Shock as KFCs closed due to chicken shortage – fa kent it wis actually chicken?

Kevin Cash, money saving expert and King of the Grips

I’m sure mony people wiz as shocked as I wis that Kentucky Fried Chicken has hid tae close 600 stores as they hidna hid their chicken delivered. I mean, until noo, fa believed that fit you got in a KFC actually wis chicken?

I am a huge fan o’ a Bargain Bucket (and nae jist because the contents can feed a family for a tenner. The real value comes eence yer feenished, fan yer left wi’ a free bucket! A quick dicht and it’s ready tae be repurposed as a bath for pets or wee kiddies, an ironic fruitbowl or a single use crash helmet). And I’m nae the only een fa likes a KFC, so, far there is demand, let their be supply. My pal, Mick The Pill, his an auld deep fat fryer, and it turns oot that jist aboot onything looks plausibly Kentucky Fried Chickenish eence ye roll it in breid crumbs and lob it in biling fat. So I’ve chopped up a load of auld Amazon boxes I had been using tae insulate my windaes, fried it up wi’ my secret blend o’ herbs and spices (a squirt o’ HP sauce), and pit it intae the red plastic buckets I got in the fire-damage sale efter Jimmy Chungs burnt doon.  I hiv pit the initials K.F.C on the side (short, of course, for Kevin’s Fried Cardboard) alongside a picture o’ Jim McColl fae the Beechgrove Gairden. I’ll be selling it ootside the currently closed front door of the KFC at Union Street for as lang as a grateful populace needs me. Or I get chased awa by the bobbies, fit iver’s soonest.

Struan Metcalfe, MP for Turriff and East Speyside

Well, hear me sneeze and cry as I tear an intercostal, what a week it’s been! Not only is it amazeballs that David ‘Thunderdome’ Davis has actually seen Mad Max (I would have had him down as a ‘Dirty Dancing’ sort of chap) – but he managed to weave it into one of his mental Brexit fever dream rambles. Meanwhile Jezza Corbyn has been accused of being a spy from behind the Iron Curtain. Now, I thought the Iron Curtain was what the fragrant Margaret had hung across the windows of her boudoir at Number 10, but by Jingo it’s not. Apparently, it’s the part of Europe that was on the wrong side of the Berlin Wall, back in the day. Full of Reds, Pinkoes and fantastically handsome female javelin throwers. And, of course, spies. Commie Spies.

Now, look here, I bally love a spy. James Bond (BANG!), Emma Peel (Phwooar!) Kim Philby (good schooling, classically handsome). But are we seriously suggesting old Jezzer was a sleeper agent for the Evil Empire? Come on. Spies are supposed to ‘blend in’ – I’m no fan, but Jezz has been standing out like a sore thumb in everyone’s side ever since he stated wearing long (corduroy) trousers! Just because he has a beard and eats hummus does not mean he has colluded with the Eastern Bloc. You know, they used to say the same sort of thing about my geography teacher at Gordonstoun, Mr Molotov. Most unfair, he was a great chap, Welsh, I think? Crazy accent, always railing against the capitalist hegemenony. What a laugh. Pity, but no-one from school seems to know what happened to him after he went missing on that exchange trip to Prague. Odd.

Tanya Soutar, local lifestyle guru

I dinna ken about yous, but I’m finding it increasingly difficult tae entertain my bairns at the wikend. My eldest, Tyler, he’s easy tae please. He sets aff on Friday night wi’ a screwdriver and a balaclava and I dinna see him again til Monday morning. I’ve nae idea fit he diz, but as lang as it keeps him oot o’ trouble, ken?

But it’s the younger twa, Beyoncé-Shanice and Jayden, that’s a pest. Last Setterday I went tae een o’ that “soft play” centres tae try and keep them occupied.

I hid barely plonked masel doon in the café wi’ a latté and a slice o’ tiffin and sterted looking on Tinder for nearby hunky single dads fan a wifie comes ower and says “We’ve gone a bit ‘Lord of the Flies’ I’m afraid”. Weel, I’ve nae idea fit ‘at meant, but I turned aroon and seen Jayden shoving a’ the ither kids up against the helter skelter files Beyoncé-Shanice wis robbing their snacks. I telt the woman I’d sort it. ‘No!’ I says tae the pair o’ them, ‘That behaviour is not asseptable. Nae snacks, ye’ll spile yer denner’.

