Pugh Pugh Barney McGrew Cuthbert Dibble and Trump

Ron Cluny – official council spokesman

As chief spin-doctor for Aberdeen City Council, part of my role is to take the heat off the administration and draw attention away from their less brilliant decisions (I am kept busy).  So, as you can imagine, I’ve done my share of talking up unpopular development plans.

But what a pleasure it’s been to see the masters at work, with the announcement this week of the Trump Organisation’s application to build 500 luxury houses, shops and offices at Menie. ‘The Trump Estate’ is a fair size of a development, as big as a small town, in fact – so it’s a bit of a pity the name  ‘Trumpton’ was already taken.

Of course, all the usual nay-sayers will come out with their tired and predictable arguments that the original Trump plan was only granted on the basis of the promise of significant job creation and massive investment in the region, almost none of which has actually been delivered, and the Trump organisation itself has a questionable track record for what some would call ‘sharp business practice’, and others might refer to as swicking.

But that kind of doom-mongering is missing the point. We in the North-East have only recently dared to hope that the green shoots of recovery might be about to poke through the ground frost of the oil slump; so it is reassuring to know that an international concern with the status of the Trump organisation is confident that there’s a market here for funcy hooses priced at over a million a pop.

It’s almost as if they have inside information that the oil price is about to rise dramatically as it typically does in times of international crisis. Such as when conflict is threatened in a country in the Middle East. Like Iran, to choose an example entirely at random.

But the very best thing about this application, is that it’s before Aberdeenshire Council, and not the town. So we can be assured that the final decision will be taken carefully, thoughtfully, and without fear or favour; and that the inevitable stooshie that follows won’t be my problem.

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

As a scientist in a heatwave, people have been asking me plaintive questions like “Is it true that hot drinks cool you down more effectively than cold ones?” “Can you make it rain please?”, and “Is the Torry Pong now officially recognised by the UN as a chemical weapon?”

However, I’ve been too overcome by the current humid conditions to answer such trivia. This sort of weather is not good for me, as I have an excess of excess of forehead, and indeed tophead. Therefore, I have been sitting in the shade of some trees in Victoria Park, with a Tupperware tub full of factor 50, pondering issues of science and technology, and trying to ignore the young ruffians on mopeds who keep doing wheelies around me shouting ‘hoy, baldie – yer ice cream’s melted’.

I have been delighted to see, in the wake of the government recommending ‘full-fibre broadband’ coverage as standard, that Aberdeen is one of only 3 Scottish cities who are getting this super fast digital upgrading right now. Network provider CityFibre has proclaimed it will enable recipients to be more innovative, more productive and more economically active.  An impressive claim, particularly as the scheme is being rolled out in Kincorth.

It will certainly revolutionise things, promising download speeds of up to 20 times faster than we have now, or 200 times faster than the AOL modem I still have plugged into my phone line, as part of my home-made computer lash-up which I cling to as a protest at the exorbitant prices charged by technology companies like Apple and Microsoft. The specs of my set up are available online for all to see. On Myspace.

There are, however, far more scientifically interesting things than fibre-optic cables beneath the ground. There is also the recently demonstrated method whereby trees secretly talk to each other and share resources via a network of mycorrhizal fungi within their root systems. Through this method, trees can pass water, nutrients, and even information to each other, warn each other about dangers like insect infestations or even sabotage their rivals.  It is, in very many respects, a naturally occurring version of social media, only with fewer selfies and more sap. In fact, clever people like me have christened this process the ‘Wood Wide Web’ which might seem like a pretty weak pun to you, but is about as funny as gets for academic botanists who specialise in mycorrhizal fungus.

Michty, fit a heat!

View from the midden with Meikle Wartle Televisions’ Jock Alexander

It’s been a sweltering wik in the village, as Meiklewartle his been assailed by the same heatwave affecting the rest of the country. Files some fowk delight in het weather, their serotonin levels soaring as they ging on picnics, play frisbee, and indulge in a myriad o’ healthy pursuits; I’ve been fair puggled, sat in the kitchen in ma lang-johns, resting ma heed in the fridge. Nae been fine for me, and nae fine for my postie who cam in the back door wi’ my Littlewoods catalogue, took one look at me on the fleer in ma smalls, and swiftly fled. I da blame her. Ootside, the beasts sleep a’ day, the crops hiv wilted, and the midden is fizzing gently in the heat.
I am noo craving a return tae wir regulr North-East summer climate of howling gales and sleet. But in ither parts of the country the dry conditions hiv been been revealing sites of archaeological interest. Wi’ surface vegetation drying oot, aerial images are showing outlines of ancient structures fit have been hidden for decades, if nae centuries. So we’ve hid Roman forts in England, megalithic tombs in Wales, and a “ghost garden” at a country hoose in Lancashire. Weel, onything they can hae in the rest of the country is fair game fer Meikle Wartle, and only yesterday, Feel Moira launched a drone in the hope of finding the ootline of something interesting. I wiz amazed tae hear this, partly as Moira his nae interest in archaeology, but maistly as she disnae hae a drone. Fit she dis hae, it turns oot, is a digital camera, a massive bunch o’ helium balloons liberated fae the Co-opie in Inverurie, and only a passing acquaintance wi’ the laws o’ physics. So off she floats, snapping as she goes. I pity the pilot o’ the flight fae Kirkwall fit passed her at 20,000 feet. How is he gaan tae explain that tae air traffic control at Dyce? Predictably, Moira niver found nithin’ of interest, but gravity reasserted itself jist as she wis floating ower the village square; so at least there is noo an unusual ootline for folk tae look at. Cheerio!

