Back in the glory, Tory days, Margaret Thatcher rubbed shoulders with megastars such as Kenny Everett and Jim Davidson at party jamborees. Even John Major had the support of the Spice Girls. Then along came new Labour and Tony Blair eagerly pressed the flesh of everybody who was cool in Britain, from Noel Gallagher to Vivienne Westwood. These are tough acts to follow, but never let it be said that Scottish Labour hasn’t produced some awesome celebrity clout to endorse its campaign in Glasgow East. So what if Alex Salmond regularly calls on Sir Sean Connery to add lustre to the SNP’s reputation? Labour candidate Margaret Curran has got A Bloke Off Taggart.

He is John Michie, who plays Detective Inspector Robbie Ross. Given the amount of publicity given to Michie’s willingness to praise the party and accompany Curran on canvassing jaunts, it appears that Scottish Labour genuinely think this will impress us.

I have yet to read an exit poll where the reasons for voting include “Guided by the opinion of favourite actor”. Has there ever been any evidence that the political leanings of celebrities has made anybody think twice about the way they vote?

It’s quite an insult to the people of Glasgow East to imply that a visit from a bloke off the telly might sway their principles, yet political parties can never resist parading their celebrity conquests, the implication being that we should be proud to vote the way the cast of River City — or Balamory — tell us to.

It’s possible some Glasgow East voters are waiting to see which way the Krankies will go. Hopefully, though, any person with an IQ low enough to follow the advice of someone off the telly will search the ballot paper in vain for the Robbie Ross party, then give up and go home.

Yes, it was terrible behaviour. Yes, it was thoughtless and irresponsible.

Yes, it was unforgivable and they should never, never do it again. So why do I feel such sympathy for the two sailors from Faroe who got into trouble for not answering their ship’s radio and mobile phones?

The men were experienced seafarers, and the Faroese authorities knew they were fine, but when they were slightly late arriving in Shetland, some of their friends panicked and alerted the Shetland coastguard. Because the crew weren’t answering and — shock, horror — one hadn’t spoken to his wife for two whole days, a five-hour sea search ensued and a Nimrod and a helicopter were scrambled. Eventually, the men turned up at Scalloway without a care in the world — until they met the Shetland coastguard, I suppose.

I have no idea why the men behaved like this, but if it were me, I’d have been trying to achieve the apparently impossible in this day and age — some peace. If they were simply taking their time and enjoying the voyage, I don’t blame them for taking time out to appreciate the sound of the waves, the call of the seabirds, without some radio bleeping, or people ringing up to say “Is everything all right?” To a landlubber, it’s the equivalent of popping out and returning to find the police at your door, yelling: “We’ve been calling and calling! What is the matter with you?”

As someone who switches off their phone as often as possible, I can understand the attraction of being blissfully uncontactable. In a world where everybody has a mobile, a BlackBerry or a laptop, and every mountain top seems to be wi-fi enabled, I’d love to go where nobody could bother me.

There are so few places where you can get away from people these days. I bet those sailors were sick and tired of their so-called friends calling up to ask exactly what time they were arriving, or their wives wanting to know if they were wearing their thermals.

So next time perhaps they can avoid a repeat performance by leaving this message on their mobiles: “Hello. If that’s search and rescue, don’t worry, we’re fine. If you’re anybody else, LEAVE US ALONE!”

It’s no secret that Gordon Brown’s Scots accent has been on the decline for some time, but it hit a new low on the news last week, when I distinctly heard him say, “Wha’ I wan’ to see . . .”

Unfortunately, this wasn’t “Wha’ ” in the manner of “Scots Wha Hae”, but a failed attempt to say “what”. It was a perfect example of a glottal stop, that despised but essential constituent of Estuary English, used most famously by Tony Blair.

Currently, Gordon’s sole selling point is that he isn’t Tony. So why, oh why, is he trying to sound like him?

Poor Amy Macdonald. She writes a perfectly fair song about the pretentious self-absorption of footballers’ wives and now, because she’s fallen in love and got engaged to a footballer, people have been calling her a hypocrite.

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