‘Café culture’ on the streets of Aberdeen? Ok – as long as it stays dry.

Tanya Soutar, local lifestyle guru

I dinna ken about yous, but I’m ayewis on the look oot for wyes tae mak my life mair cosmopolitan, ken? Sadly I’m usually restricted tae necking tequila slammers in atween fightin aff the wasps in the beer garden at Murdo’s. But things could be aboot tae ging aa continental wi’ a scheme currently being tried oot on Belmont Street, the beating hairt o’ Aiberdeen’s fashiobale Kebab and Booze district. For the next 3 months, some omonths air sophisticated cafés and restaurants there will be able tae set up tables ootside. And if ye’re worrying aboot traffic, dinna. The roads will be closed tae almost all vehicles atween 11am and 6pm – jist like Paris!

It aa sounds affa salubrious until ye read the small print. Due tae local bylaws, files yer sitting at these street tables, aa sophisticated like, yer nae allowed tae consume alcohol. Fit a bust! They’d be as well nae botherin letting the trial ging the length o’ three months. It’ll never work. Fa in their right mind wints tae sit ootside in the freezin caul nae haeing a drink fan ye could be inside, in the slightly less freezing caul, gettin torn in? I dinna ken aboot youse, but fan it comes doon tae it, I’d rather hae a cosmopolitan than be aa cosmopolitan!

Cosmo Ludovik Fawkes Hunte, 13th Earl of Kinmuck

Well coat me with syrup, roll me in oats and call me a flap-jack. What a furore there has been about Walter Palmer, the American dentist, who bagged Cecil, Zimbabwe’s iconic black-maned lion. Of course, I, myself, am a hunter, and a damned proud one. No grouse is safe when I have it in my sights. After a good day’s shooting, the moor around the Big House looks like a cross between an abbatoir and a pillow-stuffing factory. But by galumphing around the plains of Hwagne trying to shoot Leo with a bow-and-arrow, this feckless yankee tooth-puller has gone too far. My own dear papa, the 12th Earl, taught me the need for responsibility when hunting. “Young Cosmo”, he said, “Your gun is like your wife. Cradle her well and squeeze her gently and she will be at your command. But take any liberties and she will kick like a mule.” Mama never really liked it when he called her that.

He also instilled in me the huntsman’s code. “1. Never shoot anything that’s got a name (It is for this reason that our grouse-beaters go by number only). 2. Never shoot anything that’s endangered (This rule was passed down the family after that nasty business with the 4th earl and the last Dodo). And 3. If you’re going to kill anything photogenic, for god’s sake do it in private.” But in the final analysis, I do understand the primal desire to test ourselves against the most powerful and magnificent creatures in the world. It is towards that end that I have written to Mr Palmer, inviting him to come shark-fishing with me. It’s only fair. He’s clearly in need of a change of scenery, and he looks like he’d make tremendous bait.

Jonathan M Lewis, local headmaster

Early August is always a busy time here at Garioch Academy, as this is the time when our pupils’ exam results are published. Teachers flock to the school to see how the young people have performed and pupils come in to share their joy or dejection. We prefer the former, of course, though I vehemently refute allegations that pupils shuffling up to the school with glum expressions were persuaded to stay off the premises by the janitor’s friendly Doberman, Ghengis.

I’m sure I won’t need to remind parents about the fallout after the Higher Maths exam in May. Crocodiles, zebras, frogs and toads all featured prominently in the complaints we received about something that, on this occasion, genuinely wasn’t our fault! I am pleased to reveal that your complaints have had a direct impact, with the pass rate for the exam lowered to 34%. There is no finer example of the superiority of the Scottish education system than the fact that some pupils who have achieved a pass in Higher Maths did so by getting two thirds of the exam wrong. It makes one feel extremely patriotic, I don’t mind telling you.

See us live in ”Dreich Encounter” at Hmt Aberdeen, June 2016

Lord Sewel’s greatest shame? He used to be an Aiberdeen Cooncillor.

