17 June 2026

Staying up for Scotland

And for England, so long as they’re not playing Scotland!

Should I stay up and watch Scotland? I am Scottish, oh yes. Born to Scottish parents in Renfrew, where I followed Rangers. Then we moved to Dumfries, where I followed Queen of the South and my hero was a bullet-headed centre-forward called Billy Houliston, who did manage one cap for Scotland. We moved over the border to Carlisle when I was 11 and I got teased in the playground for my Scottish accent. Wish I had it now. Today it’s just sort of nondescript northern, which no one can idetntify.

But I always felt Scottish. In Carlisle we still read the Sunday Post and listened to the Scottish Home Service.On Hogmanay, I was sent on the stroke of midnight to first-foot the Scottish neighours on our council estate and give them a small piece of coal. It had to be done by a child with black hair, and was meant to bring good luck for the coming year.

These past 80 years I have never been up later than ten o’clock, even on New Years’ Eve. My normal bedtime is nine. So how will I manage to stay up for Scotland?

My son, who is English, born in London, reminded me he had bought me a Scottish shirt for my 90th birthday. On the back it says: HUNTER 90. Surely I will be staying up and wearing it, after all my decades of boasting I am Scottish? So I set the alarm for two, half hoping I would sleep through it.

It did wake me and I managed to stagger to the TV – I mean my computer. My TV does not seem to work now that I have moved my whole life downstairs. At least my bed is near my desk, so I don’t have far to go.

I do have a fond spot for Haiti, a very poor nation of proud people. I went there when I was writing a biography of Christopher Columbus. I wanted to see the beach where his flagship, the Santa María, went down. After months at sea, Columbus and his crew went ashore for hijinks with some locals, leaving a boy on board to mind the ship. There was a storm in the night and it sank. They still have the anchor in a museum in Port-au-Prince. I went to see that as well. My hotel was so scary I had to lock my bedroom door at night. There were gangs carrying knives and guns wandering along every corridor.

Haiti are 83rd in the world ranking, compared with Scotland’s 43rd, but they looked pretty good to me – tough and fit and well organised. Scotland looked stiff and nervous. Yet, amazingly, John McGinn scored after 28 minutes. I jumped in the air, took off my Scotland shirt and waved it to a dark and empty house. Later, in a cut-away of the crowd, there was Rod Stewart, looking almost as old as me and just as worried.

The next 70 minutes were agony as Haiti pressed on. This was supposed to be joyful, but I wanted it all to be over now. All fans feel this about their own team: like watching your child in a play, you long for the end. The two Scottish commentators were driving me mad, reciting endless reams of boring facts. But we did get a shot of a lone bagpiper. That cheered me up. I felt my little heart tightening. What if I collapse, in the middle of the night, in an empty house? Why have I stayed up? This was torture, not pleasure. We saw some Scottish fans holding up their little kids. That took my mind off the game. Why were they not at school? Were they perhaps expat Scots, living near Boston?

Scott McTominay, McGinn and Andy Robertson were tremendous. They never wilted, made no mistakes. I liked the look of the young Bournemouth winger Ben Gannon-Doak, aged 20. Never seen him before. Yet I am supposed to be a Scotland fan.

As the football world now knows, Scotland hung on and won 1-0. Then we discovered they were top of their group, with three points. Brazil and Morocco had drawn. Oh my God. Does this mean they will get through to the knockout stages? Can my old body and panting heart stand it?

Let’s hope England get through as well, har har.

I do, of course, always want England to win. Except against Scotland. I think for their next game, I will have a defibrillator ready, with the Sauvingon…

[Further reading: This might be my last World Cup]