Alan Taylor's Diary

By spooky coincidence, this dread news was revealed in the same week that Sir Michael Lyons was appointed chairman of the Beeb. Cheeringly, he said he didn't watch much television, dredging up The Sopranos, Persuasion and Life on Mars, only the last-mentioned of which was made with licence payers' dosh. He prefers radio, as does any sensible being. This makes him eminently qualified to ignore the above-mentioned report and seize the moral high-brow ground. Brainy folk will thank him while tumshies won't have a clue what's happening.

Tory independence could come early TOTAL tosh, said my dear amigo, Alphonso Cochrane, North Briton Godfather of the Torygraph. Utter bunkum, added Annabel Goldfinger, Empress of the Tartan Dodos. Both were referring to a report in the Sextator which "revealed" that David The Toff' Cameron, "the son of an Aberdonian stockbroker", is about to ditch his Tartan brethren in what has been dubbed a "velvet divorce". Quoth Alphonso: "I have to tell conspiracy theorists everywhere that it is not true."

That, then, would appear to be that. Somehow, however, one does not think so. Where exactly the idea of the divorce came from is not certain. It may, as one rag suggested, have come from the Tartan Dodos themselves. It may even have come from The Toff, who looks northwards and wonders what in the name of the wee man is going on. It may, of course, simply be the figment of the imagination of an overheated hack. Where the Dodos are concerned nothing can be ruled out.

What is certain is that as the election approaches they are in dire straits and appear to be staring oblivion in the face. That being the case, they must look to the future, which may mean ditching their Conservative and Unionist tag for one a mite more voter friendly. As my near neighbour Sir Malcolm Riff-Raff says, owning up to being a Conservative in Scotland is "something done by consenting adults in private".

What does appear to have escaped the notice of pundits and politicians alike, however, is the irony of the possibility of the Tartan Dodos achieving independence before the rest of the country. Verily, we live in the strangest of times.

EVER since I was addicted to the Jennings books I've had a sneaking admiration for public schools and, in particular, those of the boarding variety. Why, one often wonders, do they engender such hostility? Apart from anything else they keep untold numbers of unruly youngsters off the streets until they're of an age legally to buy a round. A more robust government would stop building prisons and divert the funds into boarding schools, thus, overnight, solving many of the problems of our inner cities.

Not for the first time, however, I fear I am doggy-paddling against the flow. As if Irn Broon were not foe enough, two former public school pupils have written a book biting the hand that occasionally fed them. Ben Locker and William Dorman say that it is "unthinking" to argue that public schools provide children automatically with the best start in life. In their view, many public schools are mired in snobbery and tradition. Moreover the standard of education is variable, parents use speech days for social-climbing, and bullying is rife.

Naming no names, the authors cite one school which is under police investigation over allegations that younger pupils were tied to a chair and forced to watch images on the internet of torture, murder and pornography.

What can one say, except that it was never like that in Jennings's day. Mercifully, Mr Locker and Mr Dorman have recovered from their experience in such an environment, crediting St Andrews University - which they both attended - for providing "a sort of social decompression chamber" in which they became "acclimatised to the rest of the world".

Yes, you read right. St Andrews yooni. A social decompression chamber. Halfway house to the real world. Yah! Wow!

STILL the moaners bleat about Tartan Week while hypocritically printing pics of scantily-clad doxies in their undies at the Dressed to Kilt fashion waggle. But what surely no-one can deny is that consciousness of the best wee fat nation on the planet has never been higher in New York and who knows what benefits will arrive in due course from that.

One perhaps came last week with the announcement that the splendidly-named Vartan Gregorian is to become a special adviser to the board of Culture and Sport Glasgow, the charitable company recently set up by Glasgow City Council to run its sports and leisure services. Sceptical as one is about this move, there is no denying that the appointment of Mr Gregorian is hugely significant.

In a colourful career, Mr Gregorian, who was born in Iran, has been president of Brown University and is currently President of the Carnegie Corporation of New York. In between, he was credited with rescuing from appalling neglect New York Public Library, raising tens of millions of dollars from wealthy donors such as David Rockefeller and Brooke Astor. Billionaires such as Ted Turner, Bill Gates, Walter Annenberg and George Soros turn to him for advice about to whom to give their money.

New Yorkers also have to thank Mr Gregorian for the efflorescence of Bryant Park, in the heart of Manhattan. Not so long ago it was a dump, infested with drunks and drug dealers. Ne'er-do-wells nicked the flowers and shrubs. Now it's an oasis. How come?

Mr Gregorian sent the police chief a bouquet with a note saying: "These are the last flowers that will ever be seen in Bryant Park." The cop was so tickled he assigned eight of his officers to protect the park. May he help Glesca flourish similarly.