A debate between two heavyweights and Tubular Bells for all eternity

Doddie Esslemont, Campaigner for independence for 39G Seaton Drive

This week the papers have been full of the news that David Cameron has ducked a TV debate with Alec Salmond.  This was a disappointment, although personally I am less interested in the idea of them debating than in seeing them step into a dohyo, stamp the ground and prove their worth in a sumo wrestling match.  If such a bout were to take place now, there would be only one winner, although given the rate at which the PM is filling out, he might yet be able to give the First Minister a run for his money come September 2014.

Less well known is that Salmond’s team in turn ducked my offer of a TV debate with Big Eck on why a free Scotland should not in turn recognise 39G Seaton Drive as a sovereign state.  I can’t say I blame them.  My powers of argument are legendary.  Witness my ban from Seaton Post Office, my three breach of the peace convictions, and the fact that even Eric Joyce MP once told me to pipe down a bit when I was trying to persuade Easyjet’s groundstaff that my Puma holdall constituted a diplomatic bag.

The Reverend Edmond Everend, Minister of Holburn North North East

I am very sorry that yesterday’s sermon has been met with such disquiet.  I should explain the intention that lay behind it. 

After the Intergovenmental Panel on Climate Change reported there is a 95% chance that human activity contributes to global warming, I spent some time meditating upon what this means for me, both as a minister and just as a creature living on God’s earth. 

On Sunday, I chose as my reading Ecclesiastes 1:2-9.  Its theme is vanity, in the sense of futility.  “Vanity!” says the preacher, “all is vanity!”  Then he goes on to wonder what people gain from the labours at which they toil.  They come and go leaving no trace while the earth goes on forever.  The wind blows to the south and turns to the north, ever returning on its course; the streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full.  What has been will be again, he says; there is nothing new under the sun.

Those words were uttered by King Solomon.  The passage seems to present an uncomfortably pessimistic message.  I preached on it before, on Armistance Day 1989, two days after the fall of the Berlin Wall.  Then, I pointed to the flowering of freedom and democracy and preached a message of hope so stirring that in the tumult of the congregation’s applause I fancied I heard Solomon confess he was wrong.  They were heady days.

It was to this theme that I returned on Sunday.  I again tried to prove Solomon wrong.  I argued that human life is not futile.  We do make a difference.  We make things worse. 

I said that the wind does not blow to the south and turn to the north, ever returning on its course because global warming has messed up the jet stream.  The rivers do not all flow unto the sea – some we have stopped up, and flooded their valleys, for hydro-electric.  The sea is full, and rising, and we frack the earth and rip open-cast mines into her poor, bloodied flanks.  And there are new things under the sun – the latest “must have” gadget that we covet and hold dear, right up until the time when the newer, trendier version appears 6 months later. 

I ended by asking if I was alone in wondering if Richard Branson was the new Noah, and Virgin Galactic our new ark. 

I have been asked by the Kirk Session to reflect on what I said, and this I have done. 

I stand by every word. 

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit with the crunching tackle

When you is a Dons flan, it’s not often you get to goat about your team thrashing their opponents.  But I was lucky enough to get the blagging rights over my old mate Crawford Baptie last week.  I was doing a bit of punnetry for the Dandies’ game away to Falkirk, what old Crawford used to play for.  At 5-0, it was a mudslide victory for my old club.

Mind, old Kenny has been on the receivership end of a few dubbings in my time.  Not that they was my fault.  I was the victim of a refereeing van data that went right to the top itchy loins of the SFA.  One of my proudest moments as a Brechin player was once when we was 11-0 down to Montrose at half-time.  The chairman nearly took the door off its binges when he come storming in saying “Yous lot is useless!  This club’s record defeat is 10-0 and that’s going to get smashed unless yous do something about it!”  As the proud professor of the captain’s hairband, I inspired the boys to keep history in check.  We didn’t score any goals, but our 4 red-cards meant the game was abandoned and the score was axe sponged from the records.  You jist can’t teach leadership like that.

It was good to catch up with Crawford Baptie, though.  He is only the second footballer what I have ever met what has a name is something what you have for your breakfast.  The other was a lad at Kincorth, Softie Chalmers!

It’s time to get tough on crime, and tough on the victims of crime.

