Remember Bridget, focus on the downtrodden, the unemployed and the disadvantaged. The good councillor now lives in the leafy suburbs, is chairman of five quangos and drives a Merc, but hasn't forgotten his roots. Right.
I give a performance of Oscar-winning proportions. Half-time arrives. I reckon I have two wins and a score draw. My early experiences in the drama club at school and college were coming in handy.
Next was Councillor Robertson, ex-colonel-in-chief of the local regiment, Lord Lieutenant and owner of half the county. From Clydeside to Deeside in one easy move: sensible shoes, tweed skirt, WI brooch and true-blue scarf, all topped off with a Robertson tartan shawl. Was this OTT? Who cares.
What a coincidence. My dad was in that regiment, too. I used to go on my holidays to Banchory. The nice old guy asked if I thought a woman could do this job. Could I drive? Did I have a vote? How many children did I have? I told him I thought Maggie T had been inspirational. Did I hear a cock crow in the background? I'm not sure if the good clan chieftain was impressed by me or not. I wasn't a man's man after all. Thank God.
Hugh was an out-and-out bluenose, a closet Son of William and one of the many sensible professional Dr Jekylls who turn into Mr Hyde for 90 minutes each week. Bridget would be a wee problem but, thanks to our politically correct HR colleagues, our application forms only gave a first initial. I could be anything I wanted. Go for it, girl.
I was wearing orange and blue and had a Union Jack brooch. I didn't paint my hand red, as I didn't want to overdo things. I told Hugh my name was Billie. He lit up when he spotted my brooch. I had learnt the names of the Rangers players and I knew how they were doing.
Hugh's questions were simplistic and easily dealt with, all except one. He ended by asking for my opinions on denominational schools. I crossed my fingers behind my back, winked at him, patted my brooch and looked him straight in the eyes.
"I don't think you and I would be a million miles apart on that one, would we?" He had an expression which said: "That'll do for me, Billie boy."
I think I'm winning four-one with two to go - Julia and Tarquin.
My coats of many colours seem to be working. Julia is a child of the Sixties. For her, the simple peasant-girl look, no make-up and rosary displayed. Hair tied back, Greenpeace badge on lapel.
She greets me like an old friend and offers empathy, compassion and a Tunnock's caramel wafer.