All you, I or anyone else knows about East Kilbride is that it is the home town of James and William Reid. Back in 1984 and probably until after the release of “Sidewalking” in 1988, I would have crawled over broken glass to visit the spiritual home of the Jesus and Mary Chain, to see where they came from and draw in the vibes. Then, other than a cover version of Leonard Cohen’s “Tower of Song” that I’d have played at my funeral, they went all to shit after they got decent amps and almost learned how to play guitar, and I forgot all about them. Of course, the reformation tour to play “Psychocandy” was a highlight of my life, especially dragging a semi-comatose Ben out of his student pit to see them at Leeds O2, but even the offer of a freebie for a freezing cold Sunday night at The Boiler Shop couldn’t move me from my fireside last December. However, watch the video for “Never Understand” or the OGWT performance of “In A Hole” and you’ll know just why they meant so much to so many of us, for such a brief period of time about 40 years ago.
To be honest, East Kilbride only entered my consciousness again after their football team navigated the labyrinth of the Scottish non-league pyramid by firstly winning the Lowland League, for the second year in a row, overcoming the Highland League winners, this time Brora Rangers (now that would have been some trip) for the second year in a row in a two-legged play-off and, having lost to Stranraer in 2024, overcame the 42nd club (les lanternes rouge de la Ligue écossaise de football professionnel) Bonnyrigg Rose, home of a slope so profound they had points deducted because of it and consequently came last, in yet another two-legged play-off to join the storied ranks of SPFL D2. It meant I needed another trip away.
Having consulted the fixtures, it became clear that while I could easily do East Kilbride on a Saturday day trip, the lack of midweek opportunities to get to Peterhead or Stranraer in the League Cup group stages in July, meant a Tuesday night stopover to see Kilby, as they are affectionately known, was the best plan. Ironically, a week after seeing ICT stroll past Elgin City 2-0, I was again able to see them, as well as their support of four and twenty virgins come down from Inverness. There was also the rumour on-line that the home side ran out to “Just Like Honey,” but that sadly wasn’t the case. Strangely, there was no music played before the game, at half time or at the end. I mean as the Reid brothers never had a good word to say about their upbringing, I’m not surprised.
Unlike every other trip I’ve made to Scotland in 2025, the journey up went like clockwork. Up after a lie-in, to the station in plenty of time and three trains (changing at Waverley and Glasgow Central, after a trip on the scenic Shotts line) all doing their jobs correctly, not to mention a 3 minute walk from East Kilbride station to my hotel, in the EK Conservation area, The Village, on the evocatively named Main Street, meant I was booked in by 5. Good digs as well. Complimentary Tunnocks wafers are always a bonus. Even the shower’s temperature control worked. I headed off down past the usual array of Victorian sandstone shops now transformed into takeaways, tanning salons and Vape emporia, to walk down the side of a couple of very busy A Roads in the direction of Calderglen Country Park, where the evocatively named Ross Financial Services K Park Stadium is located. After you’ve left the concrete and traffic behind on the 40-minute ramble, it’s a really pleasant stroll down a bucolic lane that reminded me of the route into Jesmond Dene from Matthew Bank, other than the presence of a passing coachload of pustular Teuchters singing about how Inverness are “the greatest team the world has even seen.”
East
Kilbride Cricket Club were having a net opposite the football, but I didn’t
join them or inspect the adjacent rugby field, choosing instead to enter the
ground for a remarkably nice filter coffee and a disappointingly beige Scotch
pie. I bought a programme, which I couldn’t read as I had my lenses in, then took
a seat in the functional, numberless 3 row stand of hard plastic benches down
one side of the pitch, which seemed to be at least half full of malodorous,
badly attired English groundhoppers. This is why we didn’t hear a peep from the
home stand all night I suppose. Instead, the only other populated part of the
ground, a covered open terrace, played hosted to the away fans who kept up
their singing all game long, despite going a goal down after 15 minutes, when a
back post corner was touched home by that old warhorse Trialist. How many clubs
has he had in the last 50 years eh? It could have been 2-0 seconds later, when
a loose back pass from kick off was seized on by a Kilby forward, whose
audacious lob came back off the inside of the post. We had a real game on here.
The ground may have been dull, and not particularly loveable, but this was one of the best games I’ve seen in an age. The home keeper Morrison made about 4 blinding saves but was powerless to stop a great equaliser on 25 minutes when McKay stooped to head home a perfect cross. The game swung from end to end but stayed level until half time. Goodness knows what was said in the changers, but Inverness scored 5 in 15 minutes after the break, so I really did get to see Super Caley Go Ballistic, even if Kilby Weren’t Atrocious. 48 minutes, 1-2, as Allan slid home from a tight angle. 51 minutes, 1-3, with the goal of the game. Longstaff (no, not him. Or his brother) swept home a glorious curling first time finish from the right edge of the box. 54 minutes, 1-4 when McLeod toe poked it between the keeper’s legs from close range. 57 minutes, 1-5 as Longstaff again (ibid) beat the keeper to a hopeful punt forward and teased a sky high chip in off the back post. 61 minutes, 1-6 when Stewart fired a free kick past a statuesque home defence. It could have been worse but for Morrison making an athletic double save to tip a stinging volley just over the bar. After this, an orgy of substitutions took the sting out of the game and only a few were left on the home benches to make a desultory cheer when Robertson’s late free kick nestled in the bottom corner. 8 goals; not bad for an over 60s £10 entry.
At
full time, I waved off the four and twenty virgins going back to Inverness,
walked down the side of some quieter main roads, negotiated several large
roundabouts, passed on the pizzas, kebabs and curry on offer and settled down
with a complimentary lemon and ginger infusion to watch the extra time of
England v Italy, then slept soundly in the incredibly comfortable bed. Next
morning, another warm shower, a disappointing breakfast and a slightly delayed
Glasgow to Carlisle train that I’ll be properly compensated for. I got off at
Manors not Central and it must be the ropiest station on the whole network, hit
the gym, watched Percy Main eviscerate Heaton Stan A and got home to begin
planning those visits to Peterhead and Stranraer, as well as a revisit to
Queen’s Park at Lesser Hampden.
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