Iain MacDonald BBC Scotland

Broadcasters are under close scrutiny in their election coverage

There are gaunt hills still crowned by dirty snow.

By the roadside there are spectacularly small lambs looking astonished that they've finished up here - wherever here is - or doing that speed sook thing where they disappear under their mothers for a long lunch leaving only a madly wagging tail behind.

There are only a small number of queues headed by a caravan called "Senator" or - even more ridiculously "Swift" poddling towards a parking spot by a river with easy access to a toilet block and an over-priced camping shop.

Spring is sprung, the grass is riz - I wonder where the politicians iz.

Actually, the answer is everywhere. Don't go out your door without a weapon. There will be somebody with a large rosette and a clipboard. Or worse, a loud hailer.

Palace of inanities

They will want your vote and if you give it to them, they will undoubtedly increase their present tally of three-and-a-half seats in the palace of inanities, aka Holyrood. And abolish all bad things. There must be an election on.

So here I am, not for the first time, enjoying the weather and looking for an election. It seems to be easier to find one this time.

And for me, once more launched on the Good Morning Scotland (GMS) goodwill tour around Scotland, there's a bonus. I don't have to talk to politicians.

Don't get me wrong. Some of my best friends etc etc. Even some of my family, actually.

But, when there's an election, broadcasting organisations come under appalling amounts of scrutiny.

The BBC's Iain MacDonald meeting the voters

There's an obligation enshrined in law that every major party has to get equal amounts of airtime.

What that means in practice is that party faithful, who may not be sad people (what do I know?), sit with stop watches on every single broadcast, checking that nobody is getting an advantage.

And there is, of course, no greater delight in the known universe than taking a call from a spin doctor at about half past a sparrow fart to discover that he/she/it is spitting venom, because a candidate from another party paused to belch halfway through their sound bite, which meant that they got 0.0015 of a second more than his/her/its employer. And something must be done.

But my instructions - under plain cover, obviously - are to avoid politicians like the plague. Or clich�s.

So I get to sample real people - and there are some crackers out there.

Early in the week, it's Castlemilk Community Centre. There's an early altercation, because nobody was expecting us, and those on duty in these early hours are clearly unconvinced that this furry person with headphones is the best the BBC could manage.

Although Electric Eric, the "man who gets things done" in an electronic way, seems to pass muster.

Stop talking

They're probably very good judges of character.

Once that debate's over, the subject of the hour is poverty and what the politicians are doing about it.

Margaret and Anna have been working in, and for, their community for years. And do they have opinions?

Well, yes. And the main one is a message to the parties. All of the parties.

It goes something like this: "Stop talking about what is good for us". And come and listen to us, and we will tell you.

But, they both lament, the politicians used to turn up for a public meeting together in places like Castlemilk where people could shout at them and listen to them.

Scottish voters will go to the polls on May 3

But now they just do telly and er ... radio. Oh, and by the way, the buses are rubbish.

Then, later in the week, it's the grey vote. In his 11th floor flat, I'm greeted by a man who deserves his own show just for his name alone.

Enoch Humphries may be in his 80s, but when I knock on his door, having taken the wrong lift to the wrong floor, and toiled about trying to work out who I was and why I was here, he confirms for me that I am who I say I am and why I'm here.

I don't get the impression that Enoch, who is resplendent in a natty pair of shorts, and clearly is the kind of person who would frighten neds, entertains fools gladly.

Nor does he go for the old soft soap. They call us veterans and say nice things about us, he says.

But the latest pension rise is still only three quid a week. And that's disgraceful.

I tell you Gordon, it wouldn't be a good idea to get on Enoch's wrong side. Though it may be too late.

Grey voters

By the week's end, I'm in Perthshire still on the same subject where GMS presenter Isabel Fraser introduces me to a waiting nation as "our own silver fox".

Which is about the nicest thing she's ever called me. Facing me - and amused - are Bruce and Karen Cannon.

Who are grey voters, but I have to resist suggesting that they are double barrelled - I do.

They do not want to know about the usual stereotyping that they reckon politicians are guilty of, lumping together people over 50 up to their 90s.

Free personal care may be a good idea some time in the future but not when you have just come off a hill.

Stop patronising us, is the message and start listening. Funny, I think I've heard that message already this week.

Next week looks busy. I am the least appropriate person to be drilling down into dentistry and its availability on the NHS in Scotland.

But that's what I'm doing next. And no jokes about biting off more than I can chew. Just keep listening.

Oh, and somebody's just told me that the great, great Kurt Vonnegut has died.

Speaking of grey matters, I grew up on a diet of Vonnegut's books and his very weird world.