No 3rd Term for David Cameron. At last, a policy announcement we can all get behind.

Struan Metcalfe, Conservative MSP for Aberdeenshire North and Surrounding Nether Regions

Loathe him or hate him, you’ve got to hand it to Big Eck, he knows how to pick a fight, doesn’t he? In his autobiography “The Dream Shall never Die” (b.t.w what a duff title! Sounds like a Pierce Brosnan Bond film, or a Ronan Keating single!) he takes a pop at virtually everyone he’s ever come into contact with. The only person to escape his ire is long-suffering wife Moira. Golly, poor lady! Imagine what life must be like for her at Salmond Heights:

“Good morning Alex, it’s a nice day isn’t it?’’

“Indeed Moira, and since I became First Minister, Scotland’s days have been, on average, 11% nicer than under the previous, discredited, Labour administration. And with no help whatsoever from Westminster.”

But the bit of his book that really got my proverbial goat (question; is there actually a proverb with a goat in it?) was his attack on Super Dave. He called him a “Tory toff”. How very dare you Mr Salmond? Super Dave’s not a toff. He’s the Toff. Completely and utterly, the poshest person on Earth.

Of course, the leftie press are giving poor Dave pelters for ‘arrogance’ since His Excellency announced he won’t run as PM for a third term, just because he said so before he’s been elected for a second. What rot. Obviously, if he wanted to, The Chosen One could carry on leading the Tories (and the nation) as long as he wants, but as he said : “Terms are like Shredded Wheat; two are wonderful, but three might be too many’.

Actually, call me thicky-thick pants but I didn’t really get that analogy. I’ve always found eating Shredded Wheat akin to trying to choke down a door mat. I know it’s meant to be good for you, but it’s unpleasant to swallow and difficult to stomach. I reckon one would be more than enough for most people!

Jonathan M Lewis, local Headteacher

It came as no surprise to me that my critics should attempt to hijack the Garioch Academy’s “Eclipse Day” to further their own agenda. In fact, there is quite an apt analogy at play. Whilst my efforts are like a beacon energising the lives of our pupils, my detractors attempt to snuff them out. Thankfully, just like the moon, they can only momentarily obscure my aura.

I applaud teachers and pupils alike for the many ingenious ways they chose to mark the occasion last Friday. Granted, there were some minor oversights in Health & Safety procedures, resulting in more than the ideal number of trips to hospital, but, statistically, very little permanent harm was done.

Parents of pupils in Mr Jenkins’ Maths class have been the most churlish, complaining that their children may suffer problems with their sight for up to 2 weeks after staring at the entirety of eclipse without any eye protection. Poor Mr Jenkins feels terrible, as he feels he should have known that unless his pupils were directed otherwise they would spend the entire lesson as they always do, catatonically gazing out of the window.

The most trivial complaint of all comes from parents who were invited to attend an Eclipse-inspired performance from Miss Walker’s 3rd year drama group. Knowing their children were taking part in a celebration the celestial event through the medium of interpretive dance – could they not have predicted how the boys might have portrayed ‘the moon’? I accept no responsibility. We all heard the warning not to look directly at it!

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

So the news that the Council is not minded to grant planning permission for a new visitor centre at Rubislaw Quarry was met by the all-too predictable chorus of disapproval.   “But this is the Granite City!”, our critics wail. Well, thank you for your information, but we didn’t think the town was made of cream cheese. Our point is not that there should be no Rubislaw Quarry visitor centre; it is that there might be better places for a spleet new attraction like that than tucked away up Queen’s Road at the quarry itself. Such a facility, boasting, no doubt, a top quality coffee shop with a variety of fine cakes and pieces should be located in city-centre, ideally within walking distance of my office.

And that is as it should be; granite is so omnipresent within Aberdeen that it makes sense for a visitor centre about it to be in the heart of the city. Using the same principle, we shortly intended to announce proposals for fascinating, interactive attractions about potholes, aggressive seagulls and pound-shops. And they say this City Council lacks imagination!

