Don’t say Ed Milliband isn’t man enough to lead the country. His wife will give you a right telling off!

Struan Metcalfe, Conservative MSP for Aberdeenshire North and Surrounding Nether Regions – An Apology

By Jove, the political air is getting a bit heated isn’t it? From calls for the head of Grant Shapps (Old ‘two jobs’ as he’s known. No idea why.) to the fuss surrounding who’s going to debate who; the noise in the run up to the General Election has become as shrill as Bjork on helium.

All is fair in love and campaigning, but I do worry when the wife of a party leader has to wade in to say “stop bullying my poor husband, he’s a really nice bloke, honestly, so pack it in you plonkers”. Ed Milliband’s significant other put her head above the political parapet to blast the Conservatives for personal attacks on the leader of the opposition. Well, needless to say, Central Office weren’t best pleased with my Tweet on this subject, and, once again I am required to apologise sincerely for the following:

“So Red Ed’s wife wants us to stop the insults? Doesn’t she know, a woman’s place is in one of her two kitchens?”

I’m sorry. Not only did my tweet, I accept, have the faint whiff of everyday sexism, but I do acknowledge that Ms Thornton is, of course, an influential, successful woman in her own right. It am not one of those old fashioned types who see a politician’s spouse as little more than decoration. That’s what my researchers are for!

That said, I would be affronted if my better half had to spring to my defence. Although that’s not tremendously likely. I asked her last night, ‘Darling, if you were watching ‘Newsnight’ and all the the other politicians were being beastly to me, would you do anything?’ ‘Of course’, she replied. ‘I would immediately switch over to ‘Billion Dollar Chicken Shop’.

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

As a scientist, I’m always being asked questions such as ‘Will smart watches take off?’ ‘Will biometrics ever replace passwords and PIN codes?’ and ‘The usual short back and sides, sir?’ But recently, people have been asking me all about Total Eclipses.   “Well”, I advise, “Every now and then I get a little bit terrified, and then I see the look in your eyes.” And then we laugh; awkwardly, as most people under 30 have no idea who Bonnie Tyler is.

They’re talking about the major celestial event that will grace our skies this week. A solar eclipse will see the North East plunged into near darkness at 9.38am on Friday morning. Exactly as it was during the entire month of January. This natural phenomenon is very complicated, but I will attempt to explain it in layman’s terms.

An eclipse happens when the moon gets between the sun and the earth, and casts its colossal umbra over the planet. ‘Umbra’ is a fancy science word for ‘shadow’ – we scientists do love fancy words for things. Total eclipses are rare, but there would be one perfect syzygy (‘alignment’ – told you!) every anomalistic cycle (‘month’) were it not for the fact that the moon’s orbit is slightly elliptical (‘wonky’).

View From The Midden – Rural affairs with MTV (Meikle Wartle Television) presenter, Jock Alexander

Weel it’s been an automotive wik in the village. I wiz affa interested in the news o’ thon big stramash regarding the BBC’s top motoring correspondent. As someone fa can tell one end o’ a Massie Ferguson fae the ither, I am the host o’ the popular Meikle Wartle Television Motoring show, ‘Low Gear’. At’s the een far we pit the action intae traction engines wi ‘Pimp My Tractor’, and hae celebrities test drive a’ the latest agricultural machinery. Last wikend we hid Joyce Falconer in a John Deere 8330. Michty, fit a tailback on the A96 that caused.

So, if the BBC is short o’ a presenter, I’d happily chuck my toorie in the ring. I am sending my CV doon tae New Broadcasting Hoose, and I can assure the Beeb that unlike Clarkson, I am a calm and easy-going screen persona, nae given tae fall-oots, name-callings or ither Natalie Imbruglias. Despite rumours tae the contrary, I did not cause “a stooshie” efter a lang days filming at Logie Durno, fan I discovered that the pies on Feel Moira’s catering stall werenae het. True, they were like wee blocks of pastry covered ice, but I wisnae complaining. Quite frankly, the closer tae frozen they are, the less chunce there is of salmonella lowpin aboot.  Cheerio!

The Marcliffe is saved! Now, who can afford a round of drinks to celebrate?

