It was inevitable really, and it's all little Johnny Baird's fault.
Although, bearing in mind that he was a second-generation non-smoking, teetotalling son of a Scottish Presbyterian minister, always tinkering with gadgets and boring the shit out of everyone else by inventing stuff, instead of spending his time like any other normal young Helensburgh male (i.e. supporting Helensburgh FC and getting pissed at the Ashton Pub), he was, like all of us, merely a victim of his genes and his upbringing.
It was his dour judgemental father who should bear the opprobrium.
Nevertheless, there is a direct connection between this little Argyle and Bute overachiever and our present predicament:
- No Reverend Baird, no wee Johnny.
- No wee Johnny, no television.
- No television, no Fox News.
- No Fox News, No President Trump.
Quod Erat Demonstrandum
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