Iain Maciver writes …

SEEING Esther Rantzen on I’m a Celebrity displaying that mumsy, toothy charm brought back memories of when I sent her a mis-shaped carrot that looked like a wee fat man with three legs and green hair.

Mother had got this fascinating vegetable from Donnie Murray’s mobile shop. Or was it from Domhnall Norrie’s van? It was really unusual. You didn’t get so many of them to the pound, that’s for sure.

I never saw it on the box, though. Cyril Fletcher probably ate it.

I then met La Rantzen at a function in Glasgow some years later. We were at a broadcasting shindig in the Albany Hotel. As things got going, the fire alarm went off.

Having gallantly checked that all women and children were out, yeah right, some of us were going to whizz down in the lift. But we were ordered out of it by an earnest Ms Rantzen warning us we could be stuck if the hotel was going up in smoke.

Esther in the jungle

So, in our party frocks and bow ties, me and several colleagues from Radio nan Gaidheal ended up at the foot of a fire escape in Bothwell Street freezing our bits off with Esther and a shivering Scotsman who later turned into Victor Meldrew.

We recognised Richard Wilson from the hospital sitcom Only When I Laugh. He wasn’t on the laughing gas that night. I remember him continuing to moan about the cold, continuing to moan about the time they were taking to let us back in and continuing to moan that he should have been somewhere else. It was like being with someone in the Free Church (Continuing).

So it was no surprise to us that he got the part three years later as the cantankerous grump in One Foot In The Grave.

But dear Esther was fantastic. I sound like someone who spent a fortnight in the Australian jungle with her but she really was. She quickly spotted that my wee red dickie was at a funny angle and she quickly adjusted it. It wasn’t long until she had lovingly restored it round my neck. Lovely woman. Cold hands, though.

We soon won’t have to look to the Australian jungle to see real live celebrities. A Gaelic soap is planned for South Uist. The TV crews arrive soon and the rest of us won’t get a bed for the night for love nor money. OK, well, maybe for love but that depends who you know down there.

Baile Mhurain, the village of the marram grass, is the snazzy working title that just rolls off the tongue. Might have to change that. At the first inevitable downpour, the tabloids will have that as Bally View Rain.

Having been the barman in the previous Gaelic soap Machair, currently shown at all sorts of funny times on BBC Alba, I can now reveal closely-guarded showbiz secrets to keep the Uist hopefuls right. Being an extra on a soap is the best job of all. Always apply for that even if you have a headful of Gaelic and have graduated from the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama.

Most of the action happens in the pub, you see. So you will just be standing there, in the Creagorry or the Pollochar or wherever sipping beer and whisky. Then you do it again, but with bigger sips, for the next take. These so-called professional actors are always rubbish so there will be loads of takes. And free drinks for you to knock back with each one.

If anyone asks, you are supposed to say it is just cold tea and shandy.

Nonsense. You can’t get that dramatic sharp intake of breath after downing a large PG Tips. And shandy just makes everyone burp and break wind.

Just imagine a dashing Gaelic actor like, say, David Walker declaring his love to some floozy in the corner of the public bar of the Dark Island Hotel.

He nibbles her ear and whispers: “Oh, Margaret Joan, tha gaol agam ort.” Then PARRRP.

It really is like going to the pub in real life – but much better. The hooch is gratis. So you have to do your duty, get legless and take the money. It’s a tough job but . . .

Being a journalist was like that years ago. If you wrote six paragraphs, the news editor would stand his hand all through lunch. Why are newspapers selling less and hardly anyone watching TV news? Because they are now written by people who are completely sober and utterly sensible, that’s why.

They are so boring. They don’t exaggerate or make it up as they go along. So the news is no longer interesting like when they said people landed on the moon. Aye, that was a good one right enough.