The day I streaked across a Scottish loch to make kick off

I was driving home in a rush because I promised Mrs Canavan I'd back by 5.30pm and was, as usual, running late - not helped by one of those weirdly annoying moments on a motorway when all three lanes come to a complete halt for 10 minutes, then suddenly mysteriously start moving again with no clue as to why everything stopped in the first place.

- Steve Canavan

The very least you want when you've been stuck in traffic is something to look at when you start moving again-a Sports Direct lorry that's spilled 2,000 ping pong balls over the carriage-way, or the sight of police trying to get a herd of 300 cows off the hard shoulder ... just some clue as to why there was a delay.

Anyway, Mrs Canavan had threateningly told me I needed to be home to take one of the kids to their latest evening activity (my children go out more during the week than even the busiest London socialite).

But I'd been walking in the hills, left it till the last minute to set off, and that, combined with the motorway hold-up, meant I once again found myself panicking and driving slightly too fast in a bid to get home.

As I was speeding along, I pondered why I am always - and I mean always - rushing, and my mind wandered to perhaps my most memorable late moment.

Once upon a time-when I was younger and had less nasal hair and some remaining happiness - I was a football writer and spent several seasons covering Blackpool FC.

One summer the team went to Scotland, which meant I got to go too, which was very exciting because I was very much looking forward to seeing grown men in kilts eating haggis and tossing a caber (that is what all Scots are like, right?)