Tom Shields

RICHARD Branson created his Virgin conglomerate with little in the way of capital and a lot of hype. Branson usually manages to include himself in the publicity. When he set up Virgin Brides, he posed in a wedding dress. It could have been worse; he did shave off his beard. It was a relatively clever photo opportunity.

In the latest TV advertisement for Virgin Trains, Branson appears fleetingly on the concourse of Glasgow Central station as a binman. For the role as binman, Branson was covered in fake tattoos and had his nice white teeth blackened. This reverse make-over (make-under?) was done presumably to make Sir Richard, captain of industry, look more like a dentally-challenged, mindlessly-tattooed common Glasgow chap.

This cameo role may have got Virgin a lot of publicity, but not a lot of it good. There have been complaints. The trade unions have taken umbrage on behalf of the working class. I have taken umbrage on behalf of us Glaswegians who still have quite a few of our own teeth. The tattooed ones can take their own umbrage.

Branson's wife is from Glasgow and may wish to take the matter up with him more directly. His first attempt to explain the inexplicable was: "I am so proud of all our Virgin Trains staff. And if dressing up in dirty clothes, having my teeth blacked out and getting covered in tattoos was what it took to prove it, I was delighted to oblige." No, I don't see the logic there either.

I wonder what George Reynolds, a legendary Scottish railways public relations man of yesteryear, would have made of it. Like British Rail, George (who was known as GR the PR for BR) is sadly no longer with us. GR the PR was nothing if not pragmatic. He would have guided Branson up the nearest railway siding and convinced the great conglomerate chief of the ill-advised nature of the tattoo and teeth routine.

I feel neither disposed nor qualified to offer Sir Richard advice. The boy has done good without my help. In 1966, I was writing articles for the Strathclyde University student newspaper and trying to inveigle my way into a job as a wage slave with the capitalist press. Branson, then aged 16, was already making cash out of publishing a national magazine called Student. He went on to found Virgin Records and, over the years, Virgin everything.

For all his commercial genius, Branson is rather unconvincing in person. I am not a fan. I would like Branson to be the first passenger on Virgin Galactic, his space travel company. Mars would be good.

Branson lacks, and it shows when he chooses to characterise a binman as an ill-kempt individual with rotten teeth, a sense of humanity. There is a dignity about the business of cleaning up after the rest of society. I could go on, but I won't, about Barcelona where the binmen and binwomen wear cool uniforms and are accorded respect. The respect translates into an attitude, held by the bin people and the populace alike, where clean streets are a matter of civic pride. It is a culture we might aspire to in Scotland.

It is a simple concept. Value the city by not dropping litter. Value the work of the bin people. I have one small piece of advice for Sir Richard. Clean up your act and use your considerable publicity skills to advance the cause of clean cities. There might even be money to be made out of launching a business called Virgin Bins.

I HAD fondly imagined that people entered politics to make a difference. The deluge of details about MPs' expenses indicates that many of our elected members are in politics to make a difference to their lifestyles. Being an MP means never having to worry about those irksome items of daily expenditure which do so tend to eat up one's disposable income.

Like food. John Prescott certainly likes food. He claimed the maximum £4800 a year for groceries. He also indented for two toilet seats in one year. We are paying for MPs' groceries. They are at the trough. Literally.

Some are at the barbecue bought at our expense, nestling by the patio heater. Among other individual purchases charged by our tribunes of the people: a chocolate Santa, a KitKat, a packet of Jaffa cakes, a packet of ginger snaps, and two tins of Cesar chicken and turkey pet food. Even their cats are at it.

With all this eating going on, it is not surprising that one Conservative MP claimed £160 a year to have his Aga serviced. If you're having the Aga done, you might as well have the mole-catcher in - as another Conservative chap did at a cost of £140 a year. Another garden expense: a £10 bag of horse manure. No wonder the shit has hit the fan.

The system even compensates for incompetence. Douglas Alexander, the bloke who fecked up the ballot papers in the last Scottish elections, discovered he was under-insured when his house went on fire. He was able to claim the difference. You couldn't make it up. And MPs don't have to make up their expenses. All of the above, and a lot more, is well within the rules. And yes, the MPs did make up the rules in the first place.

Scotland won a silver medal last week. Pamela Geddes from Bridge of Earn got silver in the awfully prestigious International Wine Challenge for her El Gordito red. Pamela now lives in Barcelona and has her own wee winery in the Catalan countryside. I have known Pamela for 10 years or so and I like to think I did my bit in winning silver for Scotland.

I lend a sympathetic ear as she tells me of the hassles of doing everything herself, from picking grapes to packing boxes. I do more than my share when it comes to tasting the output. I am always available to discuss what kind of dark chocolate goes best with La Pamelita, her trademark sparkling red wine. I selflessly bring back to Scotland many free samples of El Gordito, La Pamelita, and Rosita (her rosé) to share with Scottish restaurateurs. I thought El Gordito ("the wee fat one") might have been named after me in recognition of my unstinting support. But that honour goes to her brother Gordon. It's nice to keep things in the family.