Cosmo Ludovik Fawkes Hunte, 13th Earl of Kinmuck

So, Lord Sewel has been caught in a classic cocaine and call-girls sting.  Call that a scandal? Pah! If only he’d been playing the drums at the same time, the Sun could have gone the whole hog and run the headline “sex and drugs and rock and roll”.  Really, what is this once-proud country coming to when a peer of the realm cannot inhale a Class ‘A’ substance from the bosom of a comely wench, whilst wearing ladies under garments, without being pilloried in the gutter press?  Is this really such a story?  Mankind has been susceptible to temptation since time immemorial.  I should know.  My family have made a packet off it.  My illustrious forebear, the 6th Earl, greatly enhanced the family fortune by opening a string of bordellos in Paris in the 1800s, while the 8th Earl’s opium trading allowed us to buy Midmar and the greater part of Burma.  Then there was the small business of the resulting war with China, which was also a boon, as it really kick-started our munitions business!

The story, then, is that Lord Sewel is a fool, and a man, which is essentially to say the same thing.  Mind you, there is one aspect of the whole affair that is entirely reprehensible and brings into question the whole concept of ‘Life Peers’.  His alleged use of a five pound note for the purpose of snorting the Bolivian marching powder is the action of a gauche arriviste.  No hereditary Peer worth his ermine would have used anything smaller than a £50.

Tim Bee, the conscientious objector

Dear Sir,

To my absolute horror it transpires that, not content with digging up the roads in the Schoolhill area and causing a good deal of highly objectionable disruption to the traffic, the workmen deployed in this ruination of city streets have discovered a medieval burial ground right in front of Robert Gordon’s College. Now, whilst I have always said that private education is an anachronistic institution belonging to a bygone era of ‘haves and have-nots’, I feel it behooves me, as a public spirited citizen, to object to the chaos this discovery will doubtless bring; not just to floppy-haired blazered pubescents, but also to the regular, ordinary Aberdonian, like you and, rather more importantly, I.

That little laney bit in front of the Art Gallery and Gordon’s is a crucial resource for Aberdeen motorists. A last chance to change direction before one is sucked into the maelstrom of Upperkirkgate and Berry Street. Where now will the ‘Yummy Mummies’ in their 4x4s create mayhem, as they drop off their little darlings? Outside the George Street Cash Converters? And where now will a dutiful husband collect his other half after shopping on a Saturday afternoon, so as to avoid the council’s exorbitant parking charges?

We are told that these are likely to be the remains of members of Aberdeen’s most prominent 13th Century families. Well, really, if that is the case then it beggars belief that their relatives have gone out of their way to bury them in a popular city centre thoroughfare. Selfish to say the least.

The City Fathers really must provide clear information on how much upheaval they feel is justified by this archaeological discovery. What are we really going to learn from a load of ancient fossils from a bygone era? Not that much. And I don’t think the skeletons will tell us anything either.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who was drawn from pot 1

When old Kenny seen the groups for the World Cup qualifiers you could have knocked me down with the weather! Scotland got a sweet draw, and not just because we is in with the Malteasers. Gordon Strachan’s men are also in the same group as England which means they get the Auld Enema not once, but two times. Brutal.

It’ll be mental when we stick them English at Wembley, though.  The hysterical bad blood between the teams means the form book goes out the window-box, all bets is off, and only a fool would try to predict the result. Which is why I’m sticking a grand on it being a draw.

We also have to play Slovakia, Lithuania and Slovenia. Now, I’m no expert on geometry, so I asked my pal Dunter Duncan whereabouts that countries was, and he says to me, he says, ‘They is all baltic states’. So wherever they is, we’ll need to wrap up warm for the away games.

See us live next year in ‘Dreich Encounter’ at HMT Aberdeen

The deep fried mars bar saga; a sign of the times?

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

“Will they, won’t they?” the saga continues. Far be it from we in the big city to revel in the misfortunes of another local authority, but the ‘Shires attempt to effect the removal of the Carron Fish Bar’s “Home of the Deep Fried Mars Bar” banner has caused some wry smiles here in Marischal College. Apparently, we now learn, Aberdeenshire Council’s initial letter insisting that the banner had to come down for the greater good of the community was nothing to do with the public health issues raised by that calorific delight, nor any objection to the accuracy of the claim. It wasn’t even a demand, but merely a request which need not be complied with! Well, I’m sorry, but it looks like the council’s credibility has taken a bigger battering than the celebrated confectionary itself. This is certainly not what one would expect to see from an award-wining local authority. But rather than crow over our neighbour’s misfortune, we shall instead offer our country cousins a few words of advice. The public are never impressed by flip-flopping, flim-flam or U-turns. What they look for is firm and decisive leadership – the kind that we in the City have shown over the Exhibition and Conference Centre, the Haudagain Roundabout, Union Terrace Gardens and Marischal Square.

