BY
JIM BLACK
A
telephone call can change a life.
I
have often wondered how the one I received in the late summer of 2008 might
have changed mine.
It
was from Piers Morgan. Yes, he of Piers Morgan’s Life Stories and Twitter fame.
“Can
I speak to Jim Black?” enquired the unfamiliar voice. “Speaking,” I replied.
“Hi,
it’s Piers Morgan here. I was given your number by a colleague of yours at The
Sun and I understand that you are a man with a detailed knowledge of Glasgow
and all things Glaswegian.”
“Is
that right?” I responded in a tired voice, in the belief that I was the victim
of a wind-up and the Piers Morgan at the other end of the line was “at it.”
But
I quickly changed my mind when the voice added, “I want to pick your brains.
How about lunch? Anywhere you like. You choose the restaurant.”
In
that instant I instinctively knew I was speaking to the real Piers Morgan.
If
he had said “nothing too expensive, mind” I would probably have hung-up. But
the good Piers doesn’t strike me as a man who does anything on the cheap –
especially lunch!
“Great,”
I said. “When do you want to meet?”
“Next
week alright?” he asked. Regrettably, it wasn’t. I was booked up for two weeks
in the sunshine of Cannes and I don’t think my missus would have impressed had
I informed her that the holiday was off and I was going for lunch with Piers
Morgan instead.
Clearly,
whatever Piers wished to “pick my brains” about could not wait and we never did
have that lunch.
But
I can’t help wondering what our proposed meeting might have led to. Would I now
be Piers’ man in Scotland – his Mr Fixit, his gopher...his resident
trouble-shooter north of Hadrian’s Wall?
Probably
not. There again, who knows?
I’ve
still got his number, but I’m sure it has changed several times since.
But
if you happen to read this, Piers, give me a call back. I’m sure you’ll be able
to acquire my mobile number without any difficulty. If not, it’s the same one
you dialled back in 2008.
Oh,
and lunch is on me. It will be worth it just to find out how my life might have
changed.
While
I find Piers’ Life Stories compulsive viewing, I cannot say the same of
Coronation Street.
Let
me begin by saying that I never was a fan of Corrie. But, having been coerced
into watching the every-day happenings of Weatherfield on a fairly regular
basis of late by a Soap-obsessed partner, I marvel at the duplicity of those
who produce the iconic ITV serial.
It
is perfectly reasonable to suggest that the Soap’s should mirror everyday life
as it affects the rest of us – warts and all.
But
the producers have unashamedly taken a tragic story-line and milked it for all
its worth, not in the name of compulsive viewing, but rather simply to boost
ratings.
I
refer to Hayley Cropper having been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Yes, none
of us can avoid the inescapable fact that cancer – the most terrifying six
letter word in the English language – pervades all our lives at some point.
But
for weeks now viewers have been subjected to the unrelenting misery of Hayley
and Roy’s struggle to come to terms with her imminent passing.
Not
content with an almost daily diet of death, the script writers felt a need to
introduce an added twist to the tale by creating a second terminally ill
character whom Hayley felt a need to visit as she lay dying in a Hospice.
Just
what you need if you happen to sitting at home contemplating your own
mortality and desperately in need of
some light relief.
So,
don’t be fooled by the pay-off line that follows the credits: “If you’ve been
affected by Roy and Hayley’s story, contact the Samaritans” followed by the
national telephone number of that fine body of volunteers who have been
responsible for rescuing so many.
It’s
all about viewing figures, not lives saved – no matter how much added misery
they bring to our into our living rooms when there is already more than enough
reality rubbish filling our screens.
Mind
you, compared to the diet of poverty porn served up by programmes like “The
Scheme”, BBC’s BAFTA award-winning documentary, STV’s daily horror show “The
Night Shift” has reached new levels of mind-numbing banality.
The
station’s bosses should feel nothing but shame at subjecting insomniacs to
such utter rubbish produced for a pittance.
Having
said that, dreary voiced presenters lacking a basic grounding in grammar
talking over film clips of a helicopter flying the length and breadth of the
country to bring us views of our dear, green land, interspersed with clips from
the station’s archives dating back 30 years, might after all turn out to be far
more effective than a double dose of mogadon!
