Digging for ruins and dancing ruined

View from the midden with Meikle Wartle Television’s Jock Alexander

It’s been an paleolithic wik in the village. Quite the wik for being surprised by exposed ancient ruins, and I’m nae jist spikin’ aboot Skittery Wullie’s streak through the tea-tent at the Lonach Gathering. Due tae the recent warm and dry spell, a previously unknown Pictish symbol stone wis revealed on the banks of the River Don.

Noo, you may nae be interested in matters o’ archaeological antiquity; truth be telt I wisnae o’er fussed masel’, but fan she heard how valuable such finds were Feel Moira launching straight intae her latest project – uncovering long-lost ancient steens in Meikle Wartle. Within twa hours, she had dug a 6 foot trench near the burn at the end of her field. I dare say she’d hiv daen it faster if she’d used ony tools, instead of jist howking awa at the grun wi her bare hands.

Moira’s exhaustive digging hasuncovered a rough granite block fit has got her a’ excited, given that it does appear tae hae mysterious carvings upon it. I hiv hid a look, and I da wint tae be in the vicinity fan Moira turns it the ither wye up and spots that the symbols are in fact just a roughly-hewn love heart wi’ the words “Skittery Wullie luvs Moira, 1962”. Mind you, she might see the bright side. She’s got a wee soft spot for Wullie, especially since she seen him at the Lonach.. Cheerio!

 

J Fergus Lamont, Arts Correspondence and author of “One Flew Over the Girdleness” – a history of aviation in the North East

The world of dance suffered a grievous loss this week, with the death of Lindsay Kemp, mime artiste extraordinaire.  But where there is darkness there is also light, for we also saw the birth of a dazzling new talent.  You may be unaware of her – her performance has attracted little, if any, publicity – but in a humble township in South Africa, the avant-garde dance phenomenon ‘Theresa May’ exploded into brilliant life.

May’s ouvre is remarkable; an extraordinarily dark and challenging form of terpsichorean expression.  Standing with her feet seemingly nailed to the floor, she jerks and shuffles in a manner that defies both rhythm and the forces of gravity.  What is causing it?  Electric shocks?  Psychic pain?  It cannot be natural.   With the rictus visage of a 3-day old cadaver, she lurches like a double-jointed newborn giraffe.  And on and on it goes, past the point of humour, past the point of pity, into the realms of the grotesque – and then beyond.  “What is this?” I cried,“An entreaty or a threat?”  And on and on and on. And on.

I was watching the performance on my iPhone.  You may not have heard of the device – it has attracted little, if any, media comment – but it provides an effective means of catching up with popular culture whilst on the go.  I was still watching , rapt, as I walked out onto Broad Street and into the path of the number 19 bus.  And as I lie here in ARI, encased from head to toe in plaster de Paris, I consider the pain a small price to pay, to have seen great new art in the making and to discover that even when only able to move my upper lip, I still dance more naturally than Theresa May.

 

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who lets you know he’s there

I was gutted to hear that ex Spurs skipper Gary Mabbutt had a rat chew a bit off his foot whilst on holiday in South Africa. My missus, the lovely Melody, is always in at me to take her on a safari but Old Kenny is a bit feart at being eaten by something like a lion or a crocodile or a hypotenuse. Now, thanks to poor Mabbo, you can add rats to that list.

It made me think, though, about some of the bizarrer injuries I seen in my extinguished career. Thankfully, I never spent too much time on the psycho’s treatment table, but sometimes the reason I was there would have made your ice water!

One time, when I was playing for Culter, I was nipped on the unmentionables by a forky-tail that had crawled into my jock strap.  Another time, when I was playing for the Dandies, we was all out celebrating a win against Morton in the league cup when we ended up dancing the night away in Ritzy’s. Me and Stuart Kennedy was strutting our staff to “Hit me with your rhythm stick” when he accidentally elbowed me in the coupon giving me a right keeker. Stuart tried to apologise by buying a round of tequila slammers, but Gordon Strachan says it would just be adding in salt to Ian Dury. 

We’ll try to remember Asbestos we can.

