“Tak me tae Cuba! Or New Pitsligo. Fitever’s nearest.”

View from the Midden – Rural affairs with Jock Alexander

Weel, it’s been a controversial wik in the village! There’s been much fuss o’er a certain ‘best selfie ever’; a photie o’ a jolly North-East mannie wi a big bappit grin on his face posin’ next to a hijacker on a plane. And of course a lot o’ folk hiv been getting real het up aboot it. Partly on the grounds that it’s a trivialisation o’ what was a clearly a very serious and frightening criminal act, but mainly because he cried it a ‘selfie’ fan it wis actually taen by a stewardess.

The ither wik we hid a similar situation in the village, which just gings tae show foo close tae the zeitgeist you can be fan yer 7 miles fae Inverurie. It a’ started fan Feel Moira, suffering the effects o her seventeen lunchtime pints, climbed intae the cab o’ aul Tam Broon’s combine harvester mid-plough, and insisted he tak her tae Cuba. Or New Pitsligo, fitever wiz nearer. Noo there wiz some panic, but the situation was eventually brocht tae a peaceful conclusion fan Tam got his Kodak Instamatic 100 oot and got Moira tae pose for a photie just past Cuminestown . Momentarily blinded by the enormous flash, she fell aff her seat, and Tam wis able tae putter awa tae safety. A lesson there fer ab’dy that the auld technology is the best. Mind you, the combine disna hae GPS, so it did tak him 5 hours tae get hame.   Cheerio!

Struan Metcalfe, MSP for Aberdeenshire North and Surrounding Nether Regions

They say that nothing in this world is certain except Death & taxes. Although these days we can add the pointlessness of the Scottish Greens and the fact that right now, Big Bang Theory is on E4.

Tax has become the hot pomme de terre of this year’s Scottish elections after Nicola Sturgeon ruled out introducing a new top rate because it wouldn’t actually raise any more revenue. According to Wee Nic, anyone faced with the higher rate simply hires an incredibly smart accountant and avoids paying it. Well, that was news to me, and I was obviously appalled. How come I’m still paying full whack?

Quite how one goes about dodging tax, I have no idea; and believe me, I’ve tried. Back in the good old days Hubert Sidebottom, the dull chap from school who became a tax lawyer in the City, creatively accounted away my banking bonus by transferring it into gilts and High Art (not subject to national insurance back then, see?) But no longer. When i got him on the blower he told me the loopholes have long been closed. In fact, Hube’s said the income tax code is now as tight as a hippo’s speedos.

Nicola also suggested that if she introduced a bnew top rate anyone earning over £150k might flee to the South to escape it. Jeepers, we might moan a lot, but does she really believe that the Scottish people are prepared to move to Englandshire to save a few bob? That’s about as likely as any of us watching another Scottish Leaders’ debate!

J Fergus Lamont, Arts correspondent and author of “Nicky Campbell – lust for glory”

Setting out on Saturday evening for a brisk constitutional, I chanced upon a public art installation in the form of a humble sofa in the unassuming environs of our own Duthie Park. This workaday item, so completely out of place in the rain-lashed open air, stood in witty counterpoint to the ‘outdoors within’ of the nearby Winter Gardens. Intrigued, I asked one eager young arts enthusiast whether he thought the piece was more evocative of the work of Anish Kapoor or Anthony Gormley. His response was both cryptic and enlightening: “fit are ye on aboot? I’m ga’n tae be on telly!”

He further revealed that cameras were present recording images for a video installation entitled “Saturday Night Take Away”. You won’t have heard of it, it has received little, if any, publicity, but it’s a searing satire of the disposable emptiness of popular culture by the Newcastle-based artist Anton D’ Eck.

This brave, contemplative and profoundly moving meditation on what we consider to be ‘within’ and ‘without’ then took on yet more complexity as a flashmob of participants descended upon it waving passports and suitcases in a clear representation of our need to escape, whilst simultaneously rooted, inescapably, to a sofa.

