Susan reads out from the handwritten label on the cassette. ‘It says Scotland Loud And Live – May 1981.’ She slots the cassette into the machine and presses ‘play’.

The picture is a bit scratchy, the colours are too vivid and blurry, and the sound isn’t great, but here it is.

The programme starts with the theme tune, which sounds like it’s played on an accordion, and lots of pictures of Scottish landmarks, like hills and castles and that famous bridge, and deer with antlers and stuff like that. The programme title comes up in big tartan letters:

SCOTLAND

LOUD & LIVE

WITH YOUR HOST

ROBBIE FERGUSON

A grinning man comes down the lit-up steps of the TV studio as the audience applauds and whoops. He has a fat, drooping moustache and long hair over his ears. He’s wearing a baggy dark green suit and a tiny, narrow tie and, even if I didn’t know this programme was from the 1980s, I could tell it was ancient.

‘… wonderful programme for you tonight on Scotland Loud and Live! I’ll be meeting the Dundee woman with Scotland’s biggest collection of antique jam jars, our roving, raving reporter, Donny Greig, is finding out how people all over the country are preparing for the Royal Wedding, and tonight he’s in Galashiels in the beautiful border country. Are you there, Donny …?’

‘Is this the right programme?’ I say to Susan.

‘What in heaven’s name is he wearing?’ said Mola. ‘He looks like a huge …’

‘Shh … watch.’

The camera cuts back to Robbie Ferguson.

‘… my first guest tonight. Known to many of you as the Mystic o’ the Highlands, Kenneth McKinley toured Scotland’s theatres for nearly two decades with a wonderful act that combined mind-reading, levitation – oh yes! – with some feats of mystery that were so baffling that many people began to think he was the real thing! He befriended stars like the Beatles before vanishing from the public eye. Well, he’s back. Here’s a quick clip of him in action at the Pavilion Theatre, Glasgow, ten years ago …’

Here the picture cuts to a stage where a man in a kilt – easily recognisable as Kenneth – is talking to a lady next to him. The film is in black and white.

‘Now, Maureen,’ Kenneth is saying in his musical Scots accent, ‘I’d like you to take my hand.’ The lady does so and the two stand side by side. With his other hand, he reaches down to where a short sword hangs from a belt, and I breathe in sharply.

‘Look, Susan! That’s the … the thing that was hanging over the back of his chair!’

There’s no mistaking it. The camera shows a close-up of the carved handle.

‘Hold my dirk in your other hand, Maureen, there you go, and, when I say so, raise it up slowly.’

Kenneth allows his chin to drop to his chest as though he is sleeping. Seconds tick by, as the theatre band plays a slow, spooky melody.

‘Raise the dagger, Maureen.’ She does so, and Kenneth, dramatically lifting his head and widening his eyes, cries, ‘Float!’

Maureen gasps. Still holding her hand, Kenneth’s feet rise a little way off the stage floor. One centimetre, two, three. The audience starts a ripple of applause that gets louder. Kenneth’s feet are now at least ten or fifteen centimetres off the ground. He is floating!

‘Oh my!’ says Mola, breathlessly.

On-screen, Kenneth lifts his head and says, ‘Now, Maureen, please check above me and behind me for wires or supports of any kind. Careful with my dirk!’ She moves her other hand round him. The crowd applauds again.

Slowly, he descends until both feet are back on the stage. He thanks Maureen, shoves the dagger back in its sheath, acknowledges the applause gracefully and finishes by saying, ‘Ladies and gentlemen. The power of the mind is a marvellous thing. Thank you for your attention!’

On our screen, the picture cuts back to colour and Robbie Ferguson in the studio.

‘Well, that was then, and he’s floated all the way back to us now! Here to talk about his new venture, the Mystic o’ the Highlands himself, Kenneth McKinley!’

And there he is, in his kilt, sporran and dirk, coming down the studio steps to the talk-show sofa. He’s grinning at the audience’s applause and he’s holding an exact replica of the strange device that is currently hanging above my and my brother’s beds: a Dreaminator.

‘Wow! He looks so young!’ says Susan. ‘What on earth is he holding?’

I don’t reply.

The interview does not go at all well. The show’s presenter seems determined to mock Kenneth and make jokes at his expense, and Kenneth looks increasingly uncomfortable when the audience seems to enjoy the taunting.

To begin with, Robbie Ferguson stands facing Kenneth who is on the sofa. ‘Can I start by showing you how I can float?’ he says, and the audience titters. Kenneth smiles back, good-natured, but he looks a little wary.

‘Stand up,’ says the presenter, ‘I’d like you to be Maureen. Please take my hand!’