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

There have been complaints from the usual moaning minnies, after asbestos in an Aberdeen school was discovered and then mistakenly left in a skip for 5 days. As the (mercifully, heavily redacted) report says, the Line Manager in question “did not initiate procedure because he forgot about the incident”. Regrettable, certainly, but entirely understandable. I’m not going to underplay the seriousness of this incident, but in fairness, the average local government official’s day is as jam-packed as a  Greggs Doughnut  It’s a non-stop cavalcade of phone calls, appointments, meetings, phone calls about the meetings, meetings about the appointments, and fly time. We cant be expected to remember a’hin.

Especially those horny-handed sons of toil who man the Building Works Department, where ye dinna get a bonnie young P.A. to tell you what you’re supposed to be doing.

There’s an affa stuff to remember, and quite honestly it is only natural that sometimes things get unremembered. For example, last Friday? Complete blank.  I can recall not a jot after I popped in to that party at the Housing Office in Tillydrone and someone passed me a smint. Which reminds me, I need to make an expenses claim for my taxi there, and my helicopter home. So to anybody that wants to have a go at the Council for this, I would say to them; ‘h’min, that asbestos was sitting about in the school for yonks, so what’s another five days? Five days is nothing. There’s potholes on Commerce Street that we’ve forgotten all about for 5 years!  See how easy it is? I can’t remember the last time I didn’t forget something that I was supposed to remember. Or perhaps I did. I forget.  And I’ve got a P.A.

 

Shelley Shingles, Showbiz Correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1983

O. M. Actual. Honest. To. Goodness. G! I am totes beside myself! The Beeb have just announced their contestants for this year’s Strictly and they have just made my day!

There’s loads of famous faces; like a wifie from the News, a boy from Red Dwarf and a bloke that used to play cricket, but they’ve only gone and included my all time crush – the totes adorbs Lee Ryan from Blue!

Lee is such a hunk! He was my favourite member of Blue, (apart from Duncan and Simon, obv) but Lee always combined that Boy-Next-Door charm with a y chavvie edge which was oh-so appealing. 

Me and Lee go way back. I’ll never forget the first time I met him. He was attending the premier of Stuart Little 2 in Leicester Square, and I was doing some glamour work, opening the doors of the limousines with an umbrella to keep the rain off the celebs. When Lee emerged from one of them, hair impeccable, suit shining, I’ll never forget what he said to me. “Aarrghh! Hold it up a bit love, the pointy bits gone in my eye!’.

Wise words from a true gent.

 

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

There have been complaints from the usual moaning minnies, after asbestos in an Aberdeen school was discovered and then mistakenly left in a skip for 5 days. As the (mercifully, heavily redacted) report says, the Line Manager in question “did not initiate procedure because he forgot about the incident”. Regrettable, certainly, but entirely understandable. I’m not going to underplay the seriousness of this incident, but in fairness, the average local government official’s day is as jam-packed as a  Greggs Doughnut  It’s a non-stop cavalcade of phone calls, appointments, meetings, phone calls about the meetings, meetings about the appointments, and fly time. We cant be expected to remember a’hin.

Especially those horny-handed sons of toil who man the Building Works Department, where ye dinna get a bonnie young P.A. to tell you what you’re supposed to be doing.

There’s an affa stuff to remember, and quite honestly it is only natural that sometimes things get unremembered. For example, last Friday? Complete blank.  I can recall not a jot after I popped in to that party at the Housing Office in Tillydrone and someone passed me a smint. Which reminds me, I need to make an expenses claim for my taxi there, and my helicopter home. So to anybody that wants to have a go at the Council for this, I would say to them; ‘h’min, that asbestos was sitting about in the school for yonks, so what’s another five days? Five days is nothing. There’s potholes on Commerce Street that we’ve forgotten all about for 5 years!  See how easy it is? I can’t remember the last time I didn’t forget something that I was supposed to remember. Or perhaps I did. I forget.  And I’ve got a P.A.

 

Struan Metcalfe, conservative MP for Aberdeenshire North

As someone who is in the public eye and indubitably prone to the odd fox’s paw, I have had to make many an apology. In fact I think I have said sorry more times than Justin Beiber (That’s a hip reference to appeal to the younger voters. Look him up. Grandpa!). But it seems that  we have now entered a time in our progress as a species where we (by which I mean politicians) can say virtually anything (by which I mean, ANYTHiNG) without fear that somebody who actually knows what they’re talking about can forensically refute what we are saying because as Trump’s lawyer Rudi Guliani said this week ‘Truth isn’t truth’.  When the truth is a moveable object and facts can be ‘alternative’, the very foundation of political discourse becomes as wobbly as Jacob Rees-Mogg on roller-blades.