Davinia Smythe-Barrett – ordinary mum

There was SO much relief in the Smythe-Barrett household when we heard the news this week. Our ordinary world has been returned to normal. Thank the Lord, the Marcliffe is staying open! It doesn’t just mean the preservation of a local institution, and a much loved iconic building, even more importantly, my yogic embroidery classes can now be moved back from Airyhall Library (ghastly).

Hubby remains in Belize for fiscal reasons – taxation rather than procurator – so won’t be able to enjoy the fundraising dinner I’m going to with the girls next month at the Marcliffe. It’s for Sierra Leone, which I understand is absolutely horrid at the moment. But if we all dig deep we can really make a difference, and transform it into a much better place. That’s why we’re raising money to help build a luxury gated resort and spa there. Transformational change is so important. As are new and exclusive holiday destinations. i know what you’re thinking; ‘Davinia, you’re too selfless, you can’t save the world all on your own.’ Well, maybe not, but you have to try. You know?

PC Bobby Constable, (retired). Former Community Policeman

I see in the paper that 30 heavily pregnant sheep hiv been stolen fae a farm at Kemnay. Absolutely shocking stuff. Imagine the distress of these poor, innocent animals as they were smuggled off in the dead of night. They should have been left unmolested, to live in peace. Because if mankind cannot live in harmony wi’ nature, then truly there is no future for us. And also because if you upset them, the meat gets a’ tough and stringy.

The local bobbies say they are interested in 4 x 4 vehicle wi’ trailer that was seen at the locus, and in the circumstances, that certainly seems mair sensible than

looking for a push-bike wi’ a basket on the front. But if they want the advice o’ a seasoned law enforcement professional, they should stake-oot the condiments aisle o’ the Co-opie in High Street, and lift faiver buys the maist mint sauce.

Fan I wis on the force I spent maist o’ my time patrolling the mean streets o’ Hazelheid, but I also hid a few postings to the sticks. Rural policing is nae the cushy number you might think. A lot o’ the time you are having to deal wi’ isolation. I kent it wizna going to be for me fan I got to the station in Maud and discovered the nearest bookies wiz an hour’s drive away. And of course as a toonser there is awyse the potential for making a feel o’ yerself when you dinna understand country wyes. One time, a fermer phoned to say his cows had been taen from his field. I turned up to investigate. “Weel” says he, “were my cattle rustled?” “Dinna ask me”, I says, “I wiz miles away, how would I ken fit noise they made?”

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who gets into them, heid first

There was shocking scenes this week down at Villa Park in the FA cup quarter final when the home fans done a pitch evasion. Believe me you, I understand how emulsions can run high, but there is never no excuse for anoraky. Fans should only enter the hollowed turf if their team has actually won something. Or if they are on their way to give the ref a hiding.

Speaking of refs, Craig Thomson will want to go into hiding after his howler at Tannadice at the weekend. There was a bit of a commotion between United and Celtic players after Scott Brown played his joker, which allows him to half someone without getting booked. The whistler and his linesman sent off Celtic’s Dick van Dyke but they gave the wrong United player his jotters!

Unfunnily enough, Old Kenny was once the victim of a case of mis-shapen identikit. I was playing for Locos against Brora when i went to clean out their striker, but before I could get a stud on him my pal Dunter Duncan got there first. The ref jumped to the wrong contusion and he says to me, he says “Sorry Kenny, you’ve got to go”. I was raging and I says to him, I says “I can’t believe you’re sending me off for nothing!” Still, I had the last laugh. On my way to the dug-out I nutted their winger, so the red card didn’t go to waste.

When Tim Berners-Lee invented the Internet, this may not be exactly what he had in mind.