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who had panama in the sweeper.

Well, I guess the curtains has been drawed on another World Cup. And what a tourniquet it was! Now that the crust has settled, here’s Old Kenny’s views on who was the winners and losers during the greatest show unearthed:

Winner: France. Howay they blues! Howay they blues! That’s what’s the fans was chanting, and who can blame them? C’est magna feet, Hooky street, as they say in Paris!

Loser: Germany. They maybe experts at reserving sun loungers, but the Germans was useless at defending their title. They got stuffed by Mexico and South Korea and didn’t even make it out of the groups. Don’t mention the VAR! Melody told me to write that bit, I’m not sure why.

Winner: Harry Kane. The England skipper got the Golden Boot and has made a name for himself himself on the world stage. Not bad going for 2 tap ins, 3 pens and a fluke. I still don’t understand why they didn’t not give it to the lad Owen Goals – according to my wallchart, he got 12, and all for different teams!

Loser: Neymar. The Brazilian lad must have gotten his wires cross-eyed when he turned up. He thought he was up against Tom Daley in the diving. He never got given a penalalty, but he might get a BAFTA. There’s nopace in the modern game for stimulation like that. Mind you, I never minded playing against fakers like Neymar, because after a few bits of therapeutics, the ref took no notice when I hoovered them ten feet in the air.

Winner: Russia. Before the World Cup everyone was saying it was a right dodgy country where the regime was corrupt, dissent was cracked down upon and the society was intolerant to minorities. Well, that’s what I cut and pasted off the Guardian website, at any road. But now everyone has seed that its actually a brilliant place, even Donald Trumpet says so, and he is a well known divot. Plus, as anyone who happened to be in an IKEA after England beat Sweden in the quarters seen, people in green-houses shouldn’t roll  stones.

Looks like we’re all resigned to chaos…

Struan Metcalfe, Conservative MP for Aberdeenshire North and surrounding Nether Regions

Sometimes one’s principles are pushed to the limit. There comes a point when one must pin one’s colours to the mast and make a decision that’s so tumultuous, so life changing, one’s botty twitches more than the vein in John Bercow’s forehead. For all of us at Westminster, this has been such a time, and I must now speak out, as my own conscience dictates. My friends, I’ve been supporting England in the World Cup.

I am a proud Scotch (I return to my family seat at Strathbogie at least once every two years) – but I am a man of principle. And principally I have found that if you want to have a snifter or seven anywhere in London at the mo, you better be ready to shout “Up the Engerland’ along with the oiks. And so It was that I found myself last night singing a version of Atomic Kitten’s ‘Whole Again’ whilst being cradled in the arms of a bald and tattooed stranger on the Old Kent Road. ‘Is this’, I wondered , ‘what I want for our nation’s future?’

It was in in that moment that I realised it was time to pick a side in the whole Brexit hullaballoo – and, in that delicate condition my decision was to come out in favour of the Three Brexiteers (D.D., BoJo and the other chap nobody had heard of and who’s name you already can’t remember). So, as the traffic cones whizzed past my head, I did what any true political animal of the 21^st Century would do, I tweeted.

“@Number10, Please pass this resignation letter to ‘She Who Must Be Dis-May-ed’. (Sorry Theresa, I don’t have your handle to attach you. Hopefully Mickey G will print it out and leave it on your desk for me.) @thegovemeister

Dear P.M. I fully expect the repercussions to be terrible and the fall out devastating, but my dream of political greatness is dying. So, like the former Foreign Secretary, I have no option but to resign. I cannot support the Chequers fudge (also – spoilers – I am pretty sure Boris is mounting a coup against you and I want to be riding his Eton College coat-tails when he does!)” #brexit #ratssinkingship

@govemeister in reply to @struanmetcalfe

“@struanmetcalfe, I don’t think the Prime Minister will be able to accept your resignation, because you aren’t in the Cabinet. You’re a backbencher, you absolute wazzock. And I won’t be printing off your tweet. Famously, I can’t work a room, what makes you think I can work the printer?”

