May 23rd 2027
Time : 8.00 am
Location : Noah Currant’s sleep-pod Somewhere in Coatbridge – the administrative capital of TISROC (The Independent Socialist Republic of Caledonia).
Noah drifted in a disturbing tide of unplanned dreams. Dreams that had Celtic playing once more in front of 60,000 at Celtic Park in the latter stages of the Champions league; disturbing because not only had that not happened since Noah was a Bhoy of 50 years of age, some 20 years previously, but more-so because a ball had not been kicked in anger at Celtic Park or any other stadium in Scotland since the great bloodletting of 2014 when Paradise had been closed, Celtic disbanded and professional football relegated to a pastime for ex-strictly come dancing aficionadas.
His electronic wake-up signal from the neural implant stirred him from stand-by mode to fully awake and he sat up ready for another day of exciting neural networking. He immediately sent a mental trigger back to the implant and listened and watched in his mind’s receptor to the morning welcome call from the cyber-station’s sponsor followed by the latest news.
Expectation had long been a well run dry and so he crossed his fingers, toes and legs in nothing more than fervent hope.
“Today would surely be the day. Forty eight years of praying to every possible god and spirit, spells cast, curses dealt and wax models melted in the fire….today would surely be the day.”
Thought for the day came on; fervent hope kicked him in the goolies once more as the terrifying nasal delivery he feared more than any other assaulted his synapses!
“Where there is discord, may we bring harmony. Where there is error, may we bring truth. Where there is…….”
She was still alive!!
Wired to a life support system perhaps; a hundred and feckin two years old and still kicking; a decaying old pile of suppurating jelly; but still alive and still believing that she was universally loved.
Noah thought longingly of that cherished bottle of champers in the antique fridge. “It is probably going off” he thought “but it would never rank in the putrid stakes alongside her!! When will I get to drink it? When will I get to celebrate the demise of Margaret Hilda Thatcher. Science has a lot to feckin answer for!”
He thought of prompting a log in to the neural-net and seeing what was going on in CNN. He decided not to. After all there had been nothing there ever since Celtic had folded on 25th May 2014. In fact that was why the site had been rebranded to C.N.N. – Celtic Nae News.
He shook his head at the folly of those years, his own part in Celtic’s downfall and decided to give it a miss.
He turned over took a couple of bites out of his edible egg and bacon flavoured pillow, sent a mental prompt for his neural implant to resume standby dream mode.
As he drifted off again, this time to his chosen retro-dream of Angelina Jolie to while away his leisure REM sleep, he smiled as he thought of the plan that would at least try to right those wrongs of so many years ago, a plan that would kick-off in only two days time.
And then he found himself being beckoned by the smile and allure of a sultry demanding Angelina……..