well advised not to interrupt with questions likely to enrage her host. Or fatally damage her own domestic relationship.

The viewing room will, naturally, have been properly decorated to impersonate the bar area of an average US Caledonian Club. Nothing has been left to chance, except the team performance, over which we have no control. England at Wembley? How difficult can that be? See above.