Well I would walk 500 miles

1. Scotland and my dad. It's always been there, his voice shouting at the telly, the over excited victory celebrations ending in broken ornaments and his endless, endless hope.

2. I always assumed it would be the Scotland squad that killed my dad. I just thought some game or other would end in his heart attack as they scored a winning goal against the odds that meant all was won.

3. But it wasn't that that killed my dad. When he died, he left a Scotland team that had beaten France home and away. We had beaten the world cup holders and my dad lived to see it. He wasn't well enough to get it though, the victory meant nothing really. Those goals summed up years of hope and faith and belief and cancer cancelled that out. The day we beat France in Hampden, my dad didn't even know we were playing.

4. We were playing today and we drew, but lost. Or maybe not depending on some equation or other. Same old story. I keep the match commentary on, I'm not connected, not really. There's only so many times a heart can be broken. But then you hear that beat...

5. When I wake up, well I know I'm going to be I'm going to be the man who wakes up next to you...