Came the dawn and a dreadful discovery: twat boy had managed to tape over the Karen Dunbar Show AND also managed not to record SP. In the grounds of Thistle Mansions stands the family scaffold, a device useful for chastising the odd insolent scullery maid and as I write this, I look out of my window and espy Tarquin’s lifeless corpse turn slowly in a keening wind. That’ll teach him…

Anyway, Karen’s show. BBC Scotland need this don’t they? There’s not a lot coming out of Queen Margaret’s Drive that’s worth watching and The KDS proved to be a ratings hit on its first airing. This time round? What worked best were the old-fashioned wham bam one liners and the acutely observed comic observations.

Evidence of the former: guy thinks he’s found his dream girlfriend, one who loves sitting in the rubba watching footie. Trouble is she then goes pop and disappears - she actually was a dream. Evidence of the latter: Loopy old dear whose only contribution to conversations is to repeat the last thing said prefaced with "Oh, Jeesoh..." Funny and true.

What didn’t work was the more, ahem, "avant-garde" stuff. Karen’ monologue to camera, a pseudo-tourettic rant about dancing, didn’t work because it lacked the swearing necessary to cover up for the absence of jokes. And what does one say about the "cartoon" interludes? Oh Christ. Two clips, maybe a minute per clip, that felt longer. The animation reminded me of one of those things C4 puts on at 3am on a Tuesday morning because no one’s watching anyway. Karen, unfunny cartoons are an old load of art school wank. Stop it.

A really weird coda to a thing I wrote a few weeks ago about Jack Glass. The legions of JT readers out there will recall that I thought the Beeb programme about him seemed staged, the resolution of his fight with cancer too pat, as if it had been filmed after the fact. About a week after the thing was posted, I received an email of protest form one of Jack’s flock. Here in The JT office we receive our fair share of green ink emails (I’ve got a doozy from a Gael that I’m thinking of sharing one of these days), but as these things go, the one about Jack was very polite, pointing out only that the programme retailed the story as it happened. OK, so fair do's, I emailed the writer back, thanking her for the information and apologising for getting it wrong.

And then this week, Jack Glass dies. It turns out that, yes the tumour had vanished as recorded in the show, but tragically for Jack it returned with a vengeance after the show had gone out. Now, since Jack said on the show that his cancer was a personal attack mounted by Satan, does his death mean Satan has won? I only ask because I’m personally fascinated by how intensely religious people deal with the utterly capricious nature of life’s (and death’s) lottery. Is Jack’s death transmuted into a victory for God because it’s HIS will? Weird stuff, religion.

Anyway, on to happier topics.

I got a sound clip, doing the rounds, a few weeks back that you’ve got to listen to.

It’s called "Burberry", and it's 30 seconds of magic. Just long enough for the initial posh voice-over to decay into full-on Ned speak while extolling the virtue of the ubiquitous Ned Check.

I know nothing about the origins of this clip but I think, on very careful listening, that the initially plummy voice might belong to the annoyingly talented James McAvoy, recently gracing our screens in Shameless, speaking Manc.