View from the Midden – Agricultural affairs with Jock Alexander

Fit like ab’dy? It’s been an ophthalmological wik in the village. Ye see, a photie of a certain Oban wifie’s frock has caused a fair stooshie on the interwebs. Even here in Meiklewartle we have been at loggerheads aboot ‘The Dress’. Some fowk see it as fite and gold, but others, looking at the self-same picter, see blue and black. ‘Eh?’, the cry has gone oot, ‘Fit wye?’ How can some eens een nae see fit ither eens een see? Fa’s richt? Or is naeb’dy? Weel, the village’s own fashion icon, Feel Moira, his the answer. Moira is blessed wi’ a large disposable income, on account of the fact that she niver peys for nithin. Additionally, she attends a large number of weddings. She’s nae invited, you understand, but fan Moira arrives at your function in full sail, resistance is futile. She’ll neck a pint o’ kir royal, kick aff her sheen and lead even the maist refined company in a slosh afore ye can say ‘excuse me, madam, may I see your invitation?’. Onywye, as a result, Moira owns a staggering number of funcy outfits, including the dress in question. So in the sprirt o’ scientific discovery she’s been weering it roon the village for aa tae see, and since spring has sprung, she’s been delivering calfies in it aa wik. And I must say, efter a close study in various lighting conditions, I can confirm Moira’s is neither fite & gold nor blue & black. It’s mair a kind o’ sharny broon. Cheerio!

Shelley Shingles, Showbiz correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1983

OMG!  I am totes exhausted after a mega-busy awards season. I love seeing the rich and famous in designer outfits, guzzling champagne while they are gawped at by the masses.  It’s just like Friday night in The Albyn!

Sadly, I couldn’t attend the BAFTAs or the Oscars this year. I had a totes important commitment to fulfil, calling the Sunday night bingo at Bressay Brae retirement home (It’s so rewarding, but it can be very sad. Some of the old dears are so dottled they don’t even know who I am!).   I would have loved to see Eddie Redmayne getting his gongs for his portrayal of Professor Steven Hawkwind.  Mind you, Benylin Cummerbund will have been disappointed not to win for playing Enigma code-breaker Alan Turing. He’ll probably just want to draw a veil over that now; I suppose that’s what they mean by a Turing shroud!

I did make it to the fab-u-lous BRITs though, and the big talking point was the Queen of pop, her Madge herself, taking a tumble thanks to a wardrobe malfunction with her cape!  We’d never officially met, but our careers started at about the same time so I’m sure Madonna’s kept the same eye on my progress as I have hers. I tried to get a quick interview with her after the show, but she had to regretfully decline. ‘Get out of my way’, she said, warmly, ‘I need to get to the airport, I don’t want to miss another flight!”

Wise words, from a great lady.

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

In these cynical, embittered and antagonistic times, we must seek succour and inspiration where we can find it.  This week, I found it in a remarkable photograph which spread like wildfire on the internet.  Happily, on this occasion, Kim Kardashian’s buttocks were not involved.  This was an image of a primal struggle between unmatched foes.  No, not Donald Trump’s barnet and a high wind; but a woodpecker in flight with a weasel clinging to its back like a hairy jockey.  The steely determination in the woodpecker’s eyes as it perseveres in the face of apparently overwhelming adversity reminded me of nothing more than the look on Willie Young’s fizzog when he had to face the accounts committee about Marischal Square.  And like the woodpecker, Willie has come through that stern test and is airborne still, albeit it with some chunks having been bit out of him.

It is a strange life, a woodpecker’s: endlessly drumming your head against a solid object in the hope of some small reward.  Sometimes I think we are all woodpeckers now.

But believe it or not, it’s not the most remarkable photograph I have ever seen of a panic-stricken creature giving somebody a coalie-back.  That’s the one taken in the Kirkgate Bar after the Christmas party, when Len Ironside dropped into a wrestling crouch and challenged all-comers – just as the University rugby team came in through the door.

 

If MPs aren’t allowed second jobs, how will Nick Clegg pay his mortgage in June?

Struan Metcalfe, Conservative MSP for Aberdeenshire North and Nether Regions

Red Ed writes to Super Dave campaigning for a ban on MP’s having second jobs? Get real, Mr. Bean! The Labour Party leader says that MPs shouldn’t have a second job, let alone a third. The poor chap’s deluded. A Westminster salary is less than that of a Head Teacher. How on Earth is a Krug-quaffing, Bentley driving, lap-dancing connoisseur supposed to survive on £68k a year? I should say, for the avoidance of doubt, that your humble correspondent is the lap danc-ee rather than the lap danc-er. Not that I haven’t had offers, but that’s a tale to keep under wraps til I’m writing my memoirs, unless Annabel Goldie beats me to it!