But if i’ve learnt anything in my many years in public service, it’s that every cloud has a silver lining. What has been achieved is an avalanche of publicity for the Carron Fish Bar and Stonehaven in the national media. I don’t know how good the tourism boys are at Woodhill House, but if they’ve got their wits about them, expect a letter banning animals from this year’s Turra Show and a note telling Dunnottar castle to get its roof fixed.

Struan Metcalfe, MSP for Aberdeenshire North.

I know we shouldn’t laugh, but for we Tories the disintegration of the Labour Party is absolutely hilarious. They don’t seem to know what they’re supposed to be for or against anymore, other than not getting another whopping spanking in the next election. Their leadership contenders can’t help looking like the last four kids to get picked in the playground, and as of right now, Jeremy Corbyn is top of the polls to get job of leading Labour to their next defeat. He looks less like a future Prime Minister and more like a polytechnic lecturer who’s 2 years from retirement!

in fact, the whole political landscape in the UK seems to have changed dramatically hasn’t it? It’s not just the Labour Party’s spectacular implosion; the SNP are acting as if they are the genuine opposition in Westminster (Marie Black’s maiden speech has had more hits on YouTube than a kitten playing the piano), and meanwhile hundreds of people are stuck in traffic queueing to get in to France (I’ll say that again – to get IN to France). I haven’t been so confused since I got bladdered on Peach schnapps at the Town house, got my local politicos mixed up and kissed Len Ironside on the cheek before challenging Kate Deans to a wrestling match.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who kicks back – but doesn’t take kick-backs

You could have knocked me down with the weather when I seen that the comedian Simon Brodkin – who also goes by the nom de flume Lee Nelson – has got his self charged after he mucked up a FIFA press conference by throwing money at Sepp Bladder. If that’s against the law then there’s an awful lot of folk who are going to be feeling the hot breath of the long arm of the law on their collars!

I’m not sure exactly what the alligators is against the lad – maybe he didn’t use the proper FIFA-authorised brown envelope, or pass the money through the proper channel tunnels – but he has previous for doing his pranks at the football. He also acted the anteloper back in 2013 when he tried to warm up with Manchester City before a game against Everton. As practical jokes go, it was exactly as funny as it sounds. If he’d tried to pull a stunt like that with Inverurie Locos in my playing days he’d have been telling jokes through a fat lip. Then he tried to sneak onto the England plane to the World Cup in 2014, for which he rightly got pelters for. Although to be fair, I still think he might have done better at left back than Leighton Baines.

Surely if anyone could manage a quick gear change, it’d be Lewis Hamilton?

Tanya Soutar, Local lifestyle guru

I dinna ken about yous, but turning up to a social engagement dressed inappropriately is my worst nightmare. And I’m nae jist spikkin aboot the “skirt up tae here, neckline doon tae there” kind of inappropriate, neither. Strict dress codes is getting mair and mair common these days and, as Lewis Hamilton found oot at Wimbledon, it can end up in embarrassment if ye dinna stick tae them. So, to avoid you lookin like a prize plum in a hat, like fit he did, here’s Tanya’s top tips fer fitting in.

First of aa, fan ye get an invitation tae a high-faluting event, ye’ll usually get some instructions on fit yer meant tae weer. Tanya’s top tip is tae actually open it up and read those instructions. Dinna jist tak a photo of the posh wee booklet and stick it on Instagram.

Secondly, ye need tae understand fit aa the different dress codes actually mean. My ex, Dykers, wis ayewiz getting caught oot wi’ that. For example, “Smart casual” disnae mean showing up dressed for a fight at the fitba. And jist because ye slob aboot on the living-room sofa in a Minions onesie, that disnae mak it a ‘lounge suit’. That wis embarrassing, at Auntie Doreen’s fruneal.

