THE late Scottish folk singer, raconteur, songwriter and by all accounts a rather marvellous bon viveur, Hamish Imlach, had a problem with footwear which perhaps not even his closest followers were aware of.

"I think I have an allergic reaction to leather,” the great man once mused. “I find that every time I wake in the morning with my shoes on I have a headache.”

Even to this day the medical profession is torn over the reasons which would explain these mysterious symptoms. It is also something I have a degree of sympathy with.

You see when I put on a black tie for an evening out, the next morning, and this is every single time, my head feels as if Charlie Sheen now lives there, I have an aversion to getting out of bed and would sell my own mother for a roll and square sausage.

But as I type this drivel I am indeed wearing such a black tie to go along with crisp white shirt, for once ironed all over, black suit and, gasp, black leather shoes. I am off to an awards dinner where there will be a free opportunity to mix grape with grain. I hope Hamish looked out for me.

It is that time of year when baubles are dished out and Glasgow’s city centre is awash with drunken penguins stumbling out of hotels high on life. They are not always enjoyable.

Only last week I watched in utter horror as some old man called Shug picked up a trinket at the Scottish Press Awards; an event where I have become really good at looking pleased as a more talented writer gets up on the stage to say a few words while I firmly remain in my seat.

It was a different sort of do last night, at least I would imagine, as it was all about those who actually play football in Scotland rather than us charlatans who report on it.

Who won on Sunday night remained a mystery a few hours before the Scottish Professional Football Association, a fine organisation as it happens, announced their Player of the Year – it’s actually for the season but you know what they mean – for all four divisions. But how most of the guests ended up is rather more predictable.

Everyone gets to go. From Celtic all the way down to East Stirlingshire. For some, it is the biggest and best kick of the ball they will have had all season..

Such events are great for people watching. At the Football Writers shindig, which takes place two weeks from now, it is always easy to spot the pal brought along for the night who is utterly star struck and, equally, bamboozled by the whole affair.

One year, a loud voice was heard to cry; “F*** me, it’s Arthur Montford,” so taken aback was someone about being in the same room as the great man.

There is always that guy who can’t get their head around why Kris Boyd and Neil Lennon could be seen sharing a joke and a beer at the bar, and not hating and ignoring one another as the internet bampots would have you believe is the way things are.

And speaking of Boydy, I do have a hazy recollection of my own father one year, this was later in the evening than he was given a pass for, talking rather forcibly to the-then Rangers striker about why scoring goals is the most difficult thing to do in football and therefore he should ignore his critics.

For what it’s worth, this year I have plumped for Leigh Griffiths and Kieran Tierney as my Player and Young Player of the Year, while Jim McIntyre gets the manager plaudits just ahead of Mark Warburton, although when the final whistle blows on this campaign there may well be stronger cases for Peter Houston or Alan Stubbs.

McIntyre has done a tremendous job at Ross County and if he wins both on Sunday night and then in a fortnight, it will be just reward. Same goes for the two Celtic players.

Griffiths is a changed man so will not be following in the footsteps of 2013 SPFA winner Michael Higdon who after being hailed by his fellow pros as the country’s best player was later that night lifted for an alleged assault.

“Honestly, it's still the best night I've had as a footballer,” said the Motherwell player a day or so later. “It's a career high and that's all I'm thinking about, rather than any negatives.”

Quite. If the best footballer in Scotland of all places cannot have a drink and then get himself arrested then it’s a bad show.

Voting for players and scribes take place later in the season these days which avoids mistakes being made even by the great and good.

My all-time favourite came back in 1978. The legends of that time can now laugh at how an early vote meant Billy McNeill was named Manager of the Year. It wasn't as if Cesar hadn't done a terrific job at Aberdeen, he had as it happens; however, Jock Wallace did win a Treble with Rangers that season.

We shall end on another quote from Hamish who left us 20 years ago now. “When I die I want everything to be knackered,” he said.

This is what many of our players and some of our hacks will feel this Monday morning. No matter what, it should all be a laugh.

And another thing...

Dundee United’s demise this season has been celebrated by many Rangers who perceive it as justice for what the Tannadice chairman did to their own club.

Stephen Thompson’s reputation among the Ibrox loyal is not great and few will weep about his current predicament.

His crimes?

He did not reimburse thousands of travelling Rangers fans when a game between the two clubs was abandoned due to a water-logged pitch. Then he was seen as a ring leader, he was hardly that, when the liquidated Rangers told they had to begin again in League Two.

Do you remember when Thompson sold the club to Craig White for a quid? Or when it came to players, wages and travel spent fortunes that simply did not exist? Do you remember Thompson’s increasing ridiculous claims about reinventing European football when his own team couldn’t beat Stirling Albion?

Do you recall him being a cheerleader for White, Charles Green and anyone else who laid claim to owning Rangers?

No, me neither.

It is true Thompson has made a mess of a Scottish club. But it’s not Rangers, it’s Dundee United.