With a weekend off, St Johnstone were anxious to arrange a match against some real opposition, rather than the rubbish that is the Scottish First Division. As a result, Bayview's Quiz Night was postponed and the Tractor Boys made their way down from Perth to face the mighty Fife. The Commander, of course, wasn't there - my excuses get more exaggerated with every passing game. Tonight I was at a Kim Wilde concert - at the Burgh in Inverkeithing!

Well, that was what it was supposed to be. Two Fridays ago at the Standing Order in George Street (granted, we'd all had a few Abbots by then), three independent witnesses were there when old Diggers told us that the acclaimed Ms Wilde would, indeed, be excercising her vocal chords in the eponymous Burgh.

And so, despite the paltry five quid entry to see our heroes, the Commander, his missus and the auld guy spurned Methil and took our chances in Inverkeithing. By the time that Greig McDonald rose balletically to give the Fife the lead, I'd already quaffed one too many pints of John Smiths (nae Abbots at the Burgh) and was gnashing at the bit waiting for Ms Holland & Barrett tae show up and 'gies ten guitars' (tragic state tae be in at twenty five tae eight, eh?). As East Fife continued to press our so-called superiors: Stevie Nicholas twice coming close in the first fifteen minutes, I got bored waiting for the dumpy diva and moved on to our usual Friday night nonsense - Einstein's General Theory of Relativity.

Now, old Brian's been involved, in a professional capacity, with the design of various weapons of minor scale destruction (don't tell anyone; it's officially a secret) so, intellectually, is far smarter than I can ever hope to be - and even he's given up trying to understand the old patent clerk. But that doesn't stop us, week in, week out, havin' a go.

So there we are, making quantum arses of ourselves (well, I was anyway), cursing Kim Wilde for taking so long and, all the while, the real action was taking place twenty miles up the coast. Shame on me!

Back in Methil, meanwhile, it was end to end stuff. Although the Saints slowly crept back into the game, our silky, flowing, passing game (never thought I'd say that about a third division team - even the Fife) meant that our visitors just couldn't afford to throw too many players forward. So although they had a couple of chances it was the first division outfit that were more than happy to go in at the interval just the one down.

Just the one down; if only. By then I was knocking them back like a mad, bald drunk waiting for an Eighties pop star tae come and sing next tae the pool table. As she was finally heralded by a murmer of anticipation from some of the locals at the bar, she turned and looked straight at me (she did) and said, 'one, two; one, two' into a microphone. Who said romance is dead? But she looked a bit funny - sure, I was expecting a kinda dumpy, middle aged, good lookin' version of Toya Wilcox but, somehow, there was something no' quite right.

That would have tae wait however. A beep fae ma mobile could mean only one thing - news from Bayview. Didn't recognise the number and didn't recognise the name but someone was kind enough to let me know that the Saints had just missed a penalty. A full update in 115 characters left me as confused as all that text stuff always does. However, we were still winning, still pressing and, apparently, new boy, Alan T Rialist, was playin' a blinder.

Twenty minutes later it was all over; the Fife fans went mad (a nice habit to be getting into) and the Saints manager was left to consider just how good an idea tonight's trip had been. He wasn't the only one. Old Diggers and ma missus seemed to be enjoying themselves well enough. What surprised me most of all was how well they managed to keep their balance considering the shooglin' that the bar was doing by then.

I had just enough energy to politely enquire, once again, as to whether 'you gonny play kidsnamerica, doll?' before being asked politely by the bar staff whether it might be an idea to head for my train.

Which I suppose was good advice. Hurpling along the street took some effort but I was buoyed by the knowledge that East Fife had won another and, quite frankly, couldn't give a fuck whether the wild burd had sang me a song. I woke on Saturday with a wonderful hangover, a shopping trip wi' the wife (looking for new shoes....) to Dunfermline, and only one regret - but ma missus tells me that Kim Seymore is considering 'Kids in America' for her repertoire the next time she plays the Burgh!