Dramatically, the piece concluded with the soul-rending, incomprehensible, cri de coeur; ‘I’ve won a cruise’.

I wept.

See us live this Summer in ‘Dreich Encounter’ 

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right – Stuck in the middle with EU

Struan Metcalfe, Conservative MSP for Aberdeenshire North and surrounding nether regions – An Apology.
Whoops, I did it again! Old Struan has gone off message and Head Office have been on the blower giving me a right good rollicking. Apparently I went out-of-bounds with this little tweet-let:
“Gove, IDS and Boris say ‘Ciao ‘ but Camo, Osborne and May say ‘stay’. I haven’t seen this much division since Primary 7 arithmetic!”
I am truly sorry for making light of the internal ructions tearing apart my beloved Conservative Party. As Super Dave has made tremendously clear, we are all free to make up our own minds about how to vote to stay in Europe. Unless we have aspirations to lead the Tory party into the next General Election, of course!
I have to confess, I’d rather tuned the whole thing out until quite recently, (well, it is a bit…snooztastic, isn’t it?) and when I first heard about ‘Brexit’ I assumed it was a new cereal from Weetabix. That was a tricky convo with Eric Pickles, I can tell you.
But I don’t think it matters which MPs are ‘in’, which MPs are ‘out’ or which MPs are ‘shake it all about’. I heard Chris Grayling announce that he expected the great unwashed will ‘vote with their feet’ on this one. Which is bally odd, isn’t it? Why can’t they use a pencil like the rest of us?
Ron Cluny, official council spokesman
It is not normally the job of a local authority to take an interest in democracy in action in far-flung countries. Indeed, after the great Union Terrace Gardens U-turn, some might opine that we do not take a great deal of interest in democracy here. However, given the special, albeit dysfunctional, relationship between Donald J Trump and Aberdeen City and Shire, we have been keeping a weather eye on how he is getting on in the Republican Primaries. And, as his crushing win in Nevada increases the risk that America will make history again by following Barrack Obama’s Presidency with the election of a crudely-drawn cartoon character, we have commenced planning for the contingency that Trump becomes Leader of the free world.
The major concern is defence. Air cover and ground support will have to be provided to the Aberdeen Bay Renewables Project and the Robert Gordon University; and of course, a round the clock guard will be needed at the Menie estate, lest the president seek to annexe the Greatest Golf Course in the World™ and declare it the 51st state of the union. But overall, the news is positive. In tourism terms, his election would be a boon, with large numbers of Americans expected to come and see the town that hated him before it became fashionable. Moreover, a Trump presidency would be good news for the whisky industry, as it is hard to imagine many Americans getting through it sober.
Professor Hector J Schlenk, Senior Research Fellow at the Bogton Institute for Public Engagement with Science
As a scientist, people are always asking me questions like “Will Virtual Reality headsets replace mobile phones?”, “Will commercial space flights ever catch on” and “Space for milk?” This week, though, I’ve been asked about the dark side of the moon and gorillas. To which I reply “Give me David Gilmour over Damon Albarn any day!” And then we laugh – As soon as I’ve explained about Pink Floyd and the Blur frontman’s most successful side project.
NASA have acted quickly to dismiss any talk of alien involvement in the eerie “space music” that Apollo 10 astronauts heard when they orbited the far side of the moon in 1969, recordings of which surfaced on the web earlier this week. Of course, we scientists know that there couldn’t possibly be music playing in the vacuum of space, as sound waves need some form of medium through which to propagate. Boffins have pointed out that radio interference was the most likely cause of the strident, tuneless wailing. But whatever the cause, scientists are unanimous that the “music” was much better than ‘Love Yourself’ by Justin Bieber.
Back on terra firma, a Bristolian obstetrician successfully performed an emergency caesarean section on a gorilla he at his local zoo. He denied that he’d performed heroics, stating that the anatomy of a gorilla was remarkably similar to that of a human. We are similar in many ways to our mammalian cousins and many behaviours are transferable between species. Which is why I get my hair cut at “Posh Paws” my local canine grooming parlour.