_{Do Ice-skaters ever wonder if their career is slipping away?}

_{Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who knows his bunions} 

_{Piles of snow, freezing conditions, biting wind… Inverurie can be a brutal in February, so I’ve gone and gotten myself hooked on that Winter Olympics that’s on the telly just now.  And I tell you, the weather over there in South Korea isn’t much better!  The wind his been even worse than what comes out of Kris Boyd’s lips when he has a go at being a TV punnet.  There’s been all sorts of problems with skiers and snowboarders getting blown off course.  That must have been what was wrong when I had a dibble with snowboarding down at the dry stane slope at Kaimhill.  I felled over more times than my old football opponents did when I kicked lumps out of them, but if the pros can blame the elementals, so can old Kenny.}

_{I felt dead sorrow for Scottish quine Elise Christie in the speed skating.  She got wiped out on the last lap and missed out on a medal, and she was incontrollable afterwards.  Mind you, I felt even worser for the South Korean skater who thought she’d got silver only to get the dunt for pushing an opponent.  It must have been difficult for the judges to make that call, but pushing people needs punished because it’s dangerous.  That ice was so slippery – it was like a skating rink.}

_{There’s some right funny events at the winter Olympics.  The luge just minds me o the time I once seen a drunk mannie tripping when he tried to take a tray of drinks upstairs in the Hogshead.  I’ve not the skeleton bob yet, but it sounds like it either involves shoving a long-dead mannie on a sledge and sending him downhill or ducking for bones instead of apples.  Either way, it’s nae sport like what I ken it.  Mind you, the curling is always a good bet for a British medal.  It’s a cracking sport, the curling.  It combines the drama of bowling with the excitement of furious paced housework.  I once gave curling a go when I was playing for the Dons.  It was one of Fergie’s steam building activities.  I was playing in a team with Doug Rougvie, Stewpot Kennedy and John McMaster and we kept mucking around and having a laugh.  The gaffer seen us larking about and shouts out, he shouts “hoi, less of the nonsense Kenny – yous are skating on thin ice!” Which is a bit stupid if you ask me.  8 lads and 8 massive curling stones on thin ice is surely a recipe for disaster.}

_{VIEW FROM THE MIDDEN – Rural affairs with MTV (Meikle Wartle Television) presenter, JOCK ALEXANDER.} 

_{It’s been an acroamatic wik in the village. In fact I’d ging as far as to say it has been recondite and cabalistic an’ a. Or I wid dae if I kent fit those words meant. I’ve seen them a’ in connection wi the topic I’m explorin’ this wik, so your guess is as good as mine. Ye see, I stumbled upon an advert in the national press in which the United Grand Lodge of England complained aboot their members being discriminated against and stigmatised. Noo Skittery Wullie was sat by me on the bar stools fan I read oot this ad, and he wiz outraged aboot this. He wiz yarkin on at great length aboot how he had a great respect for a’ god’s creatures, and if they wanted jobs, fit wye should beavers lose oot, even if they *were* English. I had then to explain tae him that this wisnae aminals in this Lodge, but freemasons. He then skailt his dram and knocked ower his Scumpi fries in excitement at the thought that there were masons oot there that could patch up the crumblin’ stone wa’s of his pig-shed for free.  I then moved tae a different bar stool.} 

_{But it set me ponderin’ on this topic, and I came tae the conclusion that masons is like MPs or cooncillors – ab’dy has heard of them, maist folk complain that they’re up tae somethin’,  but naeb’dy has ony idea fit it is they actually dae. Even so, it is affa sad tae hear they they feel they’re being unfairly discriminated against.  Although that’s also quite tricky, given that naeb’dy kens fa they are in the first place. Noo I’ve heard it said that being a mason is maistly aboot big lunches, being secretive, engagin in arcane practices and haein a affa funny handshake, which jist sounds like Feel Moira to me. Noo I ken she’s nae an obvious candidate for an all-male secret society, but let’s face it she does pass as male in dim light, so chances are she’s the ideal een tae ask about this hale topic. I think I shall jist awa and roll up one trouser leg and borrow Skittery Willie’s billy goat afore popping by her hoose, and see fit she’s sayin’. Although if she’s got her apron on and mutterin’ in Latin again, I may jist keep gan hame without stopping. Cheerio!}

