John Gibson: A makeover for Royal Scots Club

Published on Monday 6 September 2010 09:51

THE Royal Scots War Memorial Club in Abercromby Place, with us in the New Town since 1921, must be wondering what the hell's going on, it's being knocked around like it's a war zone.

Such is the ongoing transformation. Truly traumatic. And it's costing a million. Club manager Adrian Hayes and chairman of the trustees Brian Adair took me on a hard-hat tour inspection of the premises over four storeys. Work began last November and should be complete by this November. The 2000 members can't wait, although it's still functioning daily.

Plans include a Princess Royal Suite, protocol permitting. Anne is the club's patron. Wouldn't it be just dandy if she graced the opening ceremony?

By the way, there's a brass plaque warning: any cycles left against these railings will be removed. Terry Waite should be aware.

Last drops

There are, alas, far too many actors who know no shame. I'd start with Russ Abbot and Last of the Summer Wine (the 295th and final instalment was screened a week yesterday). To the bitter, utterly banal end he walked away with the Bad Acting Award. Mind, they were all bad in a show that insulted the intelligence of even the below-average viewer.

Idiotic script. Altogether, a gross embarrassment. To everybody involved . . . go, and don't ever sully our screens again.

Glad I've got this out of my system. I wasn't TV critic for this paper a couple of decades for nothing. I could murder a flagon of that summer wine right now, by the way.

Ramblings

Never did like the look of Simon Cowell. From the moment I set eyes on him. Same to be said about Beckham, and that was before I ever heard him utter an incoherent word. You might say the same of your scribbler if you can be at all bothered.

Afterwords . .

. . . Some things some football fans who are old enough will never forget about Wallace Mercer, saying: "Those of us in football get rather pompous about our self-importance."