Quite why the news editor chose me to interview Margaret Thatcher I never did discover. I suspect it was a test, or perhaps a punishment.
It was mid-1980s and the Iron Lady was at the height of her powers a world statesman, a figure of awe who provoked the strongest reactions across the emotional spectrum.
She was in Dundee to proclaim a very Thatcherite story an ailing traditional preservatives manufacturer taken over by get-up-and-go entrepreneurs churning out sweeties. One was named skullcrusher. Appropriate one might think.
I turned up well in time armed with notebook and pencil sharpened at both ends of course and some questions carefully crafted from hours of research. Proper research in those days, no Mr Google.
I was to be given 15 minutes, “no more” her minders told me.
There were a few other guidelines concerning how the interview would be conducted, including the instruction: “Under no circumstances are you to touch the blinds.”
It only then that I noticed that the whole length of the conference room into which I had been led was covered with Venetian blinds.
And there I sat, stomach churning, awaiting the arrival of the of a living legend.
Sounds of footsteps and muffled voices outside, the door flew open and there she was.
Some people look in life just as they do on the TV and some do not. She did.
And you could feel her. She had presence.
She strode into the room, trademark handbag on her arm and declared, “It’s a bit dark in here” before yanking open the blinds to reveal a small army of men with enough weapons to start a war. They were clearly startled to come face to face with The Boss. She seemed oblivious.
Then it was down to business. My turn to show her that we in the provincial Press are not fazed even by the Iron Lady.
Mrs T sat on the sofa opposite me, the two of us separated by a television set. Probably state-of-the art at the time.
Politely but firmly I asked my questions. Resolutely and never once actually looking at me, I recall she answered something completely different.
Not to be put off, I rephrased the questions. I deterred, she stuck to her script.
For about 15 minutes I suppose I put a series of questions and she gave me a series of lines which had nothing to do with the questions.
As far as interviews went, it was a disaster.
And I’ve never been able to look a skullcrusher in the face since.