It’s not a fake by the way, it’s genuinely the man himself. Check out that unmistakable light tenor voice trilling its way through about a dozen verses of the famous ditty much loved by rugby players and other assorted dirty-minded topers.

Some of the verses are merely whimsical, a few are on the mildly coarse side but a couple are so downright filthy, you’re momentarily shocked to hear Ken singing them. 

In Colorado, as a matter of fact, more people backed easy access to the weed than voted for either of the two candidates, a situation which obviously says something quite profound about politics.  (I’m not sure exactly what, but hopefully it’ll come to me when I’m a bit less baked.)

And just imagine how difficult it is to describe Jimmy Savile to people who’ve never ever heard of him.

'Well he was this sort of old, sleazy, weird guy with peroxide hair - wore tracksuits and loads of bling.  Spoke a bizarre nonsensical jargon – asitappens, owsabout.  Liked to talk about how much work he did for charity and generally came across as an arrogant, creepy, self-promotion merchant.  Very popular, he was.  Never off the telly.'

Younger fans – assuming there are some – might find it hard to believe, but such was not always the case.  Admittedly, Scotland has never actually won any tournament of significance, but we did, once upon quite a long time ago, used to have some decent players who were capable of, if not exactly making us proud, then at least showing us how to enjoy oorsels.

One of the rounds of Superscot that Big Jane ruled with her characteristic velvet gloved/iron fist was called "Born Scot or Not", featuring a number of well-known Jocks who might - or then again might not - have actually been born there.

Since the show's contestants were usually studious types – I seem to remember a lot of retired headmasters and librarians – obviously plastic Scots such as Rod Stewart didn’t figure here.

"Pain", he said, "is temporary. Quitting lasts forever". 

The first time I read it, I remember being quite taken with the notion that you can conquer physical encumbrance by focussing on your inner mental strengths.  Hmm, I thought, that’s right on the money, I might give that a go. 

Tell the truth, I was really quite enthusiastic about it; fired-up you might say, inspired almost. Drugs, eh?  But maybe I wasn't the only one.

I almost never went to church, abandoned Sunday school at the earliest opportunity (School?  On a Sunday?) and joined that uber-Presbyterian symbol of God bothering rectitude, The Boys Brigade, solely for the purposes of playing in the Saturday morning football team.

The Church of Scotland meant hee-haw to me, but the part of my life that was definitely spiritual, certainly in terms of its blind faith and obedient devotion, was a categorical and apparently non-negotiable affiliation to Glasgow Rangers FC.

Her name, according to the tag pegged to her overalls told us shoppers that her name was - I kid you not - Ebony.

Now, I’m not sure what the her parents were thinking of – and I didn’t really know Ebony well enough to ask her, but it just shows how, through no fault of our own, you can end up with a name that clearly doesn’t suit you.