"We've been running the show for nearly six months now," he begins. "In that time, Harry and I have made the move from spending two hours talking about the tunes we have just played and what party he is crashing that weekend towards something that vaguely mirrors the dynamic hustle of Glasgow. And yet..." He trails off into silence.
"It's not enough?"
"I did this list of all of our guests a few weeks ago. That was the first time I realised what we were doing. I mean, I have always had this vision: an online radio show that brought together the arts communities of the West Coast, that bickered with Pop Goes The Revolution about South West identity, matched an efficient technology hipster against a balding performance critic and leapt between local bands and contemporary classical music. But now... there is something, just at the edge of my sight, a looming presence."
"Don't the pills help with that?"
"It is all very well to address my anxiety through medication. It's Glasgow that is the problem. It's the second biggest centre of the arts in the UK, after London, and I can't cover it all. This week, we go visual art through the Virginia Gallery - "
"An exhibition of Painted Ladies? How very Vile Arts."
"Then Flatrate are actually doing what I wish more theatre groups would do: getting their work into the pubs. We go all National with Dunsinane, over to Edinburgh for some Mutationpress action with Mark Harding. As for music, I only heard of Andrea Marini on Twitter this week, and I have a new guest for the show."
"That might say more about your knowledge than anything else. I take it you have heard of The North American War?"
"I am their friends on MySpace."
"But what do you really want to do?"
"I want to tell the world about Glasgow."
"And get sponsorship for your hare-brained schemes, no doubt. Anyway," said the doctor, removing his rubber gloves. "You can pull your trousers up now and I'll see you next month."
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