JOHN MacKay’s incredulity couldn’t be more pronounced had he just been told Ian Blackford were a practising warlock. Or Kirsty Wark worked part-time as an Avon lady.

The reason? He’s been reminded that in our last interview seven years ago he made the statement ‘I don’t share Paxman’s view that politicians are liars.’ “Did I actually say that?” he says, smiling, in exasperated voice. You certainly did, John. Can we assume you’ve revised you’re thinking, given the world knows politics to be heavily populated by Pinocchios? “I think it’s fair to say I have. A lot was certainly made of the Brexit bus, and there were claims on the other side as well.”

The chat has been arranged to reflect MacKay’s 25 years on STV screens. But it’s also an opportunity to work out why he’s achieved longevity in an industry in which men over the age of 12 are under serious threat. Here’s one clue; he watches himself on screen; but not in a Dorian Gray way at all. “I watch and learn from others. And every now and then I’ll look at myself. I look to see what I could have done better.”

Yet, while the 54 year-old will often check out the opposition he’s never been a copycat. He points out he has a “quite deliberate style” and he’s never been one to emulate throat-biters such as Paxman, Humphrys or Burley. “I’m not always sure the combative style gets a lot,” he argues (softly). It’s not that I don’t like Humphreys, I just feel the people who are trying to be Humphreys or a Paxman tend not to do it as well.”

MacKay believes in listening to the argument. But politics encourages those with PhDs in obfuscation, John? You have to choke a straight answer out of them? “Different styles have their places and the Scotland Tonight format does allow for questions to be asked.”

McKay admits it took some time to form his own style. Perhaps because he never saw himself as a broadcast journalist at all. Growing up in Hillington in Glasgow’s south side, (his father an aero engineer) MacKay’s plan on leaving Glasgow University was to work for the Evening Times and then the Herald. He made inquisitive forays into the electronic media however, such as Radio Clyde, where he was told by then boss Alex Dickson he would never make it as a broadcaster. Ha.

In 1987, MacKay applied for a trainee job with the BBC (driven by curiosity more than expectation) and was successful. Later on he spoke of being held back on the career track by his chromosome count. Does he feel the present-day climate of positive discrimination to be a positive ? “I believe in merit, and equal opportunity,” he says in emphatic voice. “I can understand why quotas are there but I’m not convinced they always work; you may get people employed who are the not the best person for the job. And if they are you will always get those who say the person got the job because a box was being ticked.”

He points out achieving balance can be easy to suggest – and hard to implement. “We try for a 50-50 men-women balance plan on our Scotland Tonight guests, but recently we asked 15 women to come on and talk about the Supreme Court ruling and not one of them would appear.”

Are women less likely to want to appear on television? “I can only talk about the experience on the programme – I’m making no judgement on it – but if you go to a woman late in the day and say can you come on the programme live at 10.30, more often than not they will have a domestic issue with that, which men will rarely throw up. Secondly, women very often will not come on and talk about a subject unless it’s their speciality. Guys will say ‘Yes, I’ll do it!’ And then do their research.” He adds in slightly frustrated voice; “What we’re saying is our intention is there, but it’s a challenge.”

It seems the father-of-two is riddled with common sense but also the imagination that has produced three novels and a hopeful film adaptation. He’s such an assured pair of hands, and when you ask him to recall his worst mistake it’s so trivial it’s not worth mentioning.

But let’s explore wider thoughts; how much does he hate the toilet wall that is Twitter? “I’ve got a strange relationship with social media. I think it is a good journalistic tool.” He adds, not surprisingly at all; “But I quite deliberately don’t express opinion.” Would part of him like to be a little Piers Morgan-provocative? “Not Piers,” he says with a smile he felt the comparison to be egregious, “but I have to be neutral although I’d like to be a little more provocative.” Does this mean he thinks BBC presenter Naga Munchetty was wrong to label Donald Trump a racist? “Well, she was sort of drawn into giving an opinion, but as soon as you (a news presenter) offers an opinion people can then make assumptions. And if you start expressing a view, where do you stop and what can you talk about?”

Success for the father-of-two is down to having large dollops of common sense and an imagination that has produced three novels and a hopeful film adaptation. He’s also an assured pair of hands, and when you ask him to recall his worst mistake it’s so trivial it’s not worth mentioning.

But let’s explore wider thoughts; how much does he hate the toilet wall that is Twitter? “I’ve got a strange relationship with social media. (Not so strange; he has 40,000-plus followers.) I think it is a good journalistic tool.” He adds, not surprisingly, “But I quite deliberately don’t express opinion.” Would part of him like to be a little Piers Morgan-provocative? “Not Piers,” he says with a smile which suggests the comparison to be egregious, “I have to be neutral although I’d like to be a little more provocative.”

Does this mean he thinks BBC presenter Naga Munchetty was wrong to label Donald Trump a racist? “Well, she was sort of drawn into giving an opinion, but as soon as you (a news presenter) offers an opinion people can then make assumptions. And if you start expressing a view, where do you stop – and what can you talk about?”

His Twitter handle (MacKay has around 40,000 followers) is Cronkyte On the Clyde, a reference to the legendary American broadcaster. “It came from a book reviewer,” he says, dispelling any thoughts of vaingloriousness immediately. “But I love it.” You point out he has a powerful similarity with Walter Cronkyte and his eyebrows lift. “What’s that?” Well, Cronkyte was also a keen thespian, with a place in his heart for taking to the amateur theatre stage. Given MacKay’s leanings to thespianism in the past, surely the performer still lurks within? “No, I went into school plays to meet girls,” he says, grinning. “I was much more into football.” And we won’t even ask who he supports.

What’s been learned about John MacKay? He loves human interest interviews more than the political (such as Graeme Obree on depression) and he doesn’t love Love Island. His success is down to a viewer recognition that he’s a straight-down-the-middle guy, who loves his family, football and his life. And he can laugh at himself.”Every day in life I get someone shouting out from a white van (loud deep, Spartacus voice) ‘I’m John Mackay!’ and I smile because it means they’re watching the programme.”

And perhaps the fact he never sought TV popularity has been a factor in achieving just that.