“Winter is coming” – well, that’s a June wedding in Old Rayne for you.

Shelley Shingles, showbiz correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1983

O M actual G! It was a celeb-spotting bonanza here in the North East last weekend when the cast of hit TV drama Game of Thrones descended upon us for the wedding of heartthrob Kit Harington and local lass Rose Leslie! They got married at Rayne church then had their shindig at Warthill Castle, and when I heard that I immediately looked  both places up on google maps to see if I could spy me some stars –and to find out exactly how far from the middle of nowhere they were.

Whilst I was at it, I had to google “Game of Thrones” as well, because I’ve never really watched it. I did catch a bit of it once, but it was a bit gadsy for me. I’m not really a fan of fantasy stuff anyway, I prefers my TV to be a bit more grounded in reality. So I turned over to watch something more educational, like ‘Cake Boss’.

Anyway, a load of famous folk made the trip, including film stars like Peter Dinklage and Marcus Mumford from the pop group Mumford and Sons (fun showbiz fact – the band are all brothers and their dad was in Rentaghost!) but top of the bill was none other than the Khaleesi herself, Emilia Clarke! She was looking stunning when she went into the church, though to be honest she’s so totes gorge she looks stunning coming out of Lidl.  But even she couldn’t overshadow Rose Leslie, the beautiful bride.

Me and Rose go way back. I first met her at North Rayne Primary  in 1993, when I was spokes-modelling for the Tufty Club and she was doing some colouring in.

‘What are you meant to be?’ She thoughtfully enquired.

I’m a squirrel’ I replied. And I’ll never forget what she said to me next.

‘My Daddy shoots them!’

Wise words from a great lady.

View from the midden with Meikle Wartle Televisions’ Jock Alexander

It’s been a gaseous wik in the village.

The big news this week is that pig welfare is at risk here in the rural areas, thanks tae a chronic shortage of CO2.  Apparently at least five gas producers a’ across Europe hiv been offline for maintenance, and it has been described as “the worst supply situation to hit the European carbon dioxide business in decades”.

Noo you toonsers may be unaware, but CO2 has twa affa important uses – een of which is pitting the fizz intae yer carbonated beer, cider and saft drinks, and the ither is giving fit Skittery Wullie euphanistically cries “a trip tae Baconville “ tae his aminals.  Noo I’m nae pig expert, so I’m nae entirely sure precisely fit role CO2 plays in this act, but I’m pretty sure he disnae jist hit them o’er the heed wi a bottle o’ Irn Bru.

But onywye, that’s the harsh reality o’ the rural life, ye ken. Nature reed in tooth and claw, and a mannie in a rubber apron wi’ a great big bolt gun. We dinna keep a’ these beasts fer cuddles and companionship, ye ken. Weel, nae jist fer that, onywye. Cheerio!

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who’s still in the sweeper

The World Cup continues to be full of controverbial incidents, mostly around this VAR technology they’ve ruined the game with.

Portugal got stitched up by it the other night, when Iran scored a pen from a soft handball decision. Then they nearly scored another which would have seen Ronaldo and co catching the first flight home, what would have fairly let the cat out of the bag of pigeons. Mind you, Ronaldo himself had a lucky escape after he clocked one of the Iran boys in the puss with a stray elbow but only got a yellow card. It’s all about reputation- if old Kenny had done that (and he did, several times) I’d have got a red (and I did, every time).

The punnets is fairly banging on about England thrashing Panorama 6-1. Fair enough lads it was a good result, but tone down the celebrations a bit, eh? They are the diddiest of all the diddy teams at this World Cup, true footballing mintoes – beating them is like winning at blow football against an asthmatic.

Don’t miss The Flying Pigs live on stage all this week in Now That’s What I Call Methlick!‘ at His Majesty’s Theatre Aberdeen; a pucklie tickets still available!

Up yer kilt? That’s for the Chope!