Ed’s comments are made in light of the recent “scandal” concerning Sir Malky ‘Riffers” Rifkind and Jack Straw-Hat. The grandees were filmed by an undercover TV crew from Channel 4 offering access to government officials for a fee. Nothing wrong in that, surely? What’s the world coming to when an old politician can’t cash in on his contacts when his Gravy Train Seniors Railcard is about to expire?   Their only mistake appears to be getting caught on tape giving away their day rates – £5k for a morning’s work. (to give some context, thats cheaper than Lady Gaga, but desrer than the Chuckle Brothers).

But let us be clear about this. As it stands, MPs are allowed to take on other employment as long as they declare their financial interests. I’m happy to declare mine here and now – money, money and money.

And spare a thought for us poor MSPs. We have to pootle by on just £55k a year, plus expenses (and you’d be surprised how expensive Ingrid, my new unpaid researcher, can be!). Thank goodness for the Home to Work and Family Allowance. Without that I have no idea how I’d get back home to see Her Indoors and the brats in our new family home. In the Cayman Islands. LOL!

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who goes in two-footed.

It’s true what they say – you couldn’t not make it up. This week a FIFA taskhorse has recommended that the 2022 World Cup should get played in the winter.

If they asked me, which they never, I would of says to them that the World Cup is inexpertly linked with that other famous season, summer. All over the world people paint their faces, party in the streets, and watch top class pundits in their shirtsleeves and without no ties on. Summer and the World Cup go together like pie and bovril, or sectarian chanting and the SPL not doing nothing about it. For me, the fine weather is a vital part of the World Cup’s carnal atmosphere. But apparently it gets triflingly hot in July in Catarrh, so these clowns has said it would be best played in November and December.

November and December? Is they mental? Old Kenny is no expert at Geometry, but even I know that’s right in the middle of winter. No matter where it is, it’ll be Baltic!

Of course, Kenny is no stranger to playing in unhospital weather. The worst ever was a January match between Locos and Forres Mechanics up at Mosset Park. The match kicked off in blizzard conditions and it was grass monkeys out there. We couldn’t see the grass, and the gaffer didn’t give a monkey’s. It was so slippy that when I went in for a sliding tackle on their winger – I kept going and cleaned out 3 of them. Before I’d come to a stop the ref had given me 2 yellows, a red and my jotters. I’ll be honest though, I was so cold I never minded going for an early bath!

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

So Glasgow is being riven asunder by a bitter dispute about the proposed demolition of the Royal Concert Hall steps in order to make way for an extention to the Buchananan Galleries shopping centre. Hundreds have objected to the proposal. Thousands have signed an online petition condemning rampant capitalism, the craze for development and the compromising of a much-loved local landmark. No doubt some of our small minded political opponents would expect this administration to be revelling in the discomfort of a rival city. However, nothing could be further from the truth. The situation in Glasgow just provides proof – if more were needed – that where Aberdeen leads, others follow.

 

Triumph for women – from Universal Suffrage to pink mini-buses in only 87 years

Struan Metcalfe MSP – an apology. To women everywhere.

Now look here. I am a humungous fan of women. Always have been, always will be. From little old Mumsy Metcalfe, to Matron Fullthrottle at Gordounstoun, to Emily, the saucy minx I currently employ as a ‘researcher’, I love them all. Even my wife. But in this day and age, it seems like one can’t say anything at all about these lovely creatures without being accused of being ‘sexist’. What rot.

It won’t surprise you to learn that I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with the Politically Correct brigade in my time. In particular, I have had a fair bit of bothersome feedback for my recent Tweet about Harriet Harman’s bright pink battle bus. The Shadow leader of the House is trying to engage the female electorate by driving around the UK in what looks like Hen-night transportation emblazoned with the motto “Woman to Woman”. Now I may not qualify for a ‘This is what a feminist looks like’ T-shirt (and let’s be honest, most of them don’t look as handsome as me!) but at least I’ve never suggested that women can only relate to things that are pink, like flowers and cardigans and, er mini-buses. So the outcry following my tweet on Labour’s latest General Election gimmick seems a tad shrill:

“Harriet H says her Pink Bus shows politics isn’t ‘men only’. Not ‘Men Only’? She hasn’t seen the reading material in the Commons’ Gents!”

