Toot! Toot!

In my working days in Argyll & Bute, I was used to driving long distances on not so great roads. I loved the Portavadie road, and only once had to get off the road to let a tourist go ahead. I met him again at the ferry, where - give him his due - he apologised for tailgating me, explaining he was worried he'd miss the boat. He obviously didn't know where he was or he'd have realised only ferry traffic used the road. I hated the Inverary to Oban road - too many boy racers and a helluva lot of snow in the winter. I regularly did Campbeltown and back to Glasgow in a day, leaving home at 7am and getting back at 10pm, with a day's work in between. The great thing about Argyll is once you get past the Helensburgh turn-off on the way west, you usually only meet local traffic, especially on a Monday morning. Coming back on a Friday afternoon is more of a problem: if you get behind a bus that's fine - the driver has a schedule to keep to; if you're behind a tourist trying to look at the scenery while driving, not so great.

These days, I don't really go anywhere outside Glasgow. Sometimes Kilmarnock but that's another story. Even in Glasgow I can see a problem with the driving. What am I saying? Not a problem - many problems! But when I'm in charge - say, after independence - these will be the rules:

1 If you don't drive between Monday and Friday, you won't be allowed out in your car at the weekend.
2 Anyone on a family outing such as Mother's Day will be required to take a taxi.
3 Failure to use indicators will result in the drivers behind you using their phasers. That'll larn ya.
4 Stopping on a corner to let an elderly passenger out thus blocking two lanes of traffic - ditto.
5 Driving at 15mph on a main road because you can't remember where the hell you booked lunch - ditto.
6 (Kilmarnock only) Tailgating every car on the Glasgow road because you refuse to accept that the speed limit is 30 - 7 years after the limit was reduced - ditto.

Selfie Advice

Nothing - I repeat - NOTHING would persuade me to put a selfie on my Facebook page. Well, maybe downing a couple of bottles of Sauvignon Blanc might help but as soon as I sobered up I would realise what I'd done and delete it...

Do I admire the women who've put up selfies sans make-up in the past ten days? Or the guys who've put up selfies with makeup? I'm glad they've raised money for charity but I've had a bit of a jolt to discover how many women I know never leave the house without putting on makeup first. And I'm amazed at the number of people who don't know how to get their photo taken!

Advice - point 1: Don't pout! You may think you look like this:

But you actually look like this:

In Scotland we call this a petted lip and we tell kids not to do it! 

Advice - point 2: SMILE! For heaven's sake, you're doing a good thing here putting your photo up to raise money for breast cancer charities. Try and look as if you're happy to do it! 

Advice - point 3: Try to avoid pointing your mobile up your nose when you're taking a photo. Your nostrils are not your best feature. Your eyes probably are your best feature so try to photograph yourself looking slightly up at the camera. That widens the eyes. Also, turning your head slightly to the right or the left will reduce the double chin. Always a good idea.  

Advice - point 4: Try not to get too close when you're taking a selfie, unless you're confident you look like Angelina Jolie.

Advice - point 5: Don't, whatever you do, let anybody post a photo of you in 'model' pose: hand on hip, one hip lower than the other, one foot sticking out towards the camera. Your feet will look huge and you'll look as if you have some kind of back trouble. If Posh Spice looks like an eejit standing around like this, so will you. 

Above all, if you're taking photos of your children, don't let them pose like adults - please! No pouting and no model poses - it's just creepy seeing a three year old doing that. And wide, toothy grins are fine till kids lose their teeth. The natural look is always better. 

Scots Wha Hae!

I saw this picture in the Herald this week. These are the clan chiefs of Scotland, mostly looking absolutely splendid in their kilts. According to the legend under the photo, there's a Peregrine here and at least one Crispin. Good Scottish names all, right? There's a chap called MacGregor of MacGregor and another called MacDonald of MacDonald. If any of my mother's MacDonald family were around, I could ask them if we're related. Somehow I doubt it. These folk were in the paper because apparently equal rights legislation is endangering their ancient titles, which now have to be passed to the first born, not the first born male. This is probably the evil work of the EU. Most things are in Toryland. And they are very worried about this. Not that they'll end up signing on at the Job Centre, you'll notice. Just about their titles. Notice too there's gey few women here, although I do think the lady on the left at the back, complete with hat and crook, looks imposing enough to frighten most men.

