The Tale of Rock Steady 10: It Has It's Ups and Downs...

I was swithering over what to blog about this post, and have decided that my fellowship require a heathly dose of Rock Steadyisms, as it has been a long time since our last dable in the inane world of the Steadies. I had decided that my last shift would have been the UEFA Cup Final (UEFA'd Enough), but I went back last Tuesday for a shift at the friendly between Rangers and Ajax, and then on Sturday there for another friendly against Chelsea.

Over the summer Ibrox had been given a bit of spruce up. The Cooper Suite, a part of the Hospitality area that I have never been in, has been moved from the West Tower to the East Tower, and as such so has the players lougne. This means that anyone wanting to get autographs from the players should be at the East Tower door always, as there is no chance they will leave the West Gate.

They have also overhauled the lifts entirely, and this is where my rant begins. They have been given a voice. The voice is of a braw Glaswegian lass, probably one of the owners of the lift companies daughters, who pronounces floor like "Flair" and down as "Doon". The quality of the recording is worse than a Gameboy trying to play Vagner, and third floor sonds closer to "Thissshck FLAIR". Also, she tells you when you are going doon, up, and when the doors are closing and opening. Very helpful, you might think.

Until you realise that over the last two shifts, I spent close to five hours inside them, and have heard "doon" and "claesing" more times than my mind will comfortably fit. I have heard "Take me to lingeire" and "Queen Street please" from smug bastards who think that it is the first time I have heard that today.

I wish the lift could say more interesting things like;

"There are too many sectarian abusers in the lift"
"Nobody gives a midges baw if you thought the game was gash"
"You are too fat to be alive. Go into a corner and die slowly."

I was the first person to stay in the lift since the overhauling, and encountered all of this for the first tome, and in particular one feature of the lift which was pretty alarming. If the lift is not used for a while, the lights inside go off. Total, complete, utter blackness. I could not see a thing; it was as if my eyes had been painted shut with black paint. It was dark. To make matters worse, I had forgot my phone, and in my search for the button to get the lift to move somewhere, the alarm was set off, and the security rushed to my help ten minutes later.

In other news, blogs should appear about Paris, Buachaille Etive Mor and Alto Towers in the near to late future.