While getting entangled in the intense, gripping moral rapprochement of the final hours of Succession, I found myself recalling the engrossing story of Susan Boyle. I loved Subo, an incongruous lightning bolt shot across Saturday night light entertainment. I even got to work with her intermittently during her first trolley dash to fame, while enjoying a brief professional tenure as a hired hand for Syco, the perfectly named Simon Cowell Hit Factory.
I think of Subo still when someone highly unlikely rockets to the centre of public infamy, then just as sharply regresses. The Catherine Wheel fizz and splutter of last year’s Liz Truss prime ministerial fiasco was textbook Subo. Lewis Capaldi’s startling about turn from jolly suburban Scot lad-u-like to lonely portent of the sketchy price of fame is masterclass Subo, not just because he looks and sounds so much like her plucky wee nephew.