Lastly, if ye dae get caught oot and arrive at a function underdressed, ye hiv tae be able tae improvise. Dykers wis brilliant at it. One night, fan the casino widnae let him in cos of his ripped jeans, he went ootside, lamped a boy aboot the same size as him, and nicked his breeks. Even better, there wis £50 in his back pooch, which Dykers turned intae £200 playing blackjack! It’s a shame Lewis Hamilton didnae improvise like that at on Sunday. Surely he could have nipped oot and picked up a jacket and tie fae the Wimbledon branch o’ Primark? Or if they was shut, he could have followed Dykers’s example and stuck the heid on Cliff Richard.

Cosmo Ludovic Fawkes-Hunte, 13th Earl of Kinmuck

Well, well, well. It has not taken the SNP long to bare their fangs by blocking the Government’s attempts to liberalise the law on fox-hunting. Really, people shouldn’t interfere in things they do not fully understand. They are destructive vermin who need to be eradicated. And the same could be said of the foxes.

The Nationalists have shown their political naivety here. What on earth do they think they’re doing, announcing their intention to vote down legislation that they oppose? Do they imagine that they were elected to exert influence? It makes you long for bygone days. My illustrious forebear, the 8th Earl, entered Parliament in 1820 and didn’t cast a vote until 1844, when he ran through the Aye lobby having mistaken the division bell for last orders. You just wouldn’t get that kind of deep and profound commitment to laissez-faire politics from the present crop of oiks.

One had hoped that the fox hunting law would herald the dawn of a new era of progressive Toryism, and that it would be followed by other sensible, pragmatic measures to re-engage with the values that made Britain great – the abolition of the minimum wage, the repeal of the Representation of the People Acts, and the re-introduction of the Feudal System. But oh no. Instead we seem to be edging ever closer to an equality based consultative democracy. I, for one, despair.

Kevin Cash, Money Saving Expert and King of the Grips

Fit a hairt-warmin’ story I seen the other day aboot Lucia Baratta, the American bride fa arrived in Orkney for her big day only to find that her wedding dress hid been lost in transit. The folk o’ the islands rallied round, wi’ 12 offers o’ dresses in her size, as weel as petticoats, veils, tiaras, sweeties and aa sorts. A wonderful story. I thocht that community spirit wiz deid, but nae in Orkney!

It is wi’ that thought in mind that I should let the paper’s Orcadian readers ken that the ither day, I lost my kilt on the bus on the wye hame fae the dry cleaners. It’s particularly upsetting, as I hid been hoping to weer it at my pal Mick the Pill’s forthcoming re-enactment of the Battle of Harlaw. My waist size is 30, 32, 34, 36, and 38 inches. Mick wiz also planning to video the event but has neither a video camera to record it wi’, nor large-screen telly to watch it on. Onything fae 42 inches up wid be fine.

The Open without Rory McIlroy? It’s like Polmuir Road – a complete wash-out.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who kicks back

I’ve always liked watching golf and I can’t wait to see all the big names at St Andrews next week competing for the Clarinet Jug. But it looks like there will be one big name what will not be featuring on them giant sideboards, and that name is Rory McIlroy. Rory’s been having a kickabout with his pals and he’s knackered his ankle liniments – total shocker. It’s always a shame when a sporting champion does not get the chance to defend his title, and I know just how Rory feels after I was involved in a similar incident back when I was just a cookie.

It was when I was playing for Kincorth Academy. We’d gone on a tremendous run and gotten ourselves into the final of the Robert Rae Sports Cup against our swarm enemy, Torry. The night before the game our coach says to us, he says, “Quiet night in tonight, lads – I don’t want any of you showing up injured tomorrow.” I never thought golf could be dangerous, so me and my pal Smudger went to Balnagask for a swift 18 holes. It was a tight match, and I had to hole a tricky putt on the 18th to avoid losing. Now, it might surprise some of my regulatory readers to learn that when things don’t go my way, Old Kenny has got a bit of a temper. When the putt slipped by the hole I threw my ball up in the air and swung my putter at it. I’d done that heaps of times before and never connected with the ball but this time I caught it flush. The ball flew towards the wall, hut it and rebounded square in the eye! Talk about an unlucky Rick O’Shea!