I’m sorry to report that in response to that, a number of my female constituents have written to the party chairman complaining that I demonstrate a ‘casual, deep seated, juvenile misogyny’ which they find offensive. Stuff and nonsense, of course, but the fairer sex do sometimes get the funniest ideas into their silly little heads, don’t they?

 

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who goes in studs up

In my long and eventual career in football, I have seen my share fair of refereeing howlers, but I think I can say without fear of contraception that I have never not seen no mistakes like I seen on Sunday at New Douglas Park. My old club, the Dons, was down sticking Hamilton Accies and they won 3-0. Although Aberdeen was on fire and the final result was never not in doubt, the ref and his linesman disallowed two perfectly good goals and turned down a dry stone dyke penalty. They had an absolute shocker, and they must have watched that replays with their hands in their heads, thanking their lucky charms that their blunders never proved cruciate to the outcome.

Of course, old Kenny has been on the wrong end of some diabetic refereeing decisions too. I remember one time, when Longside was taking on Newmachar in an end of season 9-pointer, I was the victim of a mascara of justice. They had this long-haired poser playing at number 10 who was running the show and running me ragged. After 20 minutes I was breathing out my backside so I decided enough was enough and I went in hard on him, just to let him know I was there. He was rolling about like nobody’s business and the whistler gave me a straight red. I was flabbyghasted. I says to the ref, I says “What’s that for?” And he says to me, he says “Come on Kenny. You know what happens when you throw a punch!” Well, on this occasion, I was not guilty as charged, but my protestations of incense falled on deaf eyes. I never laid a hand on the wee naff, all I done was stick the heid on him. Criminal.

I got all excited earlier this week when I seen that Scotland was up against New Zealand in the World Cup. I still remember when we stuffed them 5-2 in Malaga in 1982. Me and Melody was on our honeymoon in Torremolinos and I managed to swing a pair of tickets off my old pal Steve Archibald. You can imagine how Kenny feeled when he found out that this week’s fixture was in the cricket world cup. I can’t say I’m the biggest fan of the sound of leather on pillow but I thought I’d watch it anyway. Sadly, Scotland lost to what must have been an amazing comeback from the New Zealand lads. When I switched off the box to go to my bed the scoreboard says Scotland was sitting at 25-4. I says to myself, I says “There’s no way the Wikis is coming back from that!”

A TV that spies on viewers. Has Goggle-box taught us nothing?

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

As a scientist, I’m always being asked questions such as ‘How old is the Universe?’ ‘Will supersonic air travel ever become affordable?’ and ‘How do you like your eggs in the morning?’  But recently, people have been asking me about their TV.  “It definitely looks better on your feature wall”, I tell them.  “It makes the room seem much larger”.  And then we laugh, chiefly at the thought of taking interior décor advice from a man with a Van de Graaff generator in his living room.

Their concerns, it transpires, are to do with the fear that their own TV might be spying on them – An electronics giant has confessed to customers that it’s voice-activated ‘smart TV’ listens to everything that anyone says and transmits the data to HQ for analysis.  But how has such invasive technology come to pass?

Every technological advance ever made has been developed with the sole purpose of making consumers sit still while they are sold things, not least the TV itself.  Listeners to ‘the wireless’ had to use their own imaginations to enjoy the spoken word; thankfully the introduction of pictures spared them that intolerable burden.  Now voice-activation technology puts an end to the work-a-day misery of aiming a small box at the screen and pressing a button.  But at what price?

Well, my concern is not for the sofa-bound, who discover they have been effectively ‘bugged’ by a multinational. I feel for the boffins who have to analyse the data.  Imagine for a moment that after completing an electronic engineering degree, a masters and a PHD, your daily grind was wading through hours and hours of conversations like “Turn it up would you love?” “Is that the guy that used to be in The Bill?” and “Crikey mate, that stinks! What on earth have you been eating?”

Barclay Lloyd, a Banker you can trust

The news that HSBC has been helping clients to avoid billions of pounds in tax by hiding assets from her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs has come as a further bitter blow to the battered reputation of the banking sector.  I think we can all agree that the news that Bankers were concealing wealthy clients’ funds in foreign tax havens was wholly predictable – I mean, unacceptable.

