A GLASGOW city centre taxi rank: A hooded figure jumps into the back of the cab, the driver looks in the mirror and declares; “You can get yourself to Gotham for a start!”

“What’s up driver? I’ve just arrived in Scadland and you want me to go back home?”

“Too right, Batman. This week, some rocket wearing a Spider-Man outfit robbed an old age pensioner in Scotstounhill. How do I know you’re no’ robbin’?”

“Robin’s back in Gotham, driver. Probably cruising for chicks in the Batmobile as we speak. And I don’t know about this Spider-Man tale. (Thinks) He was always a bit creepy, if you ask me. Look, can you just take me to my destination?”

“Ok, Batman, where to? Possil, where a’ the major the crime families live. Or Ballieston, to Arthur Thompson’s patch?”

“No, I want to go to the West End.”

“Eh? What crime can you sort out there? That somebody’s stolen an idea for a River City storyline? The only murder scene is Oran Mor, when audiences have to endure a play by the likes of Bristol Theatre Company.”

“That’s not why I’m going driver.”

“Shug, Batman. Call me Shug.”

“Shrug? Is that a name in Scotland?”

“Naw, Shug. Shug! Anyways, it disnae matter, Batman. What matters is we’ve got a city here tearing the erse out of itself with stabbings and muggins’ and drug gangs and you’re headed for the leafy West End? Have you lost it?”

Batman ponders.

“What is it, Batman? Post-traumatic stress disorder? Too many bangs on the batheid?”

“Maybe. You know it’s hard being the Batman these days. I get so much bad press.”

“Ah get what you’re saying. You’re a boot in the Batbaws to a post-modern society which would prefer rehabilitation and cognitive awareness to apprehension and a right doin’ at the hands of a psychotic vigilante. No disrespect, Batman.”

Batman sighs: “None taken, Shrug. But what’s the world come to when a man can’t dress up in tights and a shiney cape and run around town with a young man at his side? Anyway. That’s why I’m here.”

“Not to batter neds?”

“No, whatever they are. I’m here for the art. Comic book artist Frank Quitely has an exhibition on at (looks at piece of paper) Kelvingrove, a real homage to superheroes.”

“And you want to be reminded of better times?”

“That’s it. I’d love to help Scadland out with its crime, but these guys are too wild.”

We hear a loud explosion. “Holy Jihadist, Shrug. What’s that?”

“Pothole, Batman. Council Tax is set skiteing skywards and chassis are being wrecked. That’s criminal. Anyhow, let’s head for the petrol station where the drug gang shooting took place. You’ll soon get into the swing of things.”

“Can’t do it, Shrug. I need to bask in the limelight once again. Be reminded of what it was once like to be the people’s hero, to be revered for my courage in the face of evil. It’s Comic Book land for me. (Sounding braver). I hear that Oor Wullie’s a bit of a tearaway. Maybe a Batslap could sort him out.”