Do you notice a note of sarcasm in my tone here? Too right. Do I care about these people and their titles? I think not. I was brought up to believe the landed gentry of Scotland were Eton-educated toffs whose ancestors ripped off my ancestors and appropriated their land, farms and houses and whose main skill lay in managing always to be on the right side in a fight so they could hand on their ill-gotten gains to their weans. They are I firmly believe parasites, using Scotland as a playground for a few months every year, hogging the best agricultural land and employing a small number of people on very low wages. Unlike a lot of Scots, the aristocracy haven't been forced to move to other parts of the world looking for work. No wait - the aristocracy might have had something to do with that...

Given how many of the aristocracy are pictured here, I doubt if their survival is in any danger. Last week too, I kept hearing about someone called Cressida Bonas. In fact, I thought her name was Cressida Bonus till I googled it. She's Prince Harry's new squeeze. Cressy - as she's nicknamed - is one of the children of someone called Mary-Faye Curzon. Mary-Faye is very well-connected. She's had several marriages to rich and famous aristos and as well as having 6 kids, she also has a clutch of stepkids. If Mary-Faye was on benefits, they've have offered to tie her tubes. But not for Mary-Faye the worry of welfare or the bedroom tax. She's well enough off she can spend her time getting her weans launched in London society. Cressy herself, no harm to her, may be a descendant of Charles I or II and Winston Churchill but she looks pale and vapid although she has studied - dance, as it happens. She and one of Fergie's gals are best pals.  

Land ownership, like quite a few other matters, has not been discussed in the independence debate. The clan chiefs and other landowners haven't - yet - told us what a disaster independence would be - you know the score: thousands of jobs lost, the countryside laid waste, and so on. Maybe they think they're safe. Not if it's got anything to do with the likes of me, they're not. 

Goggle it!

Stacey at the hairdresser's was trying to tell me about a TV programme she's really enjoying: "It's dead funny," she said. "There's a posh couple on it that are always pissed. Google something it's called." Stacey is mid-20s and very up to the minute. I call her my media adviser: if it wasn't for Stacey I wouldn't know what the hell is happening in the world of entertainment. Her shampoo boy Gavin is about 17. He defers to Stacey: "It's not Google, he said, "It's something like that though."

"Gogglebox," said I. They nodded in agreement. I've watched it too. We all agreed on most things: the posh couple are a laugh, never without a glass of something in their hand but are they ever sober enough to run their B&B? The two gay hairdressers are so nice Stacey would like to be adopted by them. The two mad women in Brixton made me laugh out loud, especially when they were watching One Born Every Minute. And I loved the reactions to Noel Edmonds, Ed Millband and Torvil & Dean - they should all be made to watch this series and learn from it.

I do find a few things a bit worrying: the wee lassie who is always in trouble at school, does she ever have homework or can we take it she's done it and a couple of hours of telly with the family is her reward? And the lassie with the long black hair who is looking for a job is obviously too bright to be sitting about at home - why is she not at school or college getting an education? The Asian dad and his two sons are good judges of the TV programmes they're watching but where are their womenfolk? What are they watching I wonder? Does the long-haired boyfriend ever talk or just roll his eyes whenever the German guy speaks?

And most of all, I suspect the reaction of Stacey and Gavin to the title Gogglebox is a pretty good indication that this format and in fact the whole concept of the family sitting together on the settee watching the same programme was the invention of an old person. Most young people just don't watch TV like this. For every family of four sitting together in the livingroom, there are two watching the telly, but a third on the phone and the other using the iPad. Still, the concept of Gogglebox is very entertaining. Just don't force me to watch the programmes they're watching.

And it's good night...

This is David Frost.

There was a memorial service for him in Westminster Abbey today. Very high-powered. Members of the royal family, politicians and TV people were out in force. Since there are probably people already wondering who on earth he was even though he only died in 2013 - such is fame in the 21st century - let me briefly fill you in. 

David Frost was the total 1960s anti-Establishment man, famous for fronting satire shows on TV. They were pretty ground-breaking shows too, tackling some important issues: corruption among politicians, bribery in the Met, fraud in business. These were issues not even hinted at in the press or TV news. So much for investigative journalism. He was new to TV and had never worked in the press and was afraid of nothing and no one. His shows were a breath of fresh air for viewers. He also hosted a very funny and quite biting radio show on Radio 2 in which, among other things, he fingered plagiarism in popular music, showing how producers regularly ripped off other people's music - without paying, of course - by letting listeners hear how alike two bits of music sounded. You could hear the lawyers panicking every time Frost opened his mouth. 