Following this revelation, the Aberdeen and District Savings Bank has conducted a thorough audit of its operations, and in the interests of transparency I am happy to share the results with you.

Total amount of assets concealed (all found down the back of the sofa): £3.22 in mixed coin, a plastic comb and a foosty Kola Kube. Extent of bank manager’s connections to Switzerland: one “swatch” watch, a childhood pen pal in Lucerne and a fondness for Toblerone, (indulged only at Christmas).

I hope that with this full disclosure we can move forward, secure in the knowledge that Aberdeen and District’s probity is unimpeachable, and that no one with any sense would entrust vast amounts of money to us, anyway.

PC Bobby Constable, (retired). Former Community Policeman

There has been a great to-do recently aboot a mannie apparently being caught on the phone, using a laptop and listening to a headset while driving up Queen’s Road.  He wiz caught efter a cyclist went by and took footage of him using a heid-mounted camera. Of course, mony folks are hailing the cyclist as a hero files racing to condemn the motorist, but I’m nae sae sure. Do we really want this sort of covert recording to become commonplace?  Vigilante cyclists constantly wheeching aboot, sanctimoniously scanning the horizon for the wrongdoings of ithers might present as much of a safety hazard as the folk they are trying to catch red-handed. And what then?  Will we see folk on micro-scooters, using their mobile phones to take photos of the cyclists?  The scooterists pursued by snap-happy roller bladers? And they, in turn, by sketch-book wielding skateboarders? We need to realise exactly what is at stake here.

I firmly believe that amateur surveillance must be discouraged. Afore we ken it, abody will be spying on abody else the hale time, and ga’an aboot wi’ an attitude of perpetual mistrust and mutual grievance. Civil society will be changed forever. And afore you say it, my opposition tae surveillance culture his nithing tae dae with it being used to monitor police brutality. In thirty year on the beat, I never once drew my truncheon in anger.  I just used to clout folk with my torch.

A ‘dismal plook’? Maybe, but it’s OUR dismal plook.

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

So, the self-appointed arbiters of taste at ‘Urban Realm’ Magazine (circulation, a paltry 4000) have decided that Aberdeen is “dismal” and have awarded us the so-called “plook on the plinth.” (Ah, alliteration. It is such a juvenile device, one you’ll never catch me committing.) Well, I cannot say I am surprised. The practice of kicking Aberdeen has become so commonplace now that I would have been astonished had we not won. And so we take our place alongside Cumbernauld, Linwood, and Cumbernauld again among the crème de la crud. “A resurgent Dundee has overtaken us”, we are told; there has been “ a litany of embarrassing missteps”, apparently. Somehow NOT expending a vast amount of public money destroying a much-loved green space in the city centre has been held against us, while tearing down and redeveloping the single most-loathed building in the city is also recorded as a black mark on our architectural ledger. “Go figure”, as our American cousins might say. Kim Sears might put it more pithily. Frankly, the judges’ decision-making baffles me. How can any city that has a Jamie’s Italian, a Nandos and two Pret a Mangers be seen as anything other than hip and vibrant? We have been given no credit for the many recent visionary descisions made by the planning department which have done so much to improve the appearance of the city. What about the wonderful conservatory that Alfie Mutch has had added to his home on Corthan Crescent, or Mrs S. Baker of Logie’s new triple-glazed windows? Most shockingly of all, the new boaties on the pond in the Duthie Park have gone entirely unmentioned. In these circumstances it is hard to feel that one has had a fair hearing.

Unjust as this award may be, ultimately, however, I thank Urban Realm for it. Anything that makes us reflect on ourselves and our actions cannot be wholly unwelcome. We are told that the intention in awarding us the ‘plook’ is to raise awareness of planning issues and spark debate. Taking it in that spirit I have obtained a copy of the full citation. It is challenging. It is thought-provoking. And I can also report that I have found it to be soft, strong, and surprisingly absorbent.

 

‘Cava’ Kenny Cordiner, the sports columnist who keeps a civil tongue in his head.

