LET’s remind ourselves of why it was that Stormont lone wolf Jim Allister was so utterly irresistible to the Loyal Ulster media. To that end, a checklist may help.

•Big beast – Check.
In a long and storied political career, Jim’s been round more corners than Team Ferrari. His first political party membership card was in Ulster-Scots and Latin and he’s been at the epicentre of some truly historic events, even if his role was unionist concern® klaxon. And a big name’s a big story, even when it isn’t.

• Articulate – Check.
King’s Counsel Jim knows his way round a thesaurus, and while his delivery can be a bit 1950s Old Bailey and his unruly ear tufts make him look like he’s pulled off his barrister’s wig too quickly, he rarely wastes a word. Jim struggles with the ‘L’ sound, but as is so often the case with speech traits, that’s an identifying characteristic rather than a hindrance.

•Controversy conveyor-belt – Check.
Jim's a godsend for that busiest of journalists, Phil Whyte. His doom-laden interventions in the chamber never did much for the gaiety of the nation and Jim’s not the kind of guy you would like to get stuck beside on the settee at a party, but on a slow news day when you’ve just been asked for 500 words on Eamonn Holmes’ new electric scooter, Jim’s the ultimate Reporter’s Friend.

•Serves a purpose – Check.
Throughout the years that Stormont had no opposition, Jim was held up as the head of the Rebel Alliance taking on the Galactic Empire, even if he preferred Culture Wars to Star Wars. He ruffled feathers, he discomfited the comfortable, he spoke truth unto power, even if that truth was invariably true-blue and unswervingly loyal.

All of which conspired to ensure that while the TUV had more beekeepers in its ranks than elected reps, the publicity that Jim demanded – and got – was of an extent and nature that other, bigger parties would gladly give their expenses for.

But that was then and this is now. Jim took the North Antrim seat in July, leaving Ian Paisley Jnr to spend more time with his motor bikes and air miles, and leaving a massive Jim-shaped hole on our pages and airwaves. But the wailing and gnashing of teeth in newsrooms across the loyal land had barely begun before – with the triumphant toot of a joyous flute – a new guy was co-opted to the Assembly to fill Jim’s English brogues. As the drums rolled, the accordions wheezed and the flags flapped, the red, white and blue curtains were opened and there in a miasma of Lynx Africa and Joop! stood the diminutive figure of Gaston, Timothy: Hair product twinkling in the camera lights; 5 o’clock shadow heading towards 5.30; tie as tartan as a tin of shortbread.

And that, I thought, as Timothy slid into Jim’s well-worn, shiny bench seat at the back of the chamber, is that. Because, let’s face it, the lad’s no Edward Carson; well, not yet anyway. His qualities were sufficient to get him elected to a Bible Belt council seat on the third go (failing at the ballot box and being co-opted to replace Davy Tweed before a proper win in 2014); but handing him shinpads and a stick and asking him to play senior hockey when he’s spent a decade pucking against a Gracehill gable was surely too big of an ask. I mean, just look at that checklist.

• Big Beast – Family Fortunes 'Wrong' Noise.
If you were walking round a zoo and asked to see the Timothy Gastons, the keeper would likely direct you to the meerkat holes.

•Articulate – FFWN.
Having a Ballymena accent that’s thicker than Stephen Nolan’s filled soda doesn’t help – it may even be survivable on its own; but combine it with a captured pilot delivery and he’s sourdough toast.

•Controversy conveyor belt – FFWN.
Once Timothy twigs that the best controversies are the ones involving other people, things may start to improve.

•Serves a purpose – FFWN.
See TUV.

So, game over, right? Wrong. Family Fortunes wrong again, in fact.

Truth is, Jim Allister couldn’t in his wildest dreams have hoped for a better replacement. Timothy might be none of the things that he was, but it remains the fact that the TUV’s sole MLA still only has to open his mouth or press send and he hits the headlines. He may be to public speaking what Sammy Wilson is to manicures; he may be to political nous what Donald Trump is to modesty, but so wildly in-demand is he with the Loyal Ulster media that he’s already heading towards Jim Allister levels of green room ubiquity and speed-dial popularity. And he could well leave the Honourable Member for Antrim North trailing in his Stormont wake in the coming year.

So we ask ourselves why that is, bearing in mind that Timothy is entirely unburdened by the talents and achievements we were told justified Jim Allister’s proportionally unjustifiable level of coverage. And we can only come to the conclusion that the newspapers, radio and TV aren’t in fact consumed by the TUV’s only MLA because of his gravitas, or the X-Factor; by his coruscating analysis or je ne sais quoi (havnae a baldy in Ulster-Scots).

They’re drawn by the noise and the hoop-la. If they can’t get the crowd gasping at  wing-walking unionism by a perpetually angry and sneering political heavyweight, they’ll take it from a perpetually angry and sneering new boy with a Buzz Lightyear lunchbox.