Poor Prince Harry just can’t win. He gets stick when he wears a Nazi uniform and just as much when he doesn’t!

Entertainment news with showbiz insider SHELLEY SHINGLES (Miss Fetteresso, 1993)

I see my old pal Prince Harry has been creating a bit of a stir. Well, if a young lad, can’t let off a bit of steam playing “strip cribbage”, then what can he do?! LOL. Being third in line to the throne isn’t all fun you know. Did you see how many events he went to at the Olympics? What a time he must have spent on that ticket website!!

Of course, Hazza and me go way back. We met outside the Fife Arms during the Braemar Gathering in 2000.  I was working as spokes model for Chalmers the Baker and he had a face like fizz after an unsuccessful attempt to get served in the lounge bar. Maybe the reason we clicked was because we’ve got so much in common.  I mean, we’ve both been cried a “Wild Child” in the tabloids (him in the Sun, Star and Mirror, me in the Herald and Post) and I’ll never forget what he said to me:

“Excuse me, would you mind awfully going into the Spar and getting me six cans of McEwan’s export and 10 Silk Cut? I’ll give you the money.”

Wise words, from a true gent.


 “ON VICTORY AND VISION” – a Blog by Tim Bee, the extremely conscientious objector

One of the many things I have long objected to is the City Garden Project. Thankfully, the Powers-That-Be have ignored the will of the majority and listened to us, the self-appointed and noisy few.

Some might think that I am sitting back, arms behind head in the classic “gorilla” pose smiling smugly at all I have achieved and mouthing “Up yours the so-called ‘Granite Web’”.  And you’d be right. I’m doing it…now.

But still, I am not content. The Council’s decision was an important first step, but it does not go far enough. Yes, they have halted the “development”, but still they propose to give Union Street a bit of a tart up. Is that really what we want? I say, “no it isn’t”. It isn’t re-development that this city needs, it is “de-development”.

The mistakes of the past must be erased, and I will not rest until the Bon Accord Baths are re-opened, and the St Nicholas & Bon Accord Centres are demolished and replaced with the twin retail powerhouses of Isaac Benzies and The Rubber Shop. We shall rebuild them, brick by brick. And rubber by rubber.

But it’s not just our infrastructure that has suffered in the mad rush to modernise; our very way of life has been affected too. So I propose a three point plan to restore Aberdeen to its former glory:

  1. Top Club to return to our screens in a prime-time slot, hosted by Jimmy Spankie (Frank Gillfeather at a push).
  2. Doug Rougvie back in his rightful place at the heart of the Dons’ defence. And
  3. Every Friday a spotty loon will come to your door, selling cream.

It is this type of ambition and vision that was missing from the City Garden Project. These so-called ‘oil’ tycoons don’t understand what the people need, that’s why they try to give them what they want!

Friends, our time has finally come. Join us, in putting Aberdeen back on the map. Specifically, the Ordnance Survey map, circa 1974.


ARCHIE FRASER –  city centre resident of no fixed abode

I have been a long-standing supporter of the City Garden Project. Well, if not long-standing, then certainly long-sitting (mostly on the benches behind the statue of Edward VII, from whence my hacking cough can usually be heard.)

As one of the few regular users of the existing Gardens, I was very much looking forward to incomprehensibly debating the issues of the day with my fellows beneath the fly-overs of the Granite Web, and to relaxing in the Plaza of the Cultural Centre, the ideal spot for consuming, and then regurgitating, a bottle of Tia Maria.

But sadly, through the lack of vision of our elected officials, this dream of a brighter future has been shattered.

My associate, Ronnie McKenzie (you may know him; formerly of the steps of Gilcomston Church, nose like a beefsteak tomato) suggested I should dull my disappointment with a bottle of White Lightening. Regrettably, I was stony broke, and could not afford the £1.42 required. Seeing the sorrow etched on my face he proposed to provide me with 50p of his own funds, and then introduced me to the venture capitalist Big Al McGarvie, who loaned me 92p at a very reasonable rate of interest. I enjoyed my cider, and shouting obscenities at passers by as I drank it. With my shiny new bottle of booze, I became very popular, as a number of other gentlemen-of-the-road gathered around me convivially, some even paying 5p for a scoof. But it was not enough to repay my debt, (well, these are straightened times for everyone). Eventually, the cider was gone, and I was left alone, with nothing but an empty vessel and a slight case of the DT’s. Now I am destitute once again. And Big Al says if I don’t give him a pound by teatime, he’s going to break my thumbs.

That’s just change to some folk, but unfotunately it’s change I simply can’t afford.