Wark o’clock I hear you say?
So I once sat next to Kirsty Wark on the underground. She got on at Buchanan Street, sat next to me and got off at Hillhead. I’m guessing that in those days the BBC was still based there so she was just going to work.
It was one of those weird ones where everyone knows it’s Kirsty Wark and this kind of murmur goes round the carriage. Almost like a slightly inaudible echo of ‘Oh my god, it’s Kirsty Wark’.
But no-one said anything. Nae banter. No ‘alright Kirsty, hen, you given that Paxman a seein too’. No, none of that.
Everyone just looked at the adverts or at the opposing set of feet. Not Kirsty Wark’s feet obviously, that would just be creepy.
To be fair, it was years ago, so I am not sure she was quite as up herself as she is these days. But back in those days, the old clockwork orange was good enough for her so good on ya I say. Bet you wouldn’t see that Gordon Brewer slumming it down Shields Road now would you!
Davy
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