PC Bobby Constable, Local Community Policeman

The Aberdeen public will no doubt be concerned by the recent spate of car thefts that have affected the city.  There’s been great excitement doon the station aboot this.  The helicopter’s been oot and a’thin, and the boys in the traffic division hiv been on iTunes downloading the theme fae The Streets of San Fransisco to play on their car stereos faniver they get a chase.

But let’s be honest, you’ve naebdy tae blame but yersels. These thefts is simply the price we pay for the oil boom.  With wealth has come the trappings of success: the BMW, the Mercedes Benz, the Audi.  And where there are the trappings of success, you may be sure that there will also be nerdowells lurking in your driveway waiting til you go t’yer bed, to try your door.  These professional car thieves – or, to use the technical law enforcement nomenclature, nyaffs – come to Aberdeen from other less prosperous cities and engage in a form of wealth redistribution different fae the een Karl Marx hid in mind (well I presume it’s nae fit he hid in mind; “Das Kapital” dizna really say much aboot fit to dae to the drivers of pimped-oot SUVs).

While the influx of these nyaffs may be inconvenient to the law-abiding public, spare a thought for the true victims – our local thieves and chuncers, who now find their ability to earn a dishonest crust seriously compromised by unfair competition.  Futret McKechnie wiz in tears fan he wiz speaking to me aboot this jist the ither day, although that may have been because I wiz using reasonable force to encourage him to assist in my enquiries at the time.

So fit can we do to prevent these thefts?  Well, the simple, old-fashioned precautions are the best.  Ensure the car is locked with the windows fully closed.  Ensure that your home is properly secure (many car thefts arise as a result of keys having been stolen during a residential break-in).  Or jist hide on the back seat under a travelling rug and loup up, roaring and brandishing a 4-iron if ye see onyone shifty. 

Alternatively, with a bit o’ lateral thinking, you can reduce the chances of falling victim to crime.  Sell the beemer and instead treat yourself to something that is less easy to steal – a hair transplant, perhaps.  And wi’ whatever is left over, buy a beige Fiat Panda.  After receiving a disappointing offer from “We buy any car”, the current Mrs Constable parked our een doon at the beach esplanade three weeks ago wi the keys in the ignition.  Nae takers so far.  Good news for crime stats and Admiral car insurance; bad news for our round the world cruise fund.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football writer who gets into them, heid first.

I was well impressed with Scotland last week.  They have totally turned a cornetto with my old pal Gordon Strachan at the helm and claimed another big skelp by beating Croatia at Hampden.  We’ve done them up like a kipper home and away even though they ended up second in the group.  Makes you wonder what might have been if we had done better against Whales.  But even though Scotland was playing, I couldn’t help myself get caught up in the hoola-baloon in England.

I can’t get my head roundabout the English media.  They spend weeks saying that England have got no hope of qualifying for the World Cup.  Then, when they beat Poland and Montezuma, suddenly the press start banging on about them winning the whole thing!  Sure, they qualified without needing a pay-off, but they hut the headlines for all the wrong reasons.

First of all, the FA chairman, Greg Dyke, is saying that England won’t win the World Cup this time round, and they will wait until 2018 or 2022 to win it.  They can’t pick and choose surely?  I only ever played under one gaffer who used to talk like that.  He used to tell us we mightn’t win this game but we would win the next one, and what did that get him?  2 years in jail for match-fixing. 

Secondly, Roy Hodgson got himself into a bit of hot bother with his half time team talk!  Apparently he told some joke about a spaceman and a sea monkey what caused some of his players to take a fence.  I do feel sorry for Roy on this one.  One of my old gaffers used to crack jokes but this one time it left him with egg on his plate.  Just before kick off I asked him where he was going to play me and he says to me, he says “Today Kenny you’ll be left back. Left back in the dressing room”.  Then everyone laughed.  I knowed why they was laughing – I was hopeless at left back – but I’ll always do what the gaffer says.  10 minutes into the game the ref does a head count and we had 12 on the pitch.  In all the hilarity the gaffer had put on our usual left back as well. He must of felt a right divot!

This week, a bit of the roof fell off the Toon’s Hoose. Was anyone else surprised to hear it wasn’t the wheels?

Ron Cluny, Council Spokesman

The usual collection of trouble-makers and besmirchers have been enjoying themselves this week following the news that a piece of metal fell from the Town House roof, narrowly missing a pedestrian.  Had the slates been damaged by all the hot air constantly flying up into its rafters, one wag asked.  Had Barney Crockett resorted to stealing the lead off our own roof in order to balance the budget?  Oh, do stop it.  Stop it, for the sake of my aching sides.