And that, my good fellows, is bally brilliant for someone with a chequered past such as I.

That time Felicity my (former) researcher accused me of upskirting….wrongI had my phone out to photograph my new shoes for instagram and had no idea the camera was on selfie mode.

That time I was so drunk I drove home through fields from Oldmeldrum to Cuminestown decimating 3 flocks of sheep? Not my fault. Alien invasion. Go on, prove me wrong, I bally dare you!

That time I put Michael Gove in a headlock until he said “Struan is the best, I wish I was him and he is so witty and handsome to boot” before I would release him? That one’s true. Best. Tory Party Conference. Ever.

The Vape of Things to Come

Kevin Cash, Moneysaving Expert and King of the Grips

I’ve been fascinated tae read the latest reports aboot e-cigarettes, and how they may nae be as entirely harmless as at first thought. Apparently it turns oot that puffin awa on a superheated cocktail of fruit-flavoured chemicals may not be 100% risk-free.  Fa’d hiv thunk it?  Boffins reckon that using a e-cig for 20 years might gie ye  a stronger chance o’ disabling immune cells in yer lungs, leading tae similar effects tae the lung disease contracted by regular smokers. Mind you, these tests hiv nae been conclusive and hiv only been spotted in lab conditions and only over a 48-hour period. It remains too early tae tell if e-fags are harmful in the long term, as naeb’dy has been using them for long enough.  Mind, it’s nae so long ago that ab’dy used tae bang on aboot fit a healthy pastime haein’ a fag wiz, but they’ve changed their mind on that quick-smart.  Of course, it’s nae unusual for scientists to change their minds on things fan new evidence comes in.  My pal Jumbo, fa used to be a chemistry teacher afore he got caught nicking a’ the chemicals and trying to invent a new legal high, initially pled not guilty, but threw in the towel eence he saw the CCTV.  And of course daein’ too much of onythin’ is harmful. Jist ask my mate Mick the Pill who once drank so much coffee that he sneezed wi his eyes open and ended up in A&E.

Of course, I wiz dead against e-cigarettes fan they first got popular. Partly cos I hiv had a fear of ony new technology ever since my mither tried to claw back a bittie o’ value by cutting my hair wi een o those hair-trimming combs fan I wiz wee and took a bit of my ear aff. But maistly cos I hiv 10,000 packs o’ knocked-off Regal Kingsize takin up a’ the space in my shed at hame.  (Still available for £5 a pack; see me in the lounge bar if keen).

But I’ve been looking at the figures at it turns oot that vaping is getting mair and mair popular. Numbers of Vapers has risen fae 7 million in 2011 tae over 35 million 5 years later. Jist look at the number of e-cigarette stores in toon. There’s almost as many as the pound shops and bookies. Well wi that kind of popularity I hiv of course changed my tune, for there is nae sense in ignoring the Aberdeen market’s demands. Saying that, the Aberdeen Market demanded I get lost and stop trying tae flog my stuff on their steps on Market Street, so I jist wandered roond the corner and tried again.

I have developed my ain range of cut-price e-cigs fit dinna contain ony tar or ony nicotine, so they are hands-doon the safest e-cig available. You can puff awa as much as ye like and it winna cause ye ony harm. I hiv used the very finest low-cost materials, by takin a job lot of second-hand Doctor Who sonic screwdrivers that Mick sourced fae the skip oot the back of the closed doon Toys R Us at the beach, taken oot the batteries, and filled each of them wi the contents of a packet fruit flavoured sherbet dibdabs.  I can guarantee an e-smoke like nae ither.  And watter streaming liberally fae yer een and nostrils.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who knows his bunions

Regulatory readers will know that although he is a football flan through and through,  Old Kenny does follow the croquet from time to time. There’s nothing better than the sound of feather on pillow, except for maybe the sound of studs on shin pad. But the croquet has been at both ends of the newspapers this week.

England’s Ginger-nut all-rounder, Bram Stoker, has been up in front of the beak on charges of Affray. Old Kenny isn’t too hot on his legal bingo, so I had to look up what “affray” meant. Scary stuff. I could have been charged with “affray” pretty much every Saturday back when I was playing!