Don’t say Ed Milliband isn’t man enough to lead the country. His wife will give you a right telling off!

Struan Metcalfe, Conservative MSP for Aberdeenshire North and Surrounding Nether Regions – An Apology

By Jove, the political air is getting a bit heated isn’t it? From calls for the head of Grant Shapps (Old ‘two jobs’ as he’s known. No idea why.) to the fuss surrounding who’s going to debate who; the noise in the run up to the General Election has become as shrill as Bjork on helium.

All is fair in love and campaigning, but I do worry when the wife of a party leader has to wade in to say “stop bullying my poor husband, he’s a really nice bloke, honestly, so pack it in you plonkers”. Ed Milliband’s significant other put her head above the political parapet to blast the Conservatives for personal attacks on the leader of the opposition. Well, needless to say, Central Office weren’t best pleased with my Tweet on this subject, and, once again I am required to apologise sincerely for the following:

“So Red Ed’s wife wants us to stop the insults? Doesn’t she know, a woman’s place is in one of her two kitchens?”

I’m sorry. Not only did my tweet, I accept, have the faint whiff of everyday sexism, but I do acknowledge that Ms Thornton is, of course, an influential, successful woman in her own right. It am not one of those old fashioned types who see a politician’s spouse as little more than decoration. That’s what my researchers are for!

That said, I would be affronted if my better half had to spring to my defence. Although that’s not tremendously likely. I asked her last night, ‘Darling, if you were watching ‘Newsnight’ and all the the other politicians were being beastly to me, would you do anything?’ ‘Of course’, she replied. ‘I would immediately switch over to ‘Billion Dollar Chicken Shop’.

Professor Hector Schlenk, Senior Research Fellow at the Bogton Institute for Public Engagement with Science

As a scientist, I’m always being asked questions such as ‘Will smart watches take off?’ ‘Will biometrics ever replace passwords and PIN codes?’ and ‘The usual short back and sides, sir?’ But recently, people have been asking me all about Total Eclipses.   “Well”, I advise, “Every now and then I get a little bit terrified, and then I see the look in your eyes.” And then we laugh; awkwardly, as most people under 30 have no idea who Bonnie Tyler is.

They’re talking about the major celestial event that will grace our skies this week. A solar eclipse will see the North East plunged into near darkness at 9.38am on Friday morning. Exactly as it was during the entire month of January. This natural phenomenon is very complicated, but I will attempt to explain it in layman’s terms.

An eclipse happens when the moon gets between the sun and the earth, and casts its colossal umbra over the planet. ‘Umbra’ is a fancy science word for ‘shadow’ – we scientists do love fancy words for things. Total eclipses are rare, but there would be one perfect syzygy (‘alignment’ – told you!) every anomalistic cycle (‘month’) were it not for the fact that the moon’s orbit is slightly elliptical (‘wonky’).

View From The Midden – Rural affairs with MTV (Meikle Wartle Television) presenter, Jock Alexander

Weel it’s been an automotive wik in the village. I wiz affa interested in the news o’ thon big stramash regarding the BBC’s top motoring correspondent. As someone fa can tell one end o’ a Massie Ferguson fae the ither, I am the host o’ the popular Meikle Wartle Television Motoring show, ‘Low Gear’. At’s the een far we pit the action intae traction engines wi ‘Pimp My Tractor’, and hae celebrities test drive a’ the latest agricultural machinery. Last wikend we hid Joyce Falconer in a John Deere 8330. Michty, fit a tailback on the A96 that caused.

So, if the BBC is short o’ a presenter, I’d happily chuck my toorie in the ring. I am sending my CV doon tae New Broadcasting Hoose, and I can assure the Beeb that unlike Clarkson, I am a calm and easy-going screen persona, nae given tae fall-oots, name-callings or ither Natalie Imbruglias. Despite rumours tae the contrary, I did not cause “a stooshie” efter a lang days filming at Logie Durno, fan I discovered that the pies on Feel Moira’s catering stall werenae het. True, they were like wee blocks of pastry covered ice, but I wisnae complaining. Quite frankly, the closer tae frozen they are, the less chunce there is of salmonella lowpin aboot.  Cheerio!