As my regulation readers will know, back when I was playing I sometimes always let my tempura get the better of me, as is proved by my career tally of 38 red cards. But even though I has the worst discoplenary record of any player in the annuals of Scottish football, I has never not been one for bad language. It’s like I always tell my wee lad Zander; “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me’. So there’s nothing to be gained from effing and blinding at an opponent. You’ll achieve much more by kicking him up in the air. Kenny was no angel, but you could never accuse me of ungentital conduct, and I am proud to say that not one of my sending-offs was for dysentry. So when Melody asked if I had saw what lip readers say they seen Andy Murray’s fiance Kim Sears say – I says to her, I says “I don’t know what to say” – and that’s not something I says lightly! Fair play to Kim for wearing her funny t-shirt at the next match. Well, Melody told me it was funny. Old Kenny never understood one word of it.

Melody never seen what the fuss was about herself. She’s always sworn like a super-trooper. She’s lucky that there wasn’t so many cameras around when she was on the touch line cheering me on, or Youtube would have a lot of clips of her shouting dog’s abuse at a lot of refs! There was one time when she did get caught bonny but it was not at no football match. She was in the studio audience when I was a consonant on ‘Superscot’. The questions never fell right for old Kenny and when I got a nature question wrong, the camera cut to her crying Jane Franchi all sorts!

I still remember the question, too. “What sort of animal has a common variety called hermit?” Everybody laughed when I said “frog”, but I wasn’t so daft as I look. I just never heard the question properly – I thought Jane had said “Kermit”.

 

Neeps and Tatties. No, not Burns Night; the Cooncil.

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

Well, well, well. Here we go round the mulberry bush once again, with the ever-so-predictable fake outrage from the perpetually disaffected, this time about Councillor Willie Young’s supposed “gaffe” in saying that the Council “would be due to pay a penalty of £100 million” if it pulled out of the Marischal Square deal.

OK, as some fancy-dans with law degrees have pointed out, “penalties are not legally enforceable in Scots law.” But let us not get drawn into semantics. Nobody likes a smart Alec, and no matter if it’s technically a penalty, a drop-ball or in indirect free kick – if we pulled out, we would be sued, and have to pay compensation which – according to the careful calculations on the back of Willie’s fag-packet, happen to add up to a surprisingly round and memorably large number. In these days of austerity, it is no time to be wasting vast amounts of public money. Instead it is time for the city to get behind Muse’s visionary design. Everyone in Marischal College is behind it. And soon Provost Skene’s House will be, too.

 

Struan Metcalfe; Conservative MSP – an apology

I don’t claim to understand the ins, outs and shake it all abouts of this furore over which Political Parties are going to get their proverbial 15 mins on the Gogglebox, but it seems a nonsense to me. Hence my latest Twatter Post:

“Uk Election TV debates – last time so many people to talked tosh on telly it was the Art Sutter Show”

I apologise profusely – to Art. And not for the first time. Back during my Gordonston days the Head boy – Dominic “Naughty Guy” Fawkes – organised a trip for the sixth formers to go to Aberdeen and be in the audience for Grampian’s premier talk show. For those who don’t remember, it was a cross between ‘Parkinson’ and Franklyn’s Piano Bar. Well, I got royally sozzled on K Cider on the minibus and as soon as I got to the studio I made a bee-line for the great man, stuck him in a head lock and knuckle rubbed his head, shouting “Art Attack, Art Attack”. Then, as now, I was required to apologise by my elders and betters. Still, it made brilliant telly.

Unlike the General election TV debates. The problem is we have far too many parties these days. Only 5 years ago it was easy – the Lefty Pinkoes, the Wishy Washy Liberals and God’s Own Conservatives. Three podiums, bosh. Job done. This time there’s going to be a plinth each for the Farage brigade, the Sweaty Socks, the Tree Huggers and 2 lots of Mrs Brown’s Boys! It’s going to be like a staggeringly boring episode of Fifteen to One.

 

Jonathan M Lewis, Local Headteacher

This week we’ve all been immersed in Garioch Academy’s cross-curricular focus on Robert Burns. Burns Night is an important cultural event, so I asked the staff in all departments to think ‘out side the box’ to find creative ways to honour the great man. Sadly, this exciting approach has attracted some churlish criticism from the small number of parents who aren’t yet ‘on board’ with our vision.