The next morning my eye was swollen up like I’d gone 10 rounds with Mike Dyson. Our coach was fizzing. He says to me, he says “Trust you Kenny! I asked you to do one thing and you couldn’t do it right!” That was a big improvement for me, though. Usually the coach asked me to do heaps of things and I never managed to not do none of them right!

View from the Midden – rural affairs with Jock Alexander

Weel, it’s been a precipitous wik here in the village. Weather the like of which we’ve nae seen in, oooh, wiks has been assailing wir hames. Rain so heavy that it’s fair sent the local slurry on the move again, washin doon the main street and pittin paid tae a’ the mysterious stuff that we were left wi efter last wik’s unseasonable het weather. We hid niver seen the like afore but, efter extensive research, we learned fit it wiz ca’ed: “dry ground”.

So at least we ken far we are noo it’s back tae the usual dreich misery. Meikle Wartle may hae six feet o weet sharn flowin’ through the square, but at least we noo hiv another three new ponds fer the local kiddies tae swim in, thanks tae the potholes that we didnae fill in efter last year’s torrential rain.

But it’s nae jist rain, we’ve also had thunder and lightnin’ tae contend wi, which I must say is afa unusual. Some in the village hiv been gan aboot blamin’ this freak weather on Feel Moira and the pagan duncin she was accused of daein last wikend. Noo, she did hae siven bottles o’ hame brew and wiz in perty mood, but I da believe she has ony powers o’er the weather.

Mind you, though, we’ve nae seen much of her since the weekend’s lightning strikes. In fact, nae since midnight on Seterday jist efter it hit some transmitters pokin oot of her roof, and she wiz hoppin’ aboot in a lang white coat shoutin’ “It’s alive! It’s alive!” Those who hiv drawn some correlation between these events and the large mute farmhard twi the flat heed and the bolts in his neck that sterted work wi Moira on Monday hiv clearly been oot in the rain too long. Cheerio!

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

In the Council Chamber, we have been watching events in Greece very closely this week. Partly this is because it behoves us to keep abreast with political events elsewhere, but mainly because we’re hoping that if Greece gets the dunt out of the Euro-zone, the price of 2 weeks in Kefalonia will drop like a stone.

It is sobering to see Greece – the country, let us never forget of Aristotole, Plato and Nana Mouskouri – in such a pickle. But it is inspiring, too, to see people power so much to the fore in the cradle of democracy. A referendum campaign that lasted only a week? What wouldn’t we have given for such a thing in 2014?

It’s great that the Council have a ‘Master Plan’. But it does make them sound like a Bond villain.

Archie Fraser, Gentleman of the Road

Well, one cannot keep up. What is it called now? City centre master plan? City deal? City linking, smart thinking? No, sorry, that was an advert from the 1980s. I knew I shouldn’t have had that third bottle of Thunderbird. So what does the master plan mean to the the man on the street? Well, all I do know is that pedestrianisation means Stinky Jimmy won’t get knocked down by a taxi if he bides between Bridge Street and the Castlegate.  Which has to be a good thing – unless of course it’s Christmastime, when he tended to step out deliberately to secure some of ARI’s delicious turkey and trimmings. Apparently, there has been much consultation on the master plan but there is one group in this fair city yet to be consulted. That’s right – we, the gentlemen of the road! And now it is time for our voice to be heard. Here are our demands – delivered in the style of a Greek politician, some of whom may be joining us out on the street ‘ere long, one fears.

1. Outdoor urinals on every street corner so we do not have to stagger far from our bench. We will, however, continue to do our number 2s in the gardens of Ferryhill. We are not unreasonable people;

2. Benches on every main thoroughfare, each able to seat at least 3 of our band of brothers. That way, we can all have a good bosie as we fall asleep, having used up all our energy chasing pigeons and giving out guttural cries;

3. Free bunnets;

4. A civic square where we can congregate and chase Japanese tourists around whilst shouting “I was a wizard once”; and

5. A seat on every community council in the town. We do not expect to contribute to discussion. We do expect a free heat and a hob nob. And there it is; the manifesto of the Tramps of Aberdeen. I look forward to All Party support in the council chamber. And hob nobs. Mostly hob nobs.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who’s still 100% man

All through my extinguished career I always tried to come across as something of a hard man.  Whenever there was a tricky winger needing halfing, a cheeky forward needing chinning or a ref needing sworn at, I was never one to puss-in-boots around.  I just got stuck in, heid first. So, with my hard as rails reputation to protect, what I am about to write has got my stomach all butter fries.  Old Kenny’s been watching the women’s world cup.  There, I says it, I says.