The simple truth of the matter is that such unfortunate incidents, while obviously concerning, could happen to any respectable proprietor, regardless of how well they have maintained their property.  Those who would seek to mock this authority by making light of this misfortune insult the intelligence of the electorate and succeed only in demeaning themselves.  We take a responsible and serious view of such matters, and as Council spokesman, I am happy to confirm that we have written to the unfortunate lady who suffered the near miss.  In that letter we have blamed the whole unfortunate incident on Alex Salmond.  I do not see how we could have been expected to do more.

Tim Bee, the conscientious objector

If there’s one thing I object to above all others, it is change for change’s sake.  Yet again the good people of the North-East are being subjected to discrimination by the bullying powers that be – this time through our telephone area code.  All around the nation people can dial local numbers without the misery and inconvenience of being required to tap out the area code, but as of next October, we in Aberdeen are to be stripped of that inaliable right.  Incredibly, we are to be forced to waste precious time adding “01224” every time we so much as want to order a pizza or phone the doctors about that strange and worrying rash. Well I object.  Just like I objected when they added the extra ‘1’ in 1983. 

My objection is not based solely on the point of principle that is at stake here, nor the considerable personal inconvenience I will suffer. Think of the thousands of phone calls made by those working in the oil industry in the ghettoised ‘01224’ area.  Each and every one of these phone calls will now take, by my calculations, 3.2 Seconds longer than they currently do which, one assumes, can only result in a massive drop in productivity. 

I may have objected to these oil companies drilling in the North Sea.  I may have objected to each and every one of their office developments.  But I fundamentally object to them delivering anything less than ruthless efficiency. 

As for me, I do not have the time to dial an extra 5 digits every time I make a phone call.  This unnecessary pfaffing about will eat into my busy, busy schedule of complaining about things.  In fact, I’ve worked out that the delay will cost me as much as 14 complaints per week!  Cynics will no doubt wonder what all the fuss is about and suggest we make use of our “speed dial” function.  It may surprise you to learn that I object to the use of speed dial too.  Shortcuts like that are the reason for the country’s obesity crisis!

Davinia Smythe-Barrat, Ordinary Mum

It has been a tough week in the Smythe-Barrat household.  Our Aberdeen one, that is – our Chateau in the Loire Valley looks divine at this time of year!  Things got rough when the wind got up on Wednesday.  One of the neighbours’ gastly trampolines was poorly anchored at best and took off during a particularly violent gust.  As any ordinary Mum would, I take great pride in the finely manicured topiary that adorns our Griselinia littoralis border Hedge, especially the life-size effigies of Germaine Greer and Nelson Mandela! We had Mellors the groundskeeper, attend a month long course at Kew Gardens to hone his skills with the secateurs.  Then the whole lot was ruined by a garish concoction of metal, springs and polypropylene.  Naturally I rang 999, but those fascists at Police Scotland chastened ME for wasting their time?!  Not an emergency? Then I’d like to know what is.

That was bad enough, but it was nothing compared to the devastating news that our favourite little famly-run tea room, the Marcliffe at Pitfodels, is set to close next year!  This put me in a black mood, one that even my weekly yoga nidra session couldn’t shift.  I’m not sure what the reasons are behind the decision but I was very disappointed by local media coverage.  They were focussing on the impact the closure would have on the staff!  What about me and all the other ordinary mums who pop in for a weekly coffee, catch-up and spa treatment?  The loss of local amenities like this puts strain on all normal, hardworking families, who are forced to travel increasingly far and wide to find equivalent facilities. As of next year my chums and I will have no option but to make regular trips to Stobo Castle!    

If the name they chose is ‘Chapel of Elsick’, just think what the ones they binned must be like!

Tanya Soutar, lifestyle advice with a local flavour

 

I dinna ken aboot youse, but I’ve eyewis funcied bein’ a pioneer.  An’ some lucky fowk’ll get the chunce tae dae jist that fan the North East’s new town opens fer business ower the next few years.  They hid the foundin’ ceremony at Chapelton o’ Elsick last wik an’ since then I’ve thought aboot nithin’ else than uppin’ sticks tae move there tae help pit the toon on the map.  Aye, eence they’ve got the first couple o’ nightclubs open!

