The Dark Maestro

17/12/07

Opening this morning's Examiner, I was confronted by a photograph of Billy Ure in full Dark Maestro regalia. According to the accompanying article, Billy's annual 'spine-tingler', scheduled to be delivered in the Scott room of Drumfeld Museum for successive nights between the 22nd and Christmas Eve, has become a 'Christmas tradition'. Unmitigated rot! The Examiner has certainly changed its tune since Billy's first Christmas performance was subjected to one of Hugh Walker's corrosive reviews. Walker's assessment, while unkind, was at least realistic. His gormless replacement, Helen Fryer, refers to Billy as if he was a cross between Father Christmas and Edgar Allan Poe. Who are these numbskulls, I wonder, who blithely improvise 'traditions' out of completely mundane events? The fact that Billy has chosen to make an exhibition of himself for the past three years is unlikely to cause Christmas pagaents to replace Wise Men and Shepherds with Dark Maestros.

In the evening Christine drove me to Dundee for the year's final edition of Crime Time. Seconds before going on air, Rob McCaskill informed me that show would be dedicated to the callers' nominations of the year's various 'unsung heroes'. So much for my painstaking preparation. As might have been predicted, the late Miriam Tobin, featured prominently, with Rob still agitating that she be posthumously awarded the psychology degree she had lied about passing while alive. She eventually came second to the Glasgow Airport blow-hard John Smeaton, referred to by Rob as 'Smeato' or 'Smeats'. When I questioned the validity of Smeaton's nomination, Rob countered with an incredulous, "Come on, H! He singlehandedly tackled a guy who was literally on fire!" It didn't seem to occur to Rob or any of his listeners that the fact that Smeato's adversary was engulfed in flames was an impediment to his ability to defend himself. Nor was anybody sympathetic to my point that true heroes rarely swagger around in rented kilts, soliciting free drinks and negotiating record deals. A depressing day concluded with my Rob's announcement that listeners using texts and e-mails had overwhelmingly nominated me as 'Rat of the Year', a selection endorsed by a jubilant Spencer whose home made banner (a bed sheet adorned with my new title) awaited my return.

 

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