Sandra Dick: Castle concert was car crash viewing

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Is it over yet? Can I come out from behind the sofa now? Has the haar that engulfed the BBC’s Commonwealth Live at Edinburgh Castle concert – so dire that the star of the show, the Castle herself, opted to hide behind a white shroud rather than be associated with it – finally lifted, so we can pretend it didn’t happen?

Oh, I’m sure some thoroughly enjoyed that miserable bloke from Beautiful South’s tuneless nasal whine and his general “Wish I wasn’t here, I hate you all” demeanour.

As for the toe-curling Happy Birthday dirge and cheapskate supermarket cake offered up to some guy from Il Divo, Welsh presenter Alex Jones being called a stroppy cow and Smokey Robinson’s brave if unusual decision to arrive wearing a plastic mask, it was one car crash to another.

Incidentally, does anyone out there have any idea at all what dear Ronnie Corbett was on about?

This, in case you were fortunate enough to miss it, was the much heralded Live at Edinburgh Castle concert, a “glittering array of international music acts” according to the BBC, to kickstart the Commonwealth Games coverage.

Given the Commonwealth theme, some probably tuned in thinking it might feature a flavour of that vibrant and colourful club. I’m not sure many were thinking “Oh, it’s ages since I saw Boy George, I wonder if he’s finished his 15 months sentence for falsely imprisoning a male escort, handcuffing him and hitting him with a chain.”

As for “glittering array” of stars, we got a weird collection that felt like whoever the Beeb could get cheaply enough or who were already under contract from having appeared on The Voice, forcing them – possibly against their will – to be there.

“Hilarious” Bill Bailey honked some horns – the “parp parp” sound summed up the evening well – and the BBC blew the budget and hired their own radio presenter as the big name special guest to accept the baton on Glasgow’s behalf, even though Fred MacAulay is from Perth and hardly famous here, never mind internationally. Then, to prove we were in Scotland where we all wear kilts, a pipe band appeared to played the obligatory Proclaimers song without The Proclaimers.

There may have been fireworks, but by that time I was too busy rummaging down the sofa in search of the remote control to care.

Rarely could Edinburgh folk have been more grateful for a thick covering of mist than on Saturday night. For with the Castle’s glorious face covered and other than dear old Ronnie, not a local personality to be seen, surely this time, no-one can possibly blame us.