 

‘Tiger, tiger – shining bright’

VIEW FROM THE MIDDEN – Rural affairs with MTV (Meikle Wartle Television) presenter, JOCK ALEXANDER

Well it’s been a zoological wik in the village. There wiz much excitement in the air on Tuesday as we had a Police Scotland armed response unit clattering doon the high street. I thocht tae masel ‘Aye aye, Skittery Wullie’s been up tae his aul tricks again’ (he swears blind that he wizna the secret mastermind behind the Hatton Garden job, but we dinna believe him. He’s niver satisfactorily explained fit a pig fairmer wid need wi’ a Hilti DD350 industrial power drill; nor how come he stairted weering Prada dungers). But it turns oot it wisna him they wiz efter, they had jist got a bittie lost on the wye oot tae a farm near Hatton (easy done syne Feel Moira reversed the road signage at Tipperty in the hopes that a JCB fae the bypass might end up in the village by mistake. She’s ayewis winted een). They hid swung intae action because a nervous fairmer had stumbled upon fit appeared tae be a tiger lolling aboot in his cowshed, and so understandably perturbed, had pit the call oot tae Police Scotland. I say ‘appeared tae be’, but tae be honest, ye’d only hae thocht yon if yer idea o’ fit a tiger looks like came solely fae a box o’ Frosties. Needless tae say, it turned oot tae nae be a vicious man-eating beast o’ the jungle efter a’, but a great big cuddly toy.

Of course, in fairness, in this neck of the woods, tales of big cats roaming aboot are frequent, and hiv tae be taken seriously. Ye niver really ken if there’s a fierce predator escaped fae a wildlife park, or if there is some mair humdrum explanation. The Beast of Meikle Wartle has been sighted mony a time. Innocent revellers, stumbling hame efter a good skite, have reported suddenly coming face tae face wi’ a wild, hairy, slavering creature fit leaps oot fae the dark wi’ a terryifing roar. Of course, it’s Moira, efter she’s been chucked oot early fae the pub.

In mony wyes a Tiger wid be preferable. Cheerio!
Prof Hector Schlenk, Senior Researcher at the Bogton Insitute for Public Engagement with Science

As a scientist I am a frequent visitor to Aberdeen’s Science & Technology Park, where people are always asking me questions. Questions like; “Did you put these business cards on my windscreen?”, “Do you know this is private property?” and “Can you stay where you are please sir and keep your hands by your sides while I call Security?”. But this week, I was amazed, astounded, not to say relieved, to read the news that a chemical used in the preparation of McDonald’s French Fries has been found to cure baldness and even regrow hair. Being a man of science, my head is, of course, constantly full of full of hypothesis, formulae and equations; but not, sadly, much hair. Despite having cultivated a suitably professorial neatly trimmed beard on my chin, unkind children on the street still shout “Chromedome” at me, and when I retort that chromium is in fact a steel grey coloured alloy produced by silicothermic or aluminothermic reactions and consequently bears essentially no resemblance whatsoever to the epidermis which actually covers my cranium, they then shout “Baldy” at me. So this development is most welcome.

Apparently, Japanese scientists have mass produced hair follicle germs from a chemical used in McDonald’s fryers to prevent cooking oil from foaming, with which they have managed to regrow hair on nude mice.

Well, before you could say ‘dimethylpolysiloxane’, and pausing only to Google ‘nude mice’ and then to immediately delete my browser history, I embarked upon an experiment of my own devising designed to test this claim in laboratory conditions. Although by ‘laboratory’, in this case I mean, of course, ‘fast food restaurant’.

Since the news broke on Monday, I have been ensconced in my nearest McDonald’s, (located at the charming Ring Road Industrial Estate, Peterhead) in order to discover if the exclusive ingestion of chips might promote a reversal in my follicular fortunes. After several days I have to say results are inconclusive; as I am no longer able to fit through the door of the gents in order to inspect the top of my head in a mirror. However, scientific progress depends on the careful accumulation of experimental data, so I shall endeavor, in the interests of human advancement, to continue with my current diet until such time as either definitive evidence can be found, or they run out of barbecue dip.