View from the midden- rural affairs with Jock Alexander

It has been an egalitarian wik in the village. I wis reading about Government plans tae ban the unsavoury practise of ‘upskirting’. Noo this is baith a delicate topic and a fem’ly paper, so I shall nae dwell on fit’s involved. But suffice it tae say it’s the kind of thing that wid hiv fairly got ye banned fae Boots back in the day.  However, in response tae an urgent question in Parliament on Monday, it has noo been confirmed that mannies wearing the kilt will also be protected by this new law, thus preserving the “bodily dignity’ of baith sexes. This his been hailed in the village as a notable victory for equality. Nae that mony fowk of either gender here hiv o’er much bodily dignity in the first place. And, truth be telt, the wifies in the village dinna ging in much for skirts onywye. The shoppie’s best sellers in the clothing department are invariably Feel Moira’s lines o’ unisex biler suits and dungers, accessorized wi’ matching Nick-tams.

Fit’s mair, the only mannie in the village that iver gings in for traditional highland dress is Skittery Wullie, fa jist wears the kilt ence a year, fae Burns Night tae St. Andrews Day.   Of course, being someone fa spends his entire working life surrounded by pigs and their doings, his full 9 yards of wool diz give off a distinctive aroma, so thankfully naeb’dys ever got close enough tae tak a picter up his kilt. Cheerio!

Cosmo Ludovik Fawkes Hunte, 13^th Earl of Kinmuck

Well batter my britches and serve them deep fried with a selection of pickles, what a fuss and bother has been made about Sir Christopher Chope’s decision to object to the proposed upskirting Bill.  My family are noted Parliamentarians – we have sat continuously in the House of Lords since the Act of Union, and while it has caused a few pressure sores over the years, the cleaners are now used to hoovering round us, and it is a proud boast of the Fawkes Huntes’ that each and every one of our lunches have been paid for out of public funds since 23 January 1847.  So it is as a lawmaker of skill and experience that I provide this message.  The vilification of Sir Christopher must stop.  Although of the lower orders  (a mere “Sir” can never truly be considered to be blue-blooded – mauve, at best) he went to the right sort of school and is a decent enough sort of commoner.  His objection to the Bill was not made on the basis that he thinks upskirting is acceptable, but on the basis that he, as a matter of principle, believes that all Bills should be debated.  And surely that must be the correct approach for the Mother of Parliaments to take.  Clearly there are competing rights here; the woman’s right to privacy, and the lecherous man’s right to a cheap thrill. Balancing these requires anxious consideration, but I am sure that after a full debate the predominantly male, sometimes sozzled and perpetually priapic elected members will reach a decision to make Britain proud.

Cava Kenny Cordiner’s World Cup Round About

If I could parrot phrase the famous play writer Wilbur Shapesbeer, I would say “if football be the food of love, get stuck in lads, it’s dinner time”. And the lads what are at the World Cup is getting stuck in good and proper to the feast of football what they has served us up on a silver platter made into the shape of Russia!

There’s been at least 3 games every day since Friday and almost every one of them has featured the controverbial VAR technology. We’ve seen pens given, not given, handballs spotted and missed left, centre and right. Old Kenny is very clear on his feelings about this development. The punnets is saying it’s time to eliminate refereeing errors, but what’s this going to do for players at the grass-roofs level? With all this expensive equipment, these days, how could someone like me build a career on getting away with halfing folk?

But the best bit so far has been the results. Who would have thought that Mexico would beat Germany, Brazil would draw with Switzerland and Senegal would stuff Poland? I’ll tell you – old Kenny! And my bookie is sick of the sight of me! Mental!

Don’t miss The Flying Pigs live on stage in Now That’s What I Call Methlick!‘ at His Majesty’s Theatre Aberdeen; all next week from Tuedsday the 26^th June. Tickets available now.

‘Ooray For ‘Ollywood!

Kevin Cash, money saving expert and king of the grips

My flabber was well and truly gasted the ither day fan me and my mate Mick the Pill were loading up some aul ile drums into the back of my transit in an offshore equipment yard oot in Oldmeldrum. Sitting there amongst a’ the junk wiz a 50 foot high white letter ‘H’. I wis so shocked I clean forgot the address of the steel band we were planning tae flog the ile drums to.