To be honest, I thought it was the man’s world cup when I first tuned in.  I did think it was funny that I hadn’t known about it, but when they showed the group tables and Scotland wasn’t there I figured that was about right.  It did not help that the first game I watched was Spain v Costco Rica.  I seen all the ponytails and thought nothing of it. I could tell something was different though, especially when it come to the spitting, diving and meringuing the ref – because there wasn’t none.  I think that’s the main reason Old Kenny would never have cut it playing women’s football.  Oh well, it’s still football I thinks to myself, and soon enough I finds myself getting possessed with it. England’s ladies is doing a lot better a job than the men did in Brazil last season.  They’ve been on a great run and by the time this is printed they’ll have had their semi-final against Japan.  I for one will be supporting them 107%.  I never thought I’d see the day I’d root for the Auld Enema in a tournament, but I’ll try anything if it means the commentators will bang on about 1966 a little bit less!

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

For years, I have been asking the back-biters and naysayers who take such pleasure in criticising the council to bury the hatchet, abandon the childish fripperies of partisan politics and join us in governing Aberdeen in the common good. Well blow me down if it hasn’t happened: we have a cross-party consensus on the City Masterplan! Of course, I am delighted that good sense has finally prevailed. But victory has a slightly hollow feel. As I nursed my celebratory pint in the Kirkgate Bar, I found my mind harking back to the glory days, when Barney Crockett would “accidentally” barge an SNP councillor on his way back from the cludge while Willie Young stripped to the waist and took on all-comers at arm-wrestling. (Apart from Jill Wisely, obviously; she was unbeatable). Yes, responsible consensus politics is a drab business. Still, I can console myself with the fact that we are doing the right thing by the city. And that it cannot possibly last.

See us live this summer at HMT Aberdeen and the King’s Theatre Edinburgh

Kings Theatre Edinburgh, 25th July 2015

The Flying Pigs, the Aberdeen based cmedy team behind BBC Scotland’s ‘Desperate Fishwives’ have been delighting ever growing audiences with their mix of songs and sketches for almost two decades. They’ve had three wildly successful BBC Scotland radio series, one widely-ignored BBC Scotland TV pilot, and meanwhile have been selling out theatres, arts centres and town halls all over the North East of Scotland. their last show, ‘Finzean in the Rain’ was seen by 10,000 people, only one of whom complained. Now ‘the punk Scotland the What?’ bring their sly brand of humour to Edinburgh for the first time. Packed with laughs and a distinctive North-East flavour, ‘The Seagull Has Landed’ is sure to delight old fans and newcomers alike – just the ticket for anyone who fancies an evening of comedy before fleeing the city for the duration of the Fringe.

Tickets are now available from the King’s Theatre website

“Father Ted meets The Broons” Scottish Daily Express

“Fabulously funny…outstanding” Press and Journal

“Bristles with imagination and originality” Aberdeen Evening Express

 His Majesty’s Theatre, Aberdeen – 18th July 2015

The Flying Pigs are to stage an exclusive one-night only performance at His Majesty’s Theatre – called “A Bit of Crackling” – on Saturday, July 18, in aid of Home Start Aberdeen, whose volunteers give practical and emotional support to local vulnerable and isolated families in their own homes.

As it is likely to be the only chance to catch The Flying Pigs in full flight at HMT this year, tickets are expected to fly out the door when they go on sale this Thursday (February 19) online at www.aberdeenperformingarts.com, by phone at 01224 641122 and at Aberdeen Box Office at the Music Hall and His Majesty’s Theatre.

“This fundraising performance means a great deal to Home-Start Aberdeen,” says Georgette Cobban, scheme manager, Home-Start Aberdeen. “The scheme works with up to 150 local families per year, however we currently have over 30 on our waiting list.