Then - sorry, but I have no other way to put this - Frost sold out. He discovered what fun it was to be in the Establishment rather than just commenting on it. Not to mention rewarding. He had his own TV show for a long time and had to be forced to give it up when the ratings went through the floor. Instead of telling stories about people in the news, he reached the point where he thought he was the news. Right to the end, he lived on the fact that he had interviewed President Richard Nixon and got him to admit how corrupt he was.

He was most famous apparently for holding 'parties'. On today's news I heard people boasting that they'd been invited and were introduced by Frost to other guests: Have you met the Pinochets? Do you know Bill...Clinton? He was a fame junkie to the end. He ended up as Sir David Frost and died on a cruise ship at the age of 74 just as he was about to give a talk about his life on TV. 

What legacy did he leave? In terms of TV satire, none. The closest we get to satire on TV these days is Have I got News For You or the Hyslop/Merton show as I like to call it. On radio, it's The News Quiz or the Now Show. But these are pretty feeble versions of what we got served up to us in the 60s. And I can't see Spitting Image making a comeback any time soon. 

In the week of Frost's memorial service, Bob Crow died. Aged 52. Also of a heart attack. He was born poor. Worked his way up and never forgot who he came from or who paid his wages. He increased his union's membership massively just by being visible and making it clear what the union stood for: its members' interests. He was hated by the Establishment and was bitterly attacked by politicians and the press - notably the Daily Mail - because he grew up in and preferred to live in a council house in his community and took holidays to places like Brazil. So on the one hand, it's not okay to tell rich people how to spend their money - they can have as many houses, cars and holidays as they like, pay for their kids's education - but working class people...? 

But you know what they say: if you can't be an example to the rest, you can at least serve as a terrible warning. I know which one Frost was and I know which one Bob Crow was - and I know which one we'll miss more. 

Whit? Whit?

You know that old TV series Catchphrase? I watched it a couple of times but gave up on it pretty quickly. The presenter would say 'just say what you see' but I'll admit here and now I could never see a damned thing.

A pal sent me a picture on Facebook today. It obviously means something to him and he thinks it should mean something to me but I admit I haven't a clue what it's about or why he would send it to me:

I don't get visual jokes. And yet I love slapstick - Buster Keaton is my all-time favourite film character:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zsyRhRR5Iu4

I also love this bit in Philadelphia Story with Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ukZDbYWVybs

Words are my thing, without a doubt. American humour - fast, very witty - is ace. If you haven't seen them, you should watch Frasier or Golden Girls or News Radio http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0112095

- or Michael J Fox in City Hall - my hero. Then let me know what you think.

Meanwhile, can anybody explain the picture above to me?

Good intentions are not enough

A former student and friend has been in touch this week through Facebook. I've known him for over 25 years but in recent years have only heard from him when he's either 'top of the world, ma' - or in deep despair.

Once before, he sent me a photo of himself and a group of very elderly people on the steps of 10 Downing Street along with Gordon Brown, then the PM. This was a group of retired people he gave a lot of time to as a volunteer. It was a happy photo. The group had enjoyed their day out and were thrilled to meet GB and his wife. This week he's been sending photos of his scars from self-harming. Not just to me. He has a wide circle of friends, though not, I notice, as wide as it used to be. But still, enough people have been concerned about him to rally round, make phone calls to his family, try to get his local social work people involved, send the police to his door, even beg him to get help from the Samaritans. Yes, that's how bad it is.

The hardest thing I've had to do - apart from trying to talk to him online - he has now cut off his Facebook account and his email - his phone has been off for months now - is to persuade his friends that he has decided what he wants, that he has the right to make his own decisions and if he rejects help there's not a damned thing anyone can do about it. We are powerless in the face of his despair.

But still, when he's well he's great company, a terrific writer and a great actor. He has published a book and a couple of plays. As an actor, he's worked in theatre and movies with some success. We can only hope his determination to refuse help will pass (it has in the past) and that we'll find him again soon restored to his real self.