THE list of those elected rectors of the University of Glasgow is an illustrious one, the kind of roll call that should be accompanied by trumpets proclaiming and choirs divine. Philosopher kings and prime ministers, warriors in words and deeds, individuals who left more than a footprint in time’s sands.

Then there is this year, when the nominees include a balloon animal. It could be a giraffe. Maybe a dachshund. It is always hard to tell. Either way, one gust of wind and it’s away with the chip wrappers.

Apologies. Here we go again, we mainstream media fake news monkeys getting it all wrong. To be precise, the list of nominees to be rector includes Milo Yiannopoulos, a young man with all the political heft of a balloon animal.

Mr Yiannopoulos is the right-wing bad boy who used to stir up trouble on the Breitbart news site by writing articles with such headlines as “Would you rather your child had feminism or cancer?” He led the trolling of a black actor on Twitter, and was banned as a result, and he had a megabucks book deal until he mused that older men could help young boys “discover who they are” by having relationships with them.

In a sane universe, Mr Yiannopoulos would have slunk away to do some serious growing up. Alas, no. Courtesy of a gaggle of Glasgow University students who put his name forward, the 32-year-old is on the list of those standing in the election for rector later this month. Thousands of other students are outraged and want him off the ballot. There are fears of riots if he turns up to campaign. The row has been reported around the world, leading some to wonder how a student body with the good sense to elect Edmund Burke and Adam Smith as their representatives could possibly find itself the latest victim of the publicity vampire that is Mr Yiannopoulos.

Should the former Breitbart brat be banished from the ballot? Certainly not. Doing so might induce a warm glow of satisfaction in liberal breasts, but it only feeds his sense of self-importance. Turning off his microphone amplifies his obnoxious views by lending them a power they do not deserve. He wants to pose as the big bad wolf capable of blowing your minds and your house down, and a ban plays right into his hands.

Still not convinced? Then try this argument: you are a university in Glasgow, for heaven’s sake. This is the city of Jimmy Reid and Mary Barbour, of shipyard work-ins and rent strikes. Where people put a traffic cone on the head of some high heid yin’s statue and a brolly in the hands of another. A place where an airport baggage handler helps foil a bomb attack on holidaymakers and sends a postcard to the world saying: “This is Glasgow; we’ll set about ye.” A city where countless generations have endured real blights such as obscene poverty and sectarianism. And you lot are afraid of a kid called Milo who went to a boys grammar school in Kent? A self-dubbed “thinker” who twice failed to hack it at university? Have a word with yourselves.

Let Mr Y-oh-Y come to Glasgow. Like Michelle Obama says, when they go low, you go high. Regardless of his lack of respect for others, listen to his arguments, then with infinite politeness rip them apart. And never forget to laugh. Mr Yiannopoulos might call himself “the most fabulous super-villain on the internet”, but even The Joker would wilt in the face of a Glasgow slagging.

Smiley happy people

MUCH excitement among John le Carre fans on learning the master spy novelist has a new book out in September. Better still, A Legacy of Spies features the return of George Smiley, one of the great characters of modern literature.

It is a rum time for the Circus leader to be making a comeback. His is the old school world of tradecraft such as dead letter drops and honey traps, whereas today’s intelligence agencies deal in drones, computer worms, and other spy tech.

As a WikiLeaks dump of CIA files showed this week, some of that tech can be very high spec indeed. In one case, the agency developed a way of turning a television into a listening device.

While the timeless style of le Carre needs no gimmicks, younger writers might care to incorporate such new-fangled developments into their plots. I can see it now. “Theresa had just finished a sneaky watch of Cash in the Attic, but fortunately for Donald and Vladimir listening in Moscow, she had left the television on standby as Nicola entered the room. ‘About those nukes we’ve just sold to China’ said the First Minister …”

Still on loose lips, Alex Salmond’s favourite BBC man, Nick Robinson, has denied having his very own Jim Naughtie/Jeremy Hunt moment. In an item on the Today programme on the Budget, not-so-red Robbo was reaching for the phrase “Spreadsheet Phil” to describe the Chancellor, Philip Hammond. Close, but no cigar. Still, given the stuff Tory MPs are spreading in Mr Hammond’s direction after his National Insurance hike, maybe Robinson was right first time.

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I SHOULD not. I must not. But how to get through the weekend without surrendering to the habit?

The habit in question here being dogs. As every addict knows, Crufts weekend is peak danger time for those only ever a paw away from slipping back into bad old ways.

See, I used to have it bad, man. (Cue soundtrack of Venus in Furs, writer adopting a thousand-yard stare and flashing back to a patrol boat cruising up a river in ’Nam, or the Clyde if the budget won’t stretch.)

It was a double dependency, twice the heartache when things inevitably ended in tears. I vowed to get clean; clear the house of the doggy paraphernalia: the half-chewed bones, the squeaky toys, the poo bags. Shun the old dog-walking crowd urging me to get back on the wet nose candy pronto. But it is hard, chief, and Crufts makes it worse.

The sight of the gundog section in particular will bring back memories of my own Labs, dogs so spectacularly daft you would not let them near a butter knife never mind a gun, but joy, pure joy, on eight furry legs.

And so I will turn away from Crufts with Clare “Two Tails” Balding drooling over charismatic Spaniels and handsome Dandie Dinmont terriers, and find somewhere else to rest my dry-eyed gaze until the Best in Show winner is announced tomorrow evening.

I hear the rehoming section of the Dogs Trust website is worth a gander …