The Marcliffe is saved! Now, who can afford a round of drinks to celebrate?

Davinia Smythe-Barrett – ordinary mum

There was SO much relief in the Smythe-Barrett household when we heard the news this week. Our ordinary world has been returned to normal. Thank the Lord, the Marcliffe is staying open! It doesn’t just mean the preservation of a local institution, and a much loved iconic building, even more importantly, my yogic embroidery classes can now be moved back from Airyhall Library (ghastly).

Hubby remains in Belize for fiscal reasons – taxation rather than procurator – so won’t be able to enjoy the fundraising dinner I’m going to with the girls next month at the Marcliffe. It’s for Sierra Leone, which I understand is absolutely horrid at the moment. But if we all dig deep we can really make a difference, and transform it into a much better place. That’s why we’re raising money to help build a luxury gated resort and spa there. Transformational change is so important. As are new and exclusive holiday destinations. i know what you’re thinking; ‘Davinia, you’re too selfless, you can’t save the world all on your own.’ Well, maybe not, but you have to try. You know?

PC Bobby Constable, (retired). Former Community Policeman

I see in the paper that 30 heavily pregnant sheep hiv been stolen fae a farm at Kemnay. Absolutely shocking stuff. Imagine the distress of these poor, innocent animals as they were smuggled off in the dead of night. They should have been left unmolested, to live in peace. Because if mankind cannot live in harmony wi’ nature, then truly there is no future for us. And also because if you upset them, the meat gets a’ tough and stringy.

The local bobbies say they are interested in 4 x 4 vehicle wi’ trailer that was seen at the locus, and in the circumstances, that certainly seems mair sensible than

looking for a push-bike wi’ a basket on the front. But if they want the advice o’ a seasoned law enforcement professional, they should stake-oot the condiments aisle o’ the Co-opie in High Street, and lift faiver buys the maist mint sauce.

Fan I wis on the force I spent maist o’ my time patrolling the mean streets o’ Hazelheid, but I also hid a few postings to the sticks. Rural policing is nae the cushy number you might think. A lot o’ the time you are having to deal wi’ isolation. I kent it wizna going to be for me fan I got to the station in Maud and discovered the nearest bookies wiz an hour’s drive away. And of course as a toonser there is awyse the potential for making a feel o’ yerself when you dinna understand country wyes. One time, a fermer phoned to say his cows had been taen from his field. I turned up to investigate. “Weel” says he, “were my cattle rustled?” “Dinna ask me”, I says, “I wiz miles away, how would I ken fit noise they made?”

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

There was shocking scenes this week down at Villa Park in the FA cup quarter final when the home fans done a pitch evasion. Believe me you, I understand how emulsions can run high, but there is never no excuse for anoraky. Fans should only enter the hollowed turf if their team has actually won something. Or if they are on their way to give the ref a hiding.

Speaking of refs, Craig Thomson will want to go into hiding after his howler at Tannadice at the weekend. There was a bit of a commotion between United and Celtic players after Scott Brown played his joker, which allows him to half someone without getting booked. The whistler and his linesman sent off Celtic’s Dick van Dyke but they gave the wrong United player his jotters!

Unfunnily enough, Old Kenny was once the victim of a case of mis-shapen identikit. I was playing for Locos against Brora when i went to clean out their striker, but before I could get a stud on him my pal Dunter Duncan got there first. The ref jumped to the wrong contusion and he says to me, he says “Sorry Kenny, you’ve got to go”. I was raging and I says to him, I says “I can’t believe you’re sending me off for nothing!” Still, I had the last laugh. On my way to the dug-out I nutted their winger, so the red card didn’t go to waste.

When Tim Berners-Lee invented the Internet, this may not be exactly what he had in mind.