For North-East Scotalnd, it hasn’t been a good spell

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

The opportunity to serve you. That is all that we, your devoted Local Authority, seek. But just occasionally we might be forgiven for wishing that you would bestow that opportunity upon someone else.

It has been a trying week in the Town House. It started with our antagonists gibbering with joy at the fact that we had spelled “Scotland” incorrectly on our polling cards, and ended up with them gleefully whooping and hollering at the fact that the repairs to the Town House are going to come in over-budget. Well, really. Who would be a public servant? George Osborne was treated with greater deference by IDS – a man who both sounds like a gastro-intestinal complaint, and wears the fixed facial expression of someone who is suffering from one.

Let us deal first with the spelling error. Obviously, it is to be regretted that the regional constituency was mis-spelled “North East Scotalnd”, but to be honest, that was nothing compared to the typos we saw in the various tweets, emails and letters of complaints. Many of the people who contacted us demanding that the polling cards be pulped and re-issued were mischief-makers, while the remainder were wannabe big-shots. Spot the deliberate spelling mistake there.

Turning now to the overspend; nothing seems to energise the public more than the idea that the council has forked out more money than was absolutely necessary. Obviously, an overspend of £2M on works that were originally intended to cost only £1.5M is less than ideal. But it is important to put this in context. These works were long delayed by previous, less far-sighted administrations, meaning that when we bravely pressed on with them, more needed to be done. In executing these works, no corners have been cut; we have used only the highest quality materials, employed only the highest quality of tradesmen, and when deliberating over the plans, our committee members consumed only the highest quality coffee and fine pieces. We have overspent by a mere 230%. The construction of the Scottish Parliament, by contrast, went over budget by 800%! On that basis, it might be said that your ever-thrifty local Council is 570% to the good. you’re welcome.

Jonathan M Lewis, local Headteacher

How I have enjoyed reading about the run-away winner of an online poll to name a new Royal Research Ship. Whilst there is an element of silliness about calling a multi-million pound state-of-the-art research ship “Boaty McBoatface”, I champion the use of the democratic process to find the rightful moniker for the vessel.

I’m sure many parents will recall me taking a similar stance when Garioch Academy was looking to select a new school motto. Many suggested that it was tantamount to negligence to devolve the decision to the pupils, claiming that they would be unable to take the process seriously. ‘At least’ the nay-sayers bleated’ give them a sensible shortlist to choose from’. I, however, was confident that our young people would respond positively to the responsibility entrusted to them and I think we can all agree that there was nothing to gain by stifling their creativity.

My only regret is that the many doubters weren’t able to see for themselves just how wrong they were. Senior pupils formed campaign teams, canvassed the younger pupils and even held a lively ‘hustings’ debate the afternoon before votes were cast. The whole process was carried out impeccably and when the motto was chosen, it provided yet another occasion where I was truly proud to be Head Teacher here at Garioch Academy, where our blazer badges now proudly proclaim “Why learn when you can Google?”

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the sports writer with impeccable feminist credentials.

It’s not normally my cup tea cakes, but I’ve been reading a lot of the tennis headlights this week. There’s been a bit of a hahoo about prize money, with Kojak Choccybics saying he reckons the women should get paid less much money than the men. It’s always a risky business talking about agenda issues in sport, so hopefully old Kenny won’t ruffle any lady’s feather dusters by saying something sexist.

If you is asking me, I think Kojak’s got it all wrong. He says at his press conference, he says “men attract more spectators”. Now, don’t get me wrong, he is a top athlete in the peak of physical condition, but I is not attracted to him. Some of those women players, though, they is absolutely gorgeous!

