Jonathan Brocklebank

If you were flying into Scotland 20 years ago you would have been assailed on your way to baggage by a slogan asserting you had landed in 'the best small country in the world'.

It was a chilling transformation. Susan Boyle had seemed healthy and happy as her PA Geraldine Easton left her to go home. In the morning Ms Easton walked in to find a medical emergency.

Perhaps you are already in Boston, giddy with anticipation in your Scotland top and kilt. You may already have found a local hostelry to serve you lager. It's just a wild guess.

For another few hours at least, the dream can hold reality at bay. Scotland will put Haiti to the sword in Boston and, a few days later, will tame Morocco in the same city.

Imagine a senior policeman standing up in 1996 and telling a conference hall of fellow officers that jail is the place for serious offenders.

There remains the faintest of glows in the coals of Scotland's World Cup 2026 odyssey. Can a flame yet be teased out of them? Or is it time for the bucket of cold water?

There was a world-weary air to the man in the crumpled suit at the ticket barriers at Glasgow 's Central Station.

You are reading a columnist at the peak of his mental powers.

IT was a crime which mined every parent's worst nightmare - a child in his death throes, calling for his mum, his life slipping away on a cold station platform.

It was a sorry downfall for a brand which was once the king of the shopping mall food court. Sorrier still for the fact few even noticed its demise.