I'm Sorry, I Haven't A McClue
The world-famous broadcaster, Mr Scottie McClue, e-mailed today to say that he has just remembered meeting me at Moray Firth Radio in 1989 and has a funny story to tell. Naturally my mind races through all the possibilities. Would this "funny story" involve alcohol, nudity or both? More importantly, does he have any incriminating photographs? I ask my people to make contact with his people and we are soon meandering down Memory Lane with an occasional saunter along Nostalgia Nook.
Apparently Scottie was touring MFR just before he launched his own radio station in central Scotland. I was working on the newsdesk at the time and, it seems, had just completed a double-shift and had enough shadows under my eyes to support Cliff Richard. He describes me as "young, thin, wearing a tweed jacket and carrying a briefcase". Sadly this description rings true. I have always struggled to keep pace with fashion. I just got the hang of being "Man at C&A" when that chain went belly-up.
Scottie says I looked desperate to get home to my bed, but my boss insisted I linger on in the office to say hello to this visitor from the south. He alleges I was quite vocal in my reluctance to do this until it was pointed out that the visitor - Scottie - was the managing director of a new radio station with jobs on offer . At which point, it seems, I had a 91Èȱ¬r Simpson moment , uttering the Glaswegian equivalent of "doh".
Now this story may or may not be true. I'm only thankful no one knows about my other shameful episode in Inverness. The one in which I wandered into a local motel just as photographers from the Daily Sport newspaper were staging a topless barmaid competition. Yes, turn to the centre pages next morning and I was the bloke in the tweed jacket lurking in the background.
A true story but, as I say, no one knows about that.
Doh!