 

Give your baby the name of a superhero? Be careful, he might be Thorry.

Jonathan M Lewis, local headteacher

There was a time when pupils’ names were simpler. When a teacher could tell a great deal just by glancing at a class list. For example, you knew where you were with a Ryan. If you had a Ryan in your class you knew that he should be right under your nose where you could keep an eye on him. Newcomers to the profession would dismiss this as stereotyping, but give even the most saintly educator 3 months with a Ryan in the back row and they were converted.

However, each year at Garioch, our S1 intake features fewer and fewer names that we know, with an ever-increasing supply of unknown quantities like Arizona, D’Island or Thor.

That’s what our most recent staff development session focused on. Poring over the National Records of Scotland’s list of baby names was not, as has been suggested, “a childish exercise in time-wasting”. Analyzing the names of our future pupils will ensure that we know what to expect from the likes of Khaleesi, December-Lee and Axl when they arrive here at Garioch.

Staff development sessions are a vibrant and dynamic environment, where staff come together to engage in a range of activities, share their expertise as we prepare for the uncertain but exciting future of education. The tiresome accusation that all we successfully develop at these sessions are bigger waistlines from gorging on cakes could not be further from the truth. We very rarely get cakes, particularly last week, when a mix up in the Senior Management Team saw the staff trying to get through the session with only a somewhat bashed packet of Garibaldis.

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands Most Eligible Bachelor

Jimmy, although a child o’ the seventies, is still in prime physical condition, even noo he’s in his early 30s. But employers is gettin’ increasingly interested in their staff’s physical health and I wiz aghast to hear o’ a mate – aye a mate ye understand, nae Jimmy himself – fa hid tae ging through a horrific medical examination as part o’ his employment contract tae mak sure he wiznae (a) dying (b) likely tae die soon and (c) a fat pleiter fa drinks too much and thinks a personal trainer is a specially-made jimmie .

So, my mate (fa is definitely nae me) turns up tae his appointment this wik and is measured fae heid tae fit, hiz his blood pressure ta’en (efter a particularly stressful postal round fan he wiz chased by an unusually aggressive Pekinese. Oh, they look funny on Crufts, but it’s nae laughing matter fan they sink their teeth intae yer diadoras) and is then asked tae strip aff, lie doon and hae something called an EPG. Noo – Jimmy’s mate his some experience o’ being asked tae lie on a bed and tak aff his boxers, but nae by a hairy phsyio ca’ed Barry!

Next thing, the boy Barry is attaching electrodes tae hiz nipples, and asking if he checks his chuckies on a regular basis! Weel, contractual obligation or no, he wiz oot o’ that consulting room faster than Matt le Blanc at the Cenotaph.

I da ken if I passed the medical, but there’s definitely nithin’ wrang wi’ my reflexes!

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

So, the Torcher parade has been cancelled, and once again, the mischief-makers who delight in deriding the local authority are having a field day, accusing us of pig-headed obstinacy. As usual, our critics speak from a position of deep ignorance. When the students sought to change the date of the parade to the 19th of March, we told them that that fell within our winter maintenance schedule and as such we could not make staff available to steward the event. We then made the perfectly reasonable request that the event take place on a date on which virtually no students would have been available to attend. This was a win-win situation – a short, crummy event would have been particularly easy to steward and would have been over in a jiffy, allowing everyone to dump their 2ps into a single bucket before getting home in time to catch the tail end of Ant & Dec’s excellent ‘Saturday Night Take Away’. However, the students were not interested in efficiency, and instead wanted to put some kind of ‘meaningful event’. Ah, the idealism of youth! As they grow up they will learn that when it comes to weighing up the benefits of a unique 126 year old civic tradition and the orderly execution of a pothole-filling programme, there can only be one winner.