In Stoker’s case, it all kicked off outside a Bristol nightclub when he’d been out celebrating a big win. He took Oxbridge at 2 lads who was causing trouble and he decided to knock them both for six – something he’s apparently pretty good at.

He’s hardly played for England since, but now that the Judge says he’s not guilty, he can play again with a clean pate. Some folks is up in armpits about it.  It does seem a bit funny that you can get banned for a year’s crocket for changing the condition of the ball and then walk away Selina Scott free after you’ve changed the condition of someone’s face.  Still, I reckon they should leave him be. Let he who is without skin cast the first scone!

‘Give my regards to Broad Street, remember me to Marischal Square’

J Fergus Lamont, Arts Correspondent

Aberdeen continues to lead the way in the field of public art. In December last year I found Marischal Square a bold and brutalist monument with many evocative empty spaces for contemplation. I am pleased to report that the surrounding area has been further revitalised, and that a mere 10 months behind schedule (a nano-second in cultural terms) the art installation known as “Broad Street” is open at last.   Like many, I had wondered what the project would involve, especially as the perpetual absence of personnel suggested the work was being done in secret, perhaps undercover of night. But as I walked down the freshly re-opened street I was immediately struck by the bravery of the artist in leaving several fenced-off areas ‘unfinished’ in a wry comment on the impermanence of man’s works upon this earth.

What defines this piece is that the tired old conventions of road and pavement demarcation have been done away with in favour of a cohesive single level surface where pedestrian, bike and bus can peacefully co-exist. A brave attempt to challenge existing notions of what it means to be ‘safe’ in both our physical and social environment. In furtherance of this narrative the somewhat bourgeois pelican crossing at the top of Upperkirkgate has been removed, allowing the pedestrian to make a dash for it on their own terms. One can scarcely imagine a more immediate or powerful metaphor for Brexit.

I watched as a number 19 bus bore down upon a family of five with a pushchair. Visitors will find themselves frequently participating in this specific piece of exciting street theatre.

Overawed, I stepped onto the ‘road’ and took a glancing blow to the coccyx from a passing bus. I wept.

 

Professor Hector J Schlenk, Senior Researcher at the Bogton Institute for Public Engagement with Science

As a scientist, people are always asking me questions, and this week, they’ve mostly been asking me about flies. After briskly checking my spaver, I realise they are referring to Aberdeen’s recent infestation by insectile invaders.

Many a barbecue or game of rounders was ruined last weekend when the hot, humid conditions we’ve been enjoying saw a huge influx of syrphidae (or hover-flies to the non-entomologists among you). These little fellows are completely harmless and extremely beneficial to plant life, but sadly for them have evolved to resemble that most despised of garden agitators, the wasp. As a result, their appearance caused some of the more delicate amongst us to flap hysterically, run about like startled deer and shriek like the audience at a Justin Timberlake concert. Myself included.

However, a little research showed me how benign hover-flies actually are, and as a man of reason, I was able to entirely overcome my basic instinctive terror of yellow and black stripy insects by the power of my rational mind. A pity that I then inadvertently disturbed the byke of wasps in our shed. Thanks to my rational, evolved intellectual response I remained unperturbed just long enough to become something of a vespular pincushion. ‘Oocha beastie’, as Descartes would say.

 

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

As the official spin-doctor to a local authority that has included such luminaries as Barney Crockett, Willie Young and Scott Cassie, I know a wee bit about damage limitation.  So it was with a sense of anticipation and a decent glass of red that I settled down to watch the news after Boris Johnson’s recent claim that Burka-wearers look like bank robbers and post-boxes.

This is, to say the least, an interesting perspective for a man whose political hero made his name fighting religious persecution, and I regret that I would grade Boris’s spokesman’s attempts to justify the comments as a ‘D minus’.

So here’s some feedback that might lead to an improved future performance:

1. Boris Johnson looks like he has been drawn by someone who had suffered broken wrists after falling out bed during a nightmare about a baby that has been covered in shredded wheat.  He is therefore not well placed to pass adverse comment on the appearance of others.