View from the Midden – Agricultural affairs with Jock Alexander

Fit like ab’dy? It’s been an ophthalmological wik in the village. Ye see, a photie of a certain Oban wifie’s frock has caused a fair stooshie on the interwebs. Even here in Meiklewartle we have been at loggerheads aboot ‘The Dress’. Some fowk see it as fite and gold, but others, looking at the self-same picter, see blue and black. ‘Eh?’, the cry has gone oot, ‘Fit wye?’ How can some eens een nae see fit ither eens een see? Fa’s richt? Or is naeb’dy? Weel, the village’s own fashion icon, Feel Moira, his the answer. Moira is blessed wi’ a large disposable income, on account of the fact that she niver peys for nithin. Additionally, she attends a large number of weddings. She’s nae invited, you understand, but fan Moira arrives at your function in full sail, resistance is futile. She’ll neck a pint o’ kir royal, kick aff her sheen and lead even the maist refined company in a slosh afore ye can say ‘excuse me, madam, may I see your invitation?’. Onywye, as a result, Moira owns a staggering number of funcy outfits, including the dress in question. So in the sprirt o’ scientific discovery she’s been weering it roon the village for aa tae see, and since spring has sprung, she’s been delivering calfies in it aa wik. And I must say, efter a close study in various lighting conditions, I can confirm Moira’s is neither fite & gold nor blue & black. It’s mair a kind o’ sharny broon. Cheerio!

Shelley Shingles, Showbiz correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1983

OMG!  I am totes exhausted after a mega-busy awards season. I love seeing the rich and famous in designer outfits, guzzling champagne while they are gawped at by the masses.  It’s just like Friday night in The Albyn!

Sadly, I couldn’t attend the BAFTAs or the Oscars this year. I had a totes important commitment to fulfil, calling the Sunday night bingo at Bressay Brae retirement home (It’s so rewarding, but it can be very sad. Some of the old dears are so dottled they don’t even know who I am!).   I would have loved to see Eddie Redmayne getting his gongs for his portrayal of Professor Steven Hawkwind.  Mind you, Benylin Cummerbund will have been disappointed not to win for playing Enigma code-breaker Alan Turing. He’ll probably just want to draw a veil over that now; I suppose that’s what they mean by a Turing shroud!

I did make it to the fab-u-lous BRITs though, and the big talking point was the Queen of pop, her Madge herself, taking a tumble thanks to a wardrobe malfunction with her cape!  We’d never officially met, but our careers started at about the same time so I’m sure Madonna’s kept the same eye on my progress as I have hers. I tried to get a quick interview with her after the show, but she had to regretfully decline. ‘Get out of my way’, she said, warmly, ‘I need to get to the airport, I don’t want to miss another flight!”

Wise words, from a great lady.

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

In these cynical, embittered and antagonistic times, we must seek succour and inspiration where we can find it.  This week, I found it in a remarkable photograph which spread like wildfire on the internet.  Happily, on this occasion, Kim Kardashian’s buttocks were not involved.  This was an image of a primal struggle between unmatched foes.  No, not Donald Trump’s barnet and a high wind; but a woodpecker in flight with a weasel clinging to its back like a hairy jockey.  The steely determination in the woodpecker’s eyes as it perseveres in the face of apparently overwhelming adversity reminded me of nothing more than the look on Willie Young’s fizzog when he had to face the accounts committee about Marischal Square.  And like the woodpecker, Willie has come through that stern test and is airborne still, albeit it with some chunks having been bit out of him.

It is a strange life, a woodpecker’s: endlessly drumming your head against a solid object in the hope of some small reward.  Sometimes I think we are all woodpeckers now.

But believe it or not, it’s not the most remarkable photograph I have ever seen of a panic-stricken creature giving somebody a coalie-back.  That’s the one taken in the Kirkgate Bar after the Christmas party, when Len Ironside dropped into a wrestling crouch and challenged all-comers – just as the University rugby team came in through the door.