 

See us live in ‘Dreich Encounter’. June 2nd-11th 2016 at HMT Aberdeen

Maria’s toughest court appearance may lie ahead.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who’s performance is never enhanced

These days the papers is sometimes always printing stories about yet another sports star who has failed a drugs test. So much so, in fact, that old Kenny has become desanitised to it. But when I seen that the latest offender was Russian tennis star Maria Champagne-Supernova, my jaw hut the roof.
For once, Old Kenny went and done some research about this story before jumping to any contusions. And I have to say that after finding out what I have finded out about it, I do feel a bit sorry for the lad. She says she’s been taking the drug for 10 years and she never knew that her totally innocent unlicensed Latvian heart-disease medicine had become an inhibited substance. The drug only got banned on New Year’s Day and poor Maria was none the wiser as she hadn’t opened the attachment on her email. I can’t say I blame her. Never mind emails, after a cracking Hogmanay party old Kenny never even opened his curtains on New Year’s Day!
Some folks is saying she should get banned for life, whilst others is saying it’s just an accident but one thing I do know is that ignoramus is no defence in the eyes of the in-laws. It reminds me of my playing days when I was still with the Dons, and Fergie says he was fed up of players turning up for training hungover. To stamp it out he told us he was going to do a urine test the next day. It might be hard for my readers to tell, but old Kenny was never all that any good at tests, so after training I went to calm my nerves with a pint at the White Cockade.
When I got there, I bumped into one of my old Kincorth pals, Kenny Carle. We got chatting and I ended up there til chucking out time. When I told him about my test in the morning, Kenny had a cracking idea. He says to me, he says “Take some of Melody’s with you in a bottle”, which I done. When Fergie got the test results back he comes rushing over to me with a face like a mauchie day at Foveran. I says to him, I says “What’s the problem Gaffer?” And he says to me, he says “Well Kenny, the good news is there wasn’t no alcohol in your system.” “And what’s the bad news?” I says. “The bad news is I can’t play a left back who’s 6 weeks pregnant.”

Struan Metcalfe, MSP for Aberdeenshire North and surrounding Nether Regions.

Good old Boris! You do have to love the Latin-spouting floppy haired man-child.

It turns out BoJo got one of his lackeys to send an email to all of his staff saying that they must not publicly express an opinion on the Brexit question unless it was his one. Basically, everyone who works for him has to support him, or keep their big mouths shut. Then, when Mr Tumble is called out for delivering a diktat of staggering pomposity and hypocrisy (once the email is leaked to the BBC) he immediately blames the lackey who sent it (even though said flunkey was ordered by Boris to send the email in the first place – allegedly). Of course Old Boris hilariously calls it an ‘almighty cock-up’ and everybody laughs and says “Oh, that’s just Boris”.

And that’s what’s so bally irksome. When I do something jolly naughty – like calling my constituents ‘a bunch of incomprehensible tractor botherers’ or giving Annabel Goldie a wedgie – I get firmly reprimanded by Tory Party Central Office and forced to publicly apologise for my actions. Yet the boy Boris does something wrong, he just says something like “oh, well, gosh, I am a silly billy. But I do have adorably chubby fingers and hilarious hair” and everyone just laughs and lets him off with it.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a Boris fan (well – in so far as Super Dave will allow it!) but this is the chap who might yet lead the party and as a result, the country. So what can we expect from PM BoJo? “Ah, yes, well, the thing is, ah, yes, I did invade Finland. And that was a jolly rum thing to do and I wont do it again.” or Whoops, I appear to have accidentally spent the entire defence budget on jelly babies. Mea very much culpa, now who’s for a game of whiff whaff?”.