It turns oot it wiz the actual original ‘H’ fae the Hollywood sign fit had been bought by some artist wi’ mair money than sense back in 1978 and and has noo been “recreated fae the original panels”. Just like my transit, though probably a bittie mair likely tae pass an MOT. Onywye, it turns oot that the Hollywood ‘H’ is gan tae be the centrepiece of an exhibition that’s on a world tour for the next five years.

I find that staggering, ken fit I mean? Partly that such an iconic thing is sitting aboot in Oldmeldrum, but maistly that folk’ll pay good money to see it! For five years! A’ across the globe! I had nae idea letters fae signs wiz sic a big draw.

So me and Mick have come up wi a scheme, tae offer local punters the chance to see some iconic signs here in Aiberdeen. We’ve got the sign fae Cape Canaveral, and famous street signs like Elm Street and Abbey Road. “Are these the actual signs, Kev? Or is that one for Cape Canaveral’ nae jist black marker applied tae a sign for ‘Codona’s Carnival’?”, I hear you, and the boy fae Trades Descriptions, ask. But it’s a above board.  Jist like the een in Oldmeldrum, we’ve “recreated” them fae the original letters.  Weel, the same letters. We’ve liberated letters from a variety of roadsigns and shop fronts in Aberdeen. So if you’re passing by and are wondering why your local Tesco is missing a ’T’, it’s because it is noo appearing in  ‘42nd Street’. This scheme is nae without its perils, of course. Mick hid a lot o’ explaining tae dae fan got the bobbies found him unscrewing the ‘C’ and the ’S’ fae ‘Canal Street’.

Cava Kenny Cordiner; the sports writer who’s recently discovered an interest in cricket.

Old Kenny is not normally a fan of sports that don’t involve folks kicking each other, but I was on the knife edge of my seat the other day, watching Scotland stick it to the English at the croquet.  When the final Englishman was sent back to the Pavlova, I shouted so loud that my wife, the lovely Melody, came running through the house wondering what was wrong.

“What a fleg you gave me Kenny”, she sayed.  “I’ve nae heard a noise like that since you had that terrible accident hoovering in the nuddy.”  Apparently the English is number 1 in the world for the old balls and bat game, so using the same logic as we used when we beat the Bald Enemy in 1967, when they was the  World Cup holders, that makes us one number below that – Scotland, the new cricketing nothings!

Speaking of the World Cup, it is nearly upon us.  Sadly, Old Kenny won’t be getting any work as a punnet this year.  I’m still a persona-non-gratin in Russia after I halfed a nippy Siberian winger in a pre-season tour with the Dandies in 1977, causing a ligament injury, a 22-man brawl and a diplomatic incident.  Still, I am looking forward to watching it on the new ultra high definition telly I’ve had installed for the purpose.  Melody is right miffed.  I can’t work out what she thinks is worst – the fact that I’ve spent 2 grand on a telly, or that I had it put into the lounge of the Kintore Arms.

It won’t be the same watching a World Cup without the Scots, the Deutsch and the Italians, but with players of the caliper of Sergio Ramos there, you can still be assured of some top class sneaky hacking – which is what the beautiful game is all about.  I always watch the games with a wee tang of jealousy though, having never got to play at a World Cup myself.  Mind you, having seen the look on Putin’s face, I get the feeling that some of the Russian lads might wish they weren’t playing neither.  I think them boys are probably one bad performance away from joining my pal in Siberia.  Still, at least they won’t be short of salt for their chips! Mental.

Don’t miss the Flying Pigs Live at HMT Aberdeen in ‘Now That’s What I Call Methlick!‘,  a compilation of their best sketches from the last 20 years.  June 26th-30^th 2018. Tickets available now.

No Man is an Island – Except Lewis and Harris, obviously.

