On the shoulders of giants – and Jeanette Krankie

Finally the day is upon me. After months of canvassing – and cooking dishes for the voters – the election for the Rectorship of Glasgow University takes place tomorrow and Tuesday.

I have to keep pinching myself to think that I might, with the help of the talented and good-looking students of Glasgow University, be in the same august company as the likes of Greg Hemphill, Richard Wilson and Jeanette Krankie. By Thursday, Glasgow University will have a new Rector. It has been a massive honour to be even considered for such high office at the university that taught me so much about myself and my life.

Of course, university is about more than education. There is a 360-degree life experience waiting to be had. As Rector I will hope to facilitate the entire learning process. To this end I have devised a list of pledges, printed on an easy-to-carry, credit-card sized pledge carrier. I promise the following:

1 To improve the food offered on campus to ensure fewer peelywally students.

2 To encourage more skin care and moisturising to cure the facial blemishes that are a by-product of bad food.

3 To offer free disco dance lessons for all new undergraduates. University is about much more than simple learning. Dancing is the dual carriageway to happiness.

4 To encourage smarter dressing on campus. A student who dresses well, learns well and dances well. Firstly, I would ban all jeans that are so long that they are trodden on when walking. (I might even suggest all jeans be sold with a pair of scissors to enable the successful establishment of a neat hemline.) I would also seek to ban all T-shirts that carried a message more articulate and urbane than the wearer. If you are unable to communicate then you should not rely on your clothing to do it for you. And finally, I would advocate turbans for all students, regardless of their religion.

5 I have yet to find a fifth pledge.

6 I pledge to have only four pledges.

Any adventure as unique as this throws up unique thoughts. Education has been a passion of mine all my life: the Scots have always been a highly educated nation and the Indian side of my heritage places massive importance on learning – hence our above-average contribution to the worlds of medicine, pharmacy and accountancy.

Combine this with the steadfast work of inspirational teachers such as Ronnie Renton, who, as well as teaching me English, made me appreciate that education was much more than what you learnt in a classroom, and one soon realises the crucial role education can play in someone's life.

I would not be who I am today without the Scottish education system, so much so that when looking for nursery schools for my kids in London, we opted for the one that used components of the Scottish syllabus.

Believing education is so vital, I find it curious that we still allow it to suffer so much political interference and manipulation. Isn't it about time that we, as some in the SNP suggest, devolve education out of the hands of transient politicians and into the warming embrace of educationalists? Is that a no-brainer? The drip-drip-drip of politicisation of our schools and institutes of further education has led to disillusioned teaching staff and a complete and utter lack of focus. Why shouldn't education be run and directed by those who know most about it?

This week I am locked in mortal rectorial combat with Charlie 'Liberal Democrat' Kennedy, Aamer 'Alleged Contempt of Court' Anwar and some guy whose surname is Harvie. I wish my opponents the very best of luck in the contest and assure them of my support should any of them be more successful than me. Obviously I will sulk and moan and call for a recount, but eventually I'll accept it.

I do, however, really, really want to win. Because I really, really want to be the Rector of my old university.

Dance if you're glad to be Gordon

I'm going to a Scottish Country Dancing event this evening. That in and of itself may be unremarkable, but the distinguishing factor of this evening's event is that it is frequented by a load of English folk in north London and they're homosexuals. And guess what the group call themselves? Yes, of course: The Gay Gordons.

Now I've got my finger on the culinary pulse

I'm currently enjoying a new food fad. Lentils. Now, for many of you there is no great history with a lentil. Its occasional appearance in a soup with some bacon was perhaps the closest you got to one of our pulsey friends. Growing up in a Punjabi house, rarely a day went by without the inevitable lentil moment, mostly in the form of daal. We also enjoyed them dried and salted as a savoury snack with tea or drinks. Lentils were a constant in a childhood of continual change.

And having harboured a sense of ambivalence about them all these years, I now found myself enjoying a new-found blossoming with them, particularly those of the puy variety. A good friend of mine enjoys them with poached cod; my neighbour told of an evening of lamb chops and the aforementioned puy; and I myself conjured a mussel and trout assemblage with these brown bullets of taste delight.

It would appear I am becoming a lentil man. It'll be Birkenstocks and dungarees soon.

Floored by baby logic

The following conversation took place between me and my 39-year-old single female friend.

Me "So, you going to have a baby?"

Her "That's the plan."

Me "When?"

Her "It's not that simple…"

Me "No?"

Her "Well, I'm only gonna have a baby if I don't meet anyone special."

Me "You mean a man?"

Her "Yeah. And if I do meet someone special I probably won't have a baby."

(I look quizzical]

Her "There is a logic to that. If you meet a nice man and want to keep him, the last thing you want to do is start talking to him about babies."