The saints are coming, the saints are coming

I am long overdue my review of I Love You, Man, but today other things had to take precedence. I speak, of course, of the day's top sporting news of St Johnstone being promoted to the Scottish Premier Division (although it is hardly an in-depth analysis), after far too many years away. I got a perplexing text from my mum, about 3 minutes before the final whistle sounded, saying "St Johnstone have won the Cup. Wow". The confusion arose because my dad had advised her that he might be late home for dinner "if we win, they'll present us with the cup". Of course, he as referring to the cup presented to us as First Division Champions. However, I was more worried by the fact that the game hadn't ended. We may have been 3-1 up, and Partick may have been 1-0 down, but as a Saints fan, you never take anything for granted, exemplified by the catastrophe of 2 years ago, when we missed out on promotion due to a Gretna goal in injury time.

Some more silverware in the trophy cabinet and the chance to play in the top-flight next season. Of course, this will undoubtedly led to a much more stressful season than normal (and Saints do a very good line in making their fans sweat), but it'll be worth it. And not matter how hard it can be, I wouldn't swap them for anything.

After a chat with my dad on the telephone (involving singing down the line from both of us and him telling me that the strains of "We hate Dundee, we hate Dundee" were reverberating around the stadium with about 20 minutes to go), he decided that he was going to crack open the wine that evening, to toast the victory. As this sounded like a splendid idea, I decided to do the same. I went to the supermarket, picked one of those small individual-portion (does wine come in portions?) bottles, and proceeded to the self-service scanner.

Inevitably there was some problem, and the supervisor had to approve it. He said to me "Can I see your ID" and then looked at me and began apologising profusely, and told me to carry on. Now, I know that I might not look under 21, but did he really have to sound quite so mortified.