J Fergus Lamont, arts critic and author of “Harper: King Joey’s royal ascension”

It’s always nice to have one’s finger on the cultural pulse. When, upon the omnibus I overheard some local arts connoisseurs simply gushing about the latest unmissable piece of serial drama, I knew I had to witness it for myself.

Alas, having pored over the radio, theatre and opera listings, I could find no trace of the production of which they spake. Defeated, I turned, by way of last resort, to the chattering cyclops in the corner, the television set.

Regular readers will be aware that, like most, I largely eschew the charms of the gogglebox. I find little there to interest me since Russel Harty left our screens – but on this occasion I struck gold. You wont have heard of it, it has received little if any publicity, but ‘Love Island’ maybe the most insightful examination of the vagaries of human relations ever devised; and I include Funbox’s heartbreaking ‘Pirates and Princesses’‘.

The plot centres on a group of young Ingénues and Lotharios who have been marooned on a remote island. There the futility of their existence is laid bare. One might usefully think of it as a cross between Lord of the Flies and Waiting for Godot.

Ultimately revolving solely around their most basic desires, the drama centres on whether or not any of the characters can stop primping and preening themselves for long enough to succumb to Cupid’s archery skills.

Let me tell you one thing about “Love Island” – the cast are acting their socks off! In performances a young Olivier would have been proud of, it’s almost as if they genuinely were utterly vapid, empty vessels with nothing of any interest to say. Bravo!

I can’t wait to see how this unfolds over the next 8 weeks, already, 2 days in. I’m hooked! And when Adam breezed in and stole Kendall from Niall? It was nothing short of Anthony’s betrayal of Cleopatra, in a bikini.

I wept!

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

As a scientist, people are always asking questions, sometimes searching questions such as “Can I just have a quick look in your bag please sir?” “Did you forget to pay for all these packets of Percy Pigs?’ and “Can you accompany me to the manager’s office, please?”

But when not becoming inveigled in confectionary based misunderstandings in Marks & Spencer (you’d think they’d be a bit more grateful for my continued custom, in the current climate), I have been cogitating on matters therapeutic. I was fascinated to learn about the introduction of a “Therapet” named Harley into Aberdeen International Airport to ease the nerves of stressed passengers. Therapy dogs have been used for years in North America but Aberdeen is the first UK airport to use one.

This is a fascinating area of scientific research with strong views on either side. Some would say there is nothing more conducive to easing the stress of missing an imminent flight, being 2 grams over your luggage weight allowance or staggering for several miles to an unmanned and immobile baggage carousel after a 12 hour flight, than rounding a corner to come face to face with a large alaskan malamute. Others may take the view that such things have no place in an airport environment, and that rather than dogs they would be better getting a outlet where a hungry traveller can purchase a bacon roll for less than the price of a small car.

Having reason to use the airport this week (Comic -con at the Birmingham NEC. Where else could I get the opportunity to meet Christophe Lambert and find out the secret of his immortality) I determined to gain a conclusive answer to this issue, so I conducted my own study by bringing a second control ‘therapet’ to the Airport. Not being a dog owner myself, I managed to lure my next door neighbour’s pet into my car by use of a trail of chicken nuggets. I then drove out to the airport with the animal on my passenger seat. This itself was no mean feat as my car is a 1987 Mini Metro and the animal in question is a 17ft  Burmese Python named ‘Ghengis’. Sadly, however, it quickly  became apparent from the screams emanating from the rapidly emptying concourse area that not all pets have the desired calming effect. I will say, however, that thanks to a totally deserted departures area checking in for my flight was an absolute pleasure.

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

View From the Midden by Jock Alexander of MTv (Meikle Wartle Television) 

It’s been a consumerist wik in the village. I did chuckle tae masel as I read aboot W H Smiths, who hiv jist been voted the UK’s worst high street store in a survey of o’er 10 thoosand consumers. Somedee fae the beleaguered retailer – it may have been Mr Smith himself, I da ken the mannie – countered that only 184 shoppers had commented on their stores in the survey, meanin’ that 9 thoosan’  8 hundred and 16 fowk werenae o’er fussed. Meanwhile, detractors hiv complained that the mannie Smith’s shops are filled wi oot of date stock, are o’er expensive, and filled wi rude staff. Well, if they think that’s bad, it’s aboot time they sampled Maisie’s Meikle Wartle General Store.

