BURNS, FRANCIS (1963 - ) Drunkard, Musician, Satanist. A passable singer and enthusiastic pianist, Burns has long been a fixture on what I've heard referred to as ‘The Trossachs Scene'. Better known as Rockin' Robin, The Boogie-woogie man and the Highlander, all names he has attributed to himself. He ruins songs, in my opinion, by frequently referring to himself in grotesquely whimsical, self-pitying terms: “Poor old Frankie can't take it no more,” he might whine or, “Spare a thought for poor old Frankie when you're lying next to Steve.” Of course, I can't claim any expertise in the realm of rock and pop. I rarely listen to anything other than Holst or my beloved Mahler. I'll concede, though, that on the occasions I've seen him play, I've found my foot tapping along to his repertoire. He's certainly a more accomplished entertainer than my brother Spencer, though his style is unnecessarily flashy and he dyes his hair. While I'd also contest his oft repeated assertion that “Freedom's just another word for nothing else to lose”, I'd advise from experience against discussing the fallacy of the argument with him.

A volatile individual when in his cups, Burns has been barred from a total of thirty seven pubs and the entire town of Pitlochry where, in a fit of pique, he once set fire to a phone box. Five years ago he punched Spencer's head in retaliation for smirking when he compared himself to Jerry Lee Lewis. As the frequent recipient of Spencer's smirks, I can confirm, without condoning violent retaliation, that they are very aggravating. Rumours that Frankie summoned the devil in Aberfoyle churchyard and exchanged his soul for a skull ring and a sixteen year old girlfriend led to his being excluded from Drumfeld's Hogmanay celebrations. His girlfriend has since had a child, Frankie, Junior, whose welfare is monitored by the social services.

Francis Burns

 

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