Paw Broon - It's all doon the hill fae here

So, packed ma skimpy wee Speedo trunks that show aff the size o' ma dangly bits tae impress the Porty beach babes, packed the factor 2 Piz Buin an' a few haggis flavoured rubbers intae ma new "Harry Potter" toilet-bag an' away we go! A few days o' sun, sand and swally, that's the game.

But whit dae ah get? A bloody freezing monsoon, that's whit. The rain never stopped frae the moment ah stepped off the plane wi ma Duty Free Malibu near icing up in the conditions.

It begs the question, wi'oot sunshine whit exactly is the point of Portugal?

Ah'll tell ye. There's nae point tae it at all. None.

Yon Christopher Columbus laddie wis Portuguese right enough, but he couldnae wait tae get as far away as possible and wis that desperate he emigrated tae America before he even knew it existed.

So ye can stick yer Algarve an' yer Ruby Port (a poofs and lassies drink if ever ah tasted one) up yer arses as far as ah'm concerned.

And quite frankly, if the Portuguese Football Authorities dinnae get their weather conditions sorted oot in time for hosting the 2004 Euro Finals, I for one won't be disappointed if Scotland fails tae qualify.

Oh, and by the way, the game wis pure mince. A fitba farce. The pitch wis that waterlogged Rab Douglas came oot fer the second half wearin' scuba gear.

Mind, he does look a lot less ugly wi' a diving mask and snorkel on his face, so it wisnae all negative.

But honest tae god, ah've seen Highland lochs wi less surface water than that pitch. Ah kept waiting fer "Nessie" tae rear her heid oot of the centre-circle.

An' ah knew things were getting' bad when Russell Anderson went doon injured an' they called the lifeboat oot tae take him off.

In the final analysis though, Scotland's performance can best be summed up in much the same disappointin' way as ma ain scuppered chances o' pickin' up some beach totty.

Never came fuckin' close tae scoring.