J Fergus Lamont, art critic and author of ‘Sunday Chuddy Sunday – A History of Union Street Deep-Cleaning”

You will of course be aware that the 10th July was National ‘Don’t Step On A Bee Day – a day to increase awareness of the humble bumble bee and not, as I originally thought, a festival of destruction  involving the sanitary-ware in which one washes one’s derrière. Even more excitingly, today is National Simplicity Day, held in honour of that great advocate Henry David Thoreau;  a chance for those us in the busy modern world to abandon our mobile phones, laptops and other modern gadgets, and experience true peace, quiet and contentment.  Separating oneself from the lure of screen based devices can be difficult, but as fate would have it, I managed to achieve something of the technology-free conditions required by inadvertently flinging my iPhone into the washing machine at the weekend with a full load.

So liberated, while wandering the sunny streets, I stumbled upon a stunning new artistic edifice.  If you are feeling bereft at the continued delay in the reopening of the Music Hall or the Art Gallery, then get ye to Mannofield, where can be found an installation in striking monochrome bearing the intriguing name “Oor Wullie’s Braw Fish & Chips”. It comprises a brutalist structure intricately decorated in pictograms that tell an epic tale in demotic Scots. It is something akin to the Bayeux Tapestry. Though rather than depicting the Norman Invasion, the Battle of Hastings and King Harold with an arrow in his eye, it features Wee Eck, Fat Bob and a boy in dungarees sitting on a bucket. I understand that the pictograms are Dundonian in origin, so having them on display here in Aberdeen is one in the eye for the V&A! I attempted to push through crowd to discuss the piece more fully with the white-coated curator behind the stainless steel counter, when a stray squirt of vinegar landed in my eye.

I wept.

The Gull can’t help it

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

As a scientist, I have been considering the questions which are  essential during a heatwave such as  “Can I have a Calippo for my breakfast?“ “ At what temperature does tarmac melt,” and “will this help or hinder the resurfacing of Broad Street, now in it’s 20^th year?”

Despite the heat, however, I have been keeping an eye on the latest scientific news, and in particular an experiment in the South Pacific involving New Caledonian Crows. These remarkable creatures have the ability to make and use tools, solve complex problems, and use what has been termed a ‘mental template’ to remember how to make the right size of paper tokens to operate a vending machine and release a reward of food.

This is all highly impressive, considering there are many human beings, myself included, unable to operate such machines and who, when faced with a non-dropping curly-wurly or an unreturned 20p piece, experience a ‘mental template’ of their own

The intelligence of the family Corvidea (which includes the Crow genus) is well known, with ravens the cleverest of all. They have a staggering 2.1 billion neurons packed into their forebrains, and can solve puzzles, establish social hierarchies and replicate human speech. In fact the ravens at the Tower of London have been known to play practical jokes by creeping up behind groups of tourists and barking like a dog or asking them: “what the #@€& are you looking at?”

I found myself wondering if other bird species might be capable of similar feats, so decided to test the intelligence of birds native to this city, and managed to lure two seagulls through my kitchen window with a combination of old kebab wrappers and a half eaten haddock supper from the Ashvale. Not what I normally have lying about in the kitchen of course! But Mrs Schlenk has gone to her sisters for some ‘space’.

I pointed out that, in order to reach her desired destination, her optimal direction of travel would not be south to St Andrews, but straight up – although coincidentally the distances (62.14 miles) are identical. But she was into the Zafira and away before I could finish my sentence.

In any event, with two surprisingly large seabirds eyeing me from the breakfast bar, I began my experiments in earnest. The results have been inconclusive, however.

They have not replicated human speech, though the distinctive pattern they splattered on the table may be some form of pictogram.
They used no tools of any kind, and having been defeated by a spatula, I didn’t hold out much hope for their efforts with the microwave.

But they did display some signs of animal cunning as one pecked me about the face and neck while the other one opened the fridge with its beak, before both escaped through the window with the lasagne Mrs Schlenk had left me.  However, this may not, in fact, be good evidence of avian intelligence, as Mrs Schlenk makes bloody awful lasagne.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football columnist who lets the forward know he’s there early doors

Say what you like about the World Cup (unless you’re Russian, then you’d better say what President Putting likes) but it’s been convulsive viewing! The first knockout round had thrills, spills and coupon-busting upsets galore.

Unlike some, I’m not Aunty English, so I was pleased to see the Aldi Enema get through against the Columbos. The South American lads was resorting to real dirty tic-tacs, with shoulder barges, shoving and pushing and even trying to rough up the penalty spot when Harry Kane was waiting to take it. But there was nothing they did what was as bad as when the lad Barrios stuck the head on Henderson. I was sure the Ref was going to give that Colombian his marching powders.

But they got there in the end, England, finally burying their voodoo in penalty shootouts. They’ve got Sweden next in the quarters – I fancy Southgate’s lads to mash the Swedes and make mince and tatties out of them.

Also I seen bicyclist Chris Froome has been cleared of the doping charge what was hanging over him. So now he’s free to ride the Tour de Farce that starts on Saturday. Never before has a man doing a pee caused such excitement in the world of sport. At least, not since the one I done against the corner flag at Banks o’ Dee.