2. Trying to justify slagging off a minority group by stating that you are doing so in order to provoke a debate on liberal values rather overlooks the fact that prime among liberal values is tolerance.  It is also a bit like setting fire to your neighbour’s house in order to provoke a debate on arson.

3. Saying that attempts to make Boris apologise infringe his human rights misses the point that in a competition between religious freedom and the right to be a self-serving racist-baiting plum of epic proportions, freedom of religion is as easy a winner as Willie Miller in a ‘Who Now Looks the Least Like Willie Miller’ competition.

Feel’s Gold

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

It’s been an auriferous wik in the village. Ye’ll hiv seen the excited reports aboot a giant gold nugget being discovered in a Scottish river by a mannie fa wants tae remain anonymous. It has been dubbed ‘The Douglas Nugget’, so I can only assume that the mannie fit wishes tae remain anonymous his nae luck. Onywye, it ‘s aboot the size of a gold ball, and is worth £50,000. And naeb’dy kens exactly far it wiz found, as the mannie isnae saying, in case it sparks a goldrush tae the river in question. Of course, this secrecy only means that anybody wi the tiniest stream trickling ahind their house thinks there may be gold in’t. Certainly, Meikle Wartle has nae been slow in proclaiming the nugget may weel have come from here, in the hope that crowds of fortune-seekers come floodin’ intae the village tae boost wir economy.  Noo I da wint tae burst anyone’s bubble, but its unlikely that there’s  gold in the Burn o’ Wartle. I widna advise onyb’dy tae ging prospecting in there. Ye widnae find ony precious metals, though ye might find a water-borne contagion.

However, that didnae stop Feel Moira fae encasing her considerable self in a vast rubber wetsuit and trailing aff doon tae the burn wi’ her flippers on and her face set wi grim determination.. Her first mistake wiz making a running jump doon a slope and belly flopping intae the watter. The burn’s nae the deepest at the best o’ times, but efter wiks o’ unseasonal blazing sunshine it’s doon tae a trickle. Thanks tae the laws of physics, this meant the entire contents of the burn were displaced o’er the surrounding fields, leaving the floundering Moira wedged amidst the chuckies. I did feel sorry for her, but reserved maist of my sympathy for the support team of indomitable wifies fae the W.I. fa hid tae prise her oot o’ the wet suit. Cheerio!

Kevin Cash, Money Saving Expert and King of the Grips

I seen a story the ither day where a bloke managed to steal a shark from an aquarium by disguising it as a baby and pushing it oot in a pram.  ‘Shark-napping’, they cry it.  Only in America, you might think, but I seen something very similar myself in Macduff Aquariaum jist the ither day, fan an apparently well to do wifie tried to smuggle a dogfish oot in a bugaboo.  Turned oot, efter I alerted the staff, that it wiz jist an affa ugly baby.  An embarrassing incident for all concerned.

Still, there is a lot of value in exotic pets.  My pal, Mick the Pill, recently bought a job lot of goldfish fae a mannie that used to run a coconut shy in the Carnies.  Mick his got ahud of some knocked off Tippex and has been colouring them in like clownfish and selling them on to fans of ‘Finding Nemo’.  I myself hiv made a small fortune by flogging giant tortoise garden ornaments but claiming they’re jist early hibernators.  Best of a, though, is the ‘hatch your own’ Loch Ness Monsters I’ve been selling to gullible tourists.  Never let a job lot of foosty Milky Bar Easter Eggs ging tae waste!  That’s the value!

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football columnist who’s through on away goals

As I write this, old Kenny is packing his suitcases for a road trip to the Dons’ big European tie down south. What a job I had getting it organized. It was hard getting match tickets, but the train tickets was even worse.

First of all, I booked tickets for Barnsley by mistake. The boy at the station let me change my destination, but when I looked at the map of the North of England, old Kenny was scratching his head. Someone needs to tell them that not every town needs a cake named after it.

Anyway, I got it all sorted so I’m off down the road on Thursday to cheer the Reds on. They done really well in the first leg, and was unlucky to concede that late equaliser. People was off-writing Scottish football but the Dandies proved the doubting tomatoes wrong and left them with egg and cress on their face.  Must remember to pack  some sandwiches.

So I’ve got everything crossed for tonight. Including the box on the bookie’s coupon what said “Aberdeen to win 2-1”! Come on you reds!!!