“It is hoped that we can use the funds raised from The Flying Pigs’ show to recruit and train the additional volunteers that we so desperately need to assist these families as quickly as possible.

“Our home visiting volunteers perform a vital role by working with referred families to help them access relevant health and welfare services, manage family budgets and nutrition, engage with their communities and – perhaps most importantly – enjoy family life again.

“We are very grateful to The Flying Pigs – and to the show’s main sponsor Stewart Spence and The Marcliffe Hotel – for supporting us in our quest to continue to meet the growing needs of our local communities.”

One of the Flying Pigs, John Hardie, says: “We’re delighted to be able to support Home Start. Many of us have young children ourselves and we know how rewarding and how challenging being a parent can be.

“Any charity that helps people to give their children the best possible start in life deserves support.”

Big fire in the North-East this week. No, not the Broadford Works, Alistair Carmichael’s pants.

PC Bobby Constable, Community Policeman (Retired)

I was shocked to see anither suspicious fire broke oot at the auld Broadford Works, partly because it wiz yet mair evidence o’ the total disrespect fowk hiv for property these days, but mainly because it’s been up in flames that often I didna think there could be onything left to burn. But there wiz, and at its height up to 40 firefighters were there alang wi’ countless police officers. It must have given householders in the area a real fleg, but on the plus side, it will have been a great boost for local bookies and doughnut vendors.

The papers said the blaze wiz the work of “firebugs”. I suppose that is one possibility, but I think it’s much mair likely to have been young loons oot for kicks – or, as we used to cry them fan I wiz on the force, “vratches wi’ matches”.

They were the bane of my life fan I wiz stationed at Kincorth. Barely a week went by wi’oot some wee gowk trying to set fire to the Gramps hill. It aye amazed me how ignorant they wiz aboot the dangers o’ fire, so my top priority wiz edumacation.

Fan I caught a budding arsonist, I wid torch a gorse bush and mak them stand aside it and count as the flames started to tak ahaud. Very few hid the nerve to count beyond 20 afore pleading wi’ me to pit the fire oot. It gied them a fear; it made them think. I hid a lot o’ success wi’ that tactic – right up to the time that I set fire to the bush and only then minded that my fire extinguisher wiz still teem fae my last demonstration. I dread to think fit would’ve happened if my sergeant, “Dunter” Duncan hidna been wi’ me, or if he hidna hid six pints at lunchtime.

Jonathan M Lewis, local headteacher

What a wonderful week it’s been at Garioch Academy! True, my email inbox is replete with parental complaints, but for once they’re not directed at me. The current object of their ire is the Higher Maths paper, which many seem to think was unnecessarily difficult. I said to one tearful pupil ‘come on, it’s not rocket science’ but, as it transpires, some of it was.

This exam expected pupils to think on their feet and apply their skills in unfamiliar contexts to demonstrate a truly deep understanding of their learning. What good is that to anybody? Exams have always been built on the principle that those who learn how to correctly respond to the same bog-standard questions year in, year out will pass with flying colours. This new style of exam sets a dangerous precedent for the future of education. Every single teacher at Garioch Academy got where they are today by passing exams the old fashioned way. Asking them to teach pupils to think out of the box is like asking Bruce Forsyth to break dance. They might be willing, but they’d do a lot of damage in the attempt.

I, for one, support the pupils in their national campaign to have the pass mark for the maths exam lowered, and not just for the boost to Garioch’s results. I am seldom prouder than when our young people display their maturity. And what could be more grown-up than moaning bitterly when something doesn’t go your way?

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

I see that Sir Malcolm Bruce has leapt to the defence of Alistair Carmichael in the furore over the leaked memo that claimed that Nicola Sturgeon preferred David Cameron as a PM to Ed Miliband. Carmichael initially claimed he knew nothing about it, but has now admitted to having orchestrated the whole thing. Sir Malcolm doesn’t think that this is a resigning issue. This will have been a comfort for Alistair – right up until the time that he realised that Sir Malcolm’s defence was that politicians lie all the time On one level, this is about as surprising as learning that bears have a preference for arboreal ablutions, or that the Pope is not a Rangers fan. But on another, it is truly shocking to hear a politician candidly admit that his entire career has been punctuated by a series of whoppers. I may only be a lowly local authority spin doctor, but that message can’t be the best way to restore public confidence in our tarnished political system. Sir Malcom’s mistake is obvious. Honesty. Clearly, he should have fibbed.