See the Flying Pigs live in ‘Now That’s What I Call Methlick’ at HMT Aberdeen from 26th – 30th June 2018

The Madness of Kingsford.

Once again, the good people of Aberdeen have been falling out with each other over a planning application. I suppose that’s what happens if you don’t have sectarianism. Here some of our regular contributors chuck their 2 pence worth of petrol on to the fire.

‘Cava’ Kenny Cordiner, sports writer.

Stand Free, wherever you may be! After months of deliberating, conjugating and indigestion, the Council has gave the green light to Kingsford stadium!

As a former Don, I’m pleased, but my joy is tingled with sadness. Pittodrie will always be something of a spirit-gum home for me. It was where I got my first top-flight debut. And then, within 10 minutes, my first yellow card, my first red card and my first roasting from Fergie.

Davinia Smythe-Barrett, ordinary mum

We shall overcome! As a resident of the once protected hinterland between Westhill and Kingswells, I’m devastated.

I actually think my public support of the anti-stadium campaign may have been the nail in the coffin. The council planners have it in for me ever since I unleashed my inner Pankhurst over our rejected application for a 4-story extension with a walk-in wine cellar, squash court and state-of-the-art yoga and tai-chi suite. Apparently it wasn’t “in keeping with the existing architecture” of the steading. And now they go and approve this monstrosity? If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s hypocrisy.

Professor Hector Schlenk, Scientist

As a scientist, I feel it’s my duty to explain some of the terminology being used in this matter. Firstly, there is ’Greenbelt Land’, which refers to an undeveloped green field on the boundary between settlements where development is usually precluded. This is not to be confused of course with a ‘Greenfield Site’, which refers to an undeveloped green field on the boundary between settlements where development is usually precluded until someone high up says ‘Ach, it’ll be fine’.

Jock Alexander, rural correspondent

It wis rare tae see the new stadium get the nod efter the Cooncil took on board views as to the suitability of the site fae an entirely representative cross-section of venture capitalists, AFC Board Members and fitba fans fed up o’ needing tae defrost themsels efter ivery game.

We dinna really follow fitba in the village – Feel Moira prefers rugby, because of the increased opportunities for personal violence, but we did used tae hae wir ain amateur side, the Wartle Wanderers, fa were famed for nil-nil draws against livestock. Unfortunately they eventually lived up to their name at half time in a match against Spartak Durno, fan they wandered intae the bog ahind Feel Moira’s and were niver seen again. Funnily enough, Moira hid pit a fiver on that at 500 tae one. Fit are the chunces?

Archie Fraser, gentleman of the road.

As long-time resident of the mean streets of the city centre – and by night the cardboard box mountain behind the of Kittybrewster retail park- I have to intimate my sadness at this decision. Without a car and finding public transport unaffordable, I will now be denied the match-day experience. I’m disappointed that no longer will I be able to pop into one of the hostelries around the ground to enjoy one or two drinks, left behind as kick-off approached. A stroll to the stadium itself at 5 would frequently gift me a hearty supper in the form of the remnants of a Pittodrie pie, and half a Bovril. On a very good day, I might even acquire a new red and white scarf, discarded in disgust at another 3-nil drubbing from The Hoops.

Struan Metcalfe, MP for Turriff and East Speyside

Well, pull my finger and brace for impact! They’ve only finally gone and done it. We haven’t seen this type of excitement since Len Ironside lost it in the Council Chambers and put Marie Boulton in a figure four leg-lock.

Clearly this decision has all sorts of ramifications. I wasn’t consulted of course but I do retain a keen interest in the old hometown, as does former Aberdonian Michael Gove, who came to my office to discuss it. He was bally confused as he thought Kingsford was ‘Upon Thames’ rather than a field behind the Four Mile Garage. That said, given the hoo and the hah emanating from the sticks, perhaps relocating the stadium to Greater London would have been easier to get through planning!

See the Flying Pigs Live in ‘Now That’s What I Call Methlick’ at His Majesty’s Theatre Aberdeen, June 26^th -30^th 2018