Noo we dinna hae a W H Smiths branch here, but Maisie’s store fulfils mony of the same functions. W H Smiths sells a wide range of mags and books. Maisie’s store sells a wide range of fags and a book. It’s een aboot crop rotation in Rhynie in 1956 and it’s been on sale noo for 43 years. W H Smith’s travel branches cater tae the rail traveller on the move, and hae a selection o’ sandwiches and drinks, while Maisie’s offers a large range of foodstuffs fae oot-of-date fine pieces tae butteries at hard they can be used as a weapon. Mony’s the busy traveller who has sampled something fae the store before runnin’ aff. Usually in the direction of the nearest public lavvy. W H Smith has a famous stationary section. Maisie’s store is famously stationary, havin’ been a fixture on the village high street for over 100 years. In fact the high street curves aroon it, as Maisie wiz stubbornly unwilling tae relocate fan they widened the road. And michty if it’s surly staff yer after, ye’ve nae lived till ye’ve had dealings wi her. Even Feel Moira is feart o’ Maisie. But her shop is good for one thing; for makin’ ony branch of W H Smith that any Meikle Wartle expat visits seem like the maist modern weel-stocked consumer’s paradise around.  Cheerio!

Kevin Cash, Money Saving Expert and King of the Grips

I seen it reported the ither day that the “Bank of Mum and Dad” is feeling the pinch, and parents arena able to lend money to their bairns like once they could.  Here are my tips to help parents who are struggling to gie their young eens a helping hand up the property ladder.

Expectation management.  Young eens these days hiv a real sense o’ entitlement, thinking that the world owes them as of right a 2-bed Stewartie Milne flat beside a heavily polluted main road.  Well, nae abody can attain that kind of luxury right away.  All around the toon there are a range of void areas underneath decking or in unused outhouses that can be appropriated by a forward-thinking youngster.

Go Green.  Modern building techniques involve the production of large amounts of CO2. Yet there are many unoccupied recesses in the cliffs around Crawton bird sanctuary. Fighting an angry puffin for a place to rest your head also provides a handy workout, lessening the need for expensive gym membership.

Take the expression “property ladder” literally.  Giving your young een a ladder, a screwdriver and some elementary tips on housebreaking.  This will result in the fruit of your loins either obtaining a steady income or getting lifted by the rozzers, and getting 3 months dinner, board and lodgings at HMP Grampian.  Either wye, their accommodation needs will be met.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the player, the man, the leg end 

Saturday night was one the most impotent nights of the year in the Cordiner holdhouse. Champions’ League Final night is when old Kenny gets the boys round, the beers in the fridge and the online betting app open. And what a cracker of a game it was!  It had a bit of everything, except for the things it didn’t have, like a red card, extra time or penalties.

What it was not lacking in, though, was goalkeeping howlers. I felt sorrow for Liverpool keeper Karius after his blunders gifted Madrid 2 goals. After the game, the boy was incontrollable. Basher and my other pal, Dunter Duncan, was both pointing out that the rest of the Liverpool team didn’t go over to him and put their arm round him. “That’s what you would have done, Kenny” Dunter says. And then Basher says, he says “Aye, then you’d throttle him and smack him in the coupon!”

So now our intentions turn to the World Cup which starts in 2 weeks time. And, as usual, the English medium is doing their best to unsettle their star players. Young Man City speed merchant Raheem Sterling has been copping the flock this week, after some people got angry about his latest tattoo. I says to Melody, I says “this is bang out of order. These people have got no right to slag the lad for a tattoo of an animal on his leg”. And Melody says to me, she says “Kenny, it’s not an animal – it’s a gun”. Silly old Kenny misread it.  I thought he’d got a tattoo of a gnu! Mental.

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