Glenrothes: the dawn of a new, ginger, era!

"I dreamt of a day when a man would not be judged by the colour of his skin, but by the gingerness of his hair. And the specs as well, obviously.

A day, when a bloke who's clearly channelling the spirit of Rod Hull, could walk down Main Street, Glenrothes without local children shouting "Haw, speccy! Whaur's Emu?"

A day, when a man would not be castigated because he came first in the 1970 Fife finals of the "Fuck me, you're a dead ringer for Charlie Drake!" competition, or was only allowed to do Simply Red songs at the pub karaoke night.

This day has proved that even gingers can aspire to the highest offices in the land, or at least become an MP, which is almost as good.

Friends, will you now join me in singing some old gospelly spiritual thing that you only know the first couple of lines from? And remember, its one , two, three and clap, not one, clap, two and three."