 

See the Flying Pigs live this summer at HMT Aberdeen and the King’s Theatre Edinburgh

Saturday night’s alright for fighting your way out of the AECC car park

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands’ most eligible bachelor

The 20th of June 2015 will ging down in the annals of local history as the night Sir Elton John came tae toon. Again. I say ‘toon’, but it disnae have the same ring to say he came to a car-park in the Brig o’ Don.

I hiv been a fan of Elton iver since I got tae third base wi’ Charlene Anderson far Hilton files Northsound’s Dave Agissild played “Rocket Man” in the background. So I wiz well chuffed tae blag a ticket tae see – fae a distance – a tiny, chubby, pop legend jumping up and doon banging his ivories. I got there fan the doors opened at 5 and got ripped intae the bar. By 7 I wiz bleezing, wearing a comedy toupee and specs which flashed fan ye waggled yer ears. Fit a sotter! Fan I bumped intae Suki, the barmaid fae The White Cockade in Torry, she said ‘There’s something about the way you look tonight’ so it is testament tae the power of my chat that it wisna lang afore she asks me “Are you ready for love?” Then she says “Don’t let the sun go down on me, Jimmy. I’m Baltic. Let’s ging back tae yours”. Which we did, beating the traffic. It wis no sacrifice, I opened my window and we heard the hale gig fae the comfort of my flat in Clifton road. As she wis leaving, Suki asked fan we could see each other again. “Sorry love” I replied, “I don’t wanna go on with you like that”. Which wiznae my smartest move. I forgot she is a black belt at karate and she hoofed me in my Reginald Dwights. Oof! It’s true fit they say, Torry seems to have the hardest birds.

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

As a scientist, people are always asking me questions like, “Did the scientists at CERN deliberately name the Large Hadron Collider so as to cause hilarious typographical errors?”, “will squatting in skinny jeans result in circulation problems and nerve damage?” and “does eating two chocolate bars a day really have health benefits?” To which the answers are, “Absolutely”, “possibly” and “yes, insofar as, after a few weeks you won’t be able to get into your skinny jeans.”

This week, people have been asking me what I think about Philae, to which I answer, “it’s my third favourite processed cheese, just behind Dairlylea and Primula.” And then I laugh, uproariously, convulsing as I do so in a manner that occasionally causes an unpleasant clash of heads. But really, it is absolutely marvellous that the Philae lander has reawoken, more than six months after making its crash landing on a comet. Quite apart from anything else, it gives me great hope for the future of Dazza, my most somnolent student. And if it is now able to to drill into the comet’s core, we will be able to learn a great deal more about the chemical composition of this cold, alien ball of gaseous matter. My own theory is that we will find it is made of exactly the same material as George Osborne.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who can’t pronounce ‘KF Shkendija’

When they unveiled their new mascot for next season, Partick Thistle was a bit of a laughing stick! If you haven’t seen him, he’s cried Kingsley and looks like a cross between Lisa Simpson and Hannibal Lecter. My pal Dunter Duncan says to me, he says ‘At least Partick have a chance of winning one trophy this year – The Turner Prize! Put that in your column, Kenny!’ I never had no idea what he was talking about, but I done it anyways. These days, clubs is always trying to gee-up the crowd and create a carnivore atmosphere, but when it comes to gimmicks like mascots, old Kenny is a bit clinical . They never had nothing like that when I played in the top flight, and I’m not sure that a football match is the right place for fun and entertainment.

Although last season is barely finished, my old club the Dons has found out who they face at the start of their Europa League champagne. I’ll be honest with you, I had never heard of KF Shkendija before, so I’ve no idea if they’re a good side, but I do know they’re a cracking score at Scrabble. Apparently they’re from the Former Yugoslavian Republic of Macadamia and last season they finished third. Well, the Dandies finished second so hopefully we’ll come out on top and drive the Macademians nuts!

 

See us live this summer at HMT Aberdeen and the King’s Theatre Edinburgh