 

Mind, spleet new planned communities run the risk o’ being branded cold and soulless.  I jist hope the planners mind to look efter the maist importantest things.

 

First of a’, they’ll hiv tae change that name!  They’ve pretty much cried it “Church o’ the Vomit” in Spanish.  It’s nae mony places that mak Bognor Regis sound bonnie!  I’d hiv thoucht they should name it efter some o’ those funcy continental places.  “Costa del Cammachmore” or “Newtonhill Nova” wid gie it a real touch o’ class.

 

Secondly, they’ve tae mak sure they get in plenty good shops.  As us Aiberdonians ken, nae toon is complete wi’oot 3 pound shops, 4 cash for gold merchants an’ a Primark.  I’ve heard a rumour that they’re plannin’ on haein’ a posh lunchtime eatery caterin’ fer the high-end market.  I jist hope ging really upscale.  I’m thinking Gregg’s.  I ken, I ken, but ye hiv to dream!

 

They’re plannin’ on openin’ a school in 2018.  So parents better prepare their bairns fer their important roles in the new school.  An’ onybdy fa thinks their kid’s got a shot at bein’ school bully can think again eence my Jayden an’ Tyler move oot there!

 

View for the Midden: Jock Alexander, presenter of MTV (Meikle Wartle Television), on the trials and tribulations of rural life

It’s been anither proximate wik in the village. I wiz amused tae hear a lot o’ fowk gassin’ and blowin’ aboot recent events in the U S of A, faur it appears that the hale country has shut doon due to an argument aboot money. Weel, that’s a regular occurrence here in Meikle Wartle. Usually the argument is a fiercely contested debate between twa sides that hiv adopted intractable positions, nae unlike that at’ween the Republicans and the Democrats.  Although in oor case it tends to revolve nae so much aboot the role o “big government” as a richt good stooshie atween Tam Broon and Skittery Wullie o’er fa’s turn it is tae buy the next round.  The first thing to close doon is the bar, efter the first few punches hiv gone in.  Efter that, the fechtin’ will usually escalate, and Tam will banjo his Massie Ferguson intae a telegraph pole while trying to mak a swift getaway.  Or at least as swift as ye can make in a piece o’ agricultural machinery that still has the baler attached.  So that’s us withoot power and, yes, the hale village his to shut doon!

Come to think of it, this is also the case during the annual ‘cold snap’ fan the temperature plummets and the snow starts drifting in aff the hills. There is nothing for it but tae stock up on the essentials.  Feel Moira maks sure she his a generous supply o’ coal – aye, she jist loves the taste o’ that stuff!  I personally favour my hame-made nettle and neep brandy.  Then ye jist hiv to batten doon the hatches and sit it oot till the crisis passes, secure in the knowledge that there’ll be anither een along verra shortly.  I wid certainly recommend that America diz the same. Cheerio!

 

Shelley Shingles – showbiz correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1993

 

It’s not every day Aberdeen is THE place to be for royal watching but OMG, last week the place wiz hoaching with them!  Prince Charles was here on Monday, which was totes amaze, and then Her Maj herself was in town the very next day to open the new emergency care centre at ARI.  I bumped into her up there after I absent-mindedly picked my nose files getting a manicure and got een of my shellac nails stuck up my nostril.  Awkward!  Liz was wearing a bright tangerine outfit – I’m guessing she was off to open a new training facility for Dundee United efterwards.  I got led in files she wiz coming oot.  I wiz bubbling and greeting wi snot running doon my nose and mascara awye.  I’ve nae rocked that look since Scotty Booth dumped me in Franklins in 1995!  I still minded to curtsey though!

 

Of course, I’ve rubbed shoulders with the Royal family heaps in my time.  Me and Charlie, or Chazza as his closest pals get to cry him, go way back.  I first met him up Royal Deeside.  I was going out with a real hunk at the time that was into hill-walking.  We wiz going up Lochnagar but I had to pack it in.  Well, nobody told me that stilettos and a mini-skirt wasn’t ideal clothing for munro-bagging, LOL!  Anyway, I was slumped over a rock in the recovery position demanding that my boyfriend phone the mountain rescue.  He wasn’t having any of it because we were still in the car park!  Chazza strolled past in the kilt, quite the thing.  I’ll never forget what he said to me: “I’d put ice on that ankle if I were you”.  Wise words from a true gent.