The audience laughs. He turns his back slightly, so he is in a different position from Kenneth who had been facing the audience directly. But then, just like Kenneth had done, Robbie Ferguson starts to float, just a little bit off the ground, but the audience cheers and gasps. It looks amazing.

But then, in a slight jerking motion, he turns his body round until he is facing the audience – and there is a huge laugh from them as they see the trick, and the camera shows a close-up of his feet. He has been balancing on the tiptoes of one foot, which is protruding from the bottom of his shoe.

The audience howls with laughter at the simple trick.

‘Come on, Kenneth – admit it! That was how you did it, eh? It’s just an old stage trick. I had the studio boys here make up special shoes for me!’ The presenter’s tone is teasing, but there’s a definite edge to it. Kenneth’s face freezes in a cold smile.

‘Well –’ he hesitates – ‘that might be one way of doing it, but I assure you …’

‘Don’t worry, Kenneth. I know the rules. You can’t reveal your secrets.’ Robbie pauses for comic timing and shoots a cocky glance at the camera. ‘Instead, I’ll reveal them for you!’ Big laugh from the audience, and a close-up of Kenneth looking uncomfortable.

‘That’s not fair!’ says Susan. ‘That’s not how Kenneth was doing it!’

‘Shh, Susan,’ says Mola.

Robbie Ferguson goes, ‘Och, don’t mind me, Kenneth. Just enjoyin’ a wee bit o’ banter with you, eh? So tell me, O Mystic o’ the Highlands – what’s that you’ve brought with you to Scotland Loud and Live?’

Clearly relieved that the subject has moved on, Kenneth grins and holds up the device, and the audience goes, ‘Ooooh!’

‘This,’ he says, ‘is my latest venture. I call it …’

‘I believe you’re calling it “the Dreaminator”. Woooo!’ The presenter says this in an exaggerated, dramatic way that makes it clear he thinks it’s crazy and the audience titters. ‘What does it do, Kenneth?’

‘Well, as the name implies, it allows the user, when asleep, to control his or her dreams, so that …’

Robbie Ferguson interrupts again. ‘You’re saying you can dream whatever you like, thanks to these wee crystals.’ He reaches over and holds up one of the woven cords with a crystal attached.

‘Well, it’s not just that, Robbie. You see, the philosophy behind this is based on my lengthy studies of a number of ancient cultures. Many of us possess the ability, through practice and meditation, to control our dreams and actually experience them as though we are awake. What the Dreaminator does is to combine that natural ability – which is very hard to acquire – and put it within the grasp of pretty much anyone. By using the unique qualities of these crystals here to create an undetectable vibration around the sleeper, along with the ancient power of the pyramids …’

The presenter’s face shows boredom and frustration. He interrupts. ‘Oh aye. Can you prove that it works, Kenneth?’

There’s a long pause, and the audience sniggers again.

Kenneth says, ‘In cases like this, proof is a difficult thing to quantify, Robbie, so I’d say …’

‘So you can’t prove it?’

‘Well, I know it works for me, and …’

‘Well, you’re bound to say that! You’re selling it!’

The audience laughs properly now, and Kenneth glances at them, annoyed.

‘I hate that man!’ says Susan. ‘He’s a bully!’

‘How much is this selling for, Kenneth?’

‘Well, once production commences, I expect it to be retailing for around twenty pounds.’

Now the audience gasps. I do too. ‘Is that all?’ I say to Susan.

‘That was 1981,’ she says, quickly, not taking her eyes from the screen. ‘It would be a lot more now. Shh.’

‘… you’re saying that you haven’t started making them yet? And you’re expecting people to pay twenty quid to control their own dreams and you can’t even prove it works!’

‘We have made some prototypes, but full-scale production …’

‘Kenneth, with respect. I love you as the Mystic o’ the Highlands, but I tell you this much. If you manage to persuade people to shell out twenty of their good Scottish pounds for a load of string and a few pebbles, then that will be your best trick ever!’

He grins at the audience, who are howling with laughter now. Kenneth has no choice but to smile and to pretend that it’s all in good humour. But, in the close-up shot, his eyes look moist.

‘It’s not a trick!’ he says, struggling to control his voice. ‘There are more mysteries in the human mind than we can ever dream of …’

‘Is … is he crying?’ I say.

‘Looks like it,’ says Susan.

Robbie Ferguson is wrapping up the interview. ‘… a great sport and a great entertainer. Ladies and gentlemen – Kenneth McKinley!’

The camera lingers on a close-up of Kenneth and his watery, baffled smile, while the audience applauds, politely.

Susan fast-forwards and the tape spools quickly through the rest of the programme. Kenneth doesn’t reappear. The programme credits whiz past and the picture goes black. She has raised the remote control again to press ‘stop’ when the picture comes on again and I say, ‘Don’t! Let’s see,’ and she presses ‘play’ instead.