Craigievar Castle Tour highlights: drawing room, great hall, nudie wifie…

Tanya Soutar, local lifestyle guru
I hate it fan a new romance fizzles oot.  Ye ken fit like, one minute yer sookin i face aff some loon in the smoking shelter at Soul, then a few wiks later, yer squeezin the plooks on his back files watchin Ant & Dec on telly.  That’s why I’m eyewis on the look oot fer new wyes tae pit some spice back intae yer relationship.  Fan I seen that there’s been a stooshie ower nudie photies teen at Craigievar Castle, I thought yous might like my top tips fer using boudoir photies tae pit a bit lead in yer pencils.
Firstly, it’s important that yer photies is tasteful.  That disnae mean flowin curtains an chaise-longues – it means they should be teen by someone else.  A selfie o yer bits is nae a good look, despite fit a’ the blokes I’ve met through online datin’ think!
Secondly, ye need tae mak sure that the ambiance is ga’n tae mak ye look glamorous. Ging fer soft focus an use props like a cushion or a mock chop supper to hide yer love handles.  My pal, Big Sonya, got photies teen in the buff fer her last boyfriend.  She draped a chiffon scarf with yalla dots roon herself to try to look allurin’.  Her lad took one look and said “Fit wye are you giving me a photo of Mr Blobby?”.
Maist important, ye need tae mak sure that ye’ve got permission tae tak yer photies at yer chosen location.  This is fit’s caused a’ the bother ower at Craigievar.  Mind, it still sounds like lot less trouble than my ither pal, Nae-wise Natalie, got intae fan she treated her man tae saucy snaps.  She thought some shots o her in the skud, draped ower the bonnet o his dream car, wid look great.  It’s jist a peety the staff at Arnold Clark didnae agree!

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman
An opinion poll has ranked Aberdeen City as one of the least Eurosceptic districts in Britain. The Shire is not far behind, and Scotland overall is more pro-European than England. It seems that many people in the South-east, in particular, see no inherent contradiction between employing cheap, industrious Polish builders to knock up an extension and complaining bitterly about the free movement of people.
David Cameron must be regretting attempting to lance the boil of Tory Euroscepticism. Just now, it seems the boil has seized the lance from his hands and is jabbing away furiously at him. Fortunately there are lessons he can learn from Aberdeen. Here, we associate Europe with good things – a sunshine break away from the dreich weather of home, a tasty frankfurter to fortify us when Christmas shopping, and Aberdeen’s glorious victory over Real Madrid in Gothenburg. So all Cameron has to do to secure a resounding “Oui” on June 23rd is send everyone in England on a package holiday, press a knockwurst into their hands and arrange for Arsenal to win the Champions League. Caker.

View from the Midden – Jock Alexander, Rural Affairs Correspondent
Weel, michty, it’s been a celestial wik in the village! Aye, the nicht skies were a’ lit up the ither day wi the maist impressive flash seen since aul’ Jim Bruce did his bet-winning drunken streak aroon’ the village square.
Ye’ll have seen the dashcam footage – a’ across the countryside, efter dark, folk are heard tae swear loudly at the sudden appearance o’ a blinding light. Partly because it wiz so unusual, but maistly as it illuminated the horrendous roads they were drivin’ doon, and showed they were aboot to run int’a pot-hole.
Thinking it wiz a meteorological phenomenon, I askit oor village weathergirl, Feel Moira, fit had happened. She’s afa good at divinin’ future conditions fae the arrangement o’ twigs in her teapot. No matter fan it is, she can aye predict that the temperature will be 5 degrees and it will be dingin’ doon hale watter; and this bein’ Aiberdeenshire, she’s niver wrang. But it turn’t oot it wizna a weather effect of a, but a great muckle meteor explodin’ in mid-air!
This wiz exciting news for a’ o’ us in the village, and fair calmed doon Skittery Wullie, fa is a big X-Files fan, initially suspected aliens, and hid taen to his chunty roof wearin’ a tin-foil hat.
And so, naturally, having learnt there wiz nithin sinister aboot the event, we are going to dae the  decent thing – suppress the mundane truth, and rebrand Meikle Wartle as Area 53, makin sure the stocking the village shop wi’ plenty o’ alien masks and toy flying saucers for ony tourists that we manage tae lure in by! Cheerio!