Partick Thistle's monobrowed mutant sun god brings new evil into the weird world of the mascot
It will have to go down as a PR open goal which was skewed horribly wide. Sunday, 21 June, 2015. Stonehenge. The air is alive with bongos and body odour. From somewhere in the distance, perhaps the car park, comes the lilting sound of a social anthropology undergraduate and virgin squeezing a three-note melody through a flute made of tree bark. The sun’s first rays settle on the wrong side of the A303, casting their sacred shadow upon the stone megaliths of Salisbury Plain and its annual dreary army of druggies, druids and dropouts.