First of all, teaching youngsters to appreciate the dynamic nature of our ‘mither tongue’ is our duty; so I, for one, applaud Mr Reid’s recent media studies lesson plans. Parents need to understand that keeping the Scots language alive is a vital task, and sometimes non-traditional teaching methods are required. If anyone can think of a better idea than watching River City on the iPlayer, I’d love to hear it!

Secondly, for the avoidance of doubt, Mr McCabe did not set his 3rd year English class the task of writing their own pornography. Burns himself was no stranger to bawdy subject matter and Kai Kelman’s composition, “There was a young man from Caerphilly” shows a sound grasp of metre, rhyming and also anatomy (no doubt gleaned from Miss Bottomley’s Biology class). Moreover, we should celebrate the fact that a pupil has created something which has so gripped the public imagination! The poem has now been read by almost everyone within the school and a great many in the wider community, thanks to the very large number of lavatory walls it has been inscribed upon.

Finally, I have been asked by Mrs Gawthorpe of the Home Economics department to advise of an erratum in the Haggis, Neeps and Tatties recipe issued to all pupils on Friday. Apparently, the Haggis should be simmered for ’60’ minutes, rather than ‘6’. Apologies if you were adversley affected after trying the dish on Sunday night. Going by Monday’s attendace, you weren’t alone.

A no-show for a kid’s party? That’s absolute schoolboy stuff.

Kevin Cash, Money Saving Expert and King of the Grips

Fan I seen in the paper that a mannie wis charged a £15.95 “no show” fee fan his loon didna attend a pal’s party, I wiz absolutely shocked. Nae sending yer bairn to a kiddie’s party? Far’s the value in that? With The Works selling 3 assorted dinosaur toys for less than £2, a present for the host can be secured for under a quid. The party bag alone is worth mair than that, and by the time you factor in food, drink, cake, and twa oors free childcare, you are well up on the deal, even if you dinna sew concealed pooches into your kid’s seemit for him to stash sausage rolls in – which, obviously, I do. I have niver yet refused an invitation for my loon Devyn to ging to a kiddie’s perty, and fan he hisna got een, we hing around ootside community centers and play-barns keeping an eye oot for the tell-tale signs – balloons and a car park full of 4×4’s. As a result, we hivna hid to feed him at the wikend for fower years and my pal, Mick the Pill, his secured a steady supply of Capri Sun.

And of course it’s nae just kiddies perties that can be turned into an unexpected money-spinner. Caul weather offers a host of opportunities. My ain favourites include reducing my electricity bill by sticking the milk oot on the back step and turning aff the fridge, emptying the Cooncil grit bins and selling the contents door to door, and pouring a bucket of water doon a steep brae on a frosty evening, then standing there in the morning and offering to shove stressed motorists up the icy slope. At a tenner a pop. That’s the value!

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands’ most eligible bachelor

Ye winna ken this but Mither Hollywood wis een of the first quines iver tae appear on Page 3 of The Sun. It wis the 18th of October 1970. They were doing a special wik of North East beauties and she appeared as Miss Froghall, with nothing but a big plate of rowies tae hide her modesty. We keep the photo on oor mantlepiece. My Uncle Eddie aye his a sneaky deek faniver he comes roon tae borrow a cup of sugar. He gets through a lot of sugar, dis Uncle Eddie. Aye, he’s nae my real uncle. He’s a second cousin.

Onywye, proud as I am of Mither Hollywood, naebody wiz happier than me fan the news broke that The Sun is stopping its regular Page 3. Much as I am a great admirer of the female form, The Sun is supposed tae be a newspaper and I’m nae sure that it’s “news” that Kelsey fae Walton-On-The-Naze his got her swimsuit on back-to-front.

These days, ye canna love the ladies, like fit Jimmy dis, and nae be a feminist. In Germaine Greer’s ‘The Female Eunuch’ (nae as racy a read as I wis expecting, tae be honest) She says that bras are a symbol of patriarchal oppression and women should jist tak them aff. Jimmy is in total agreement, ken?

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who goes in studs up

They do say that there is not nothing lasts forever, and Aberdeen’s 8-game clean-sheet winning streak has turned out to be one of that things. I was at Pittodrie on Saturday to see the Dandies come crashing down to earth with a blimp. Fair play to the lads, though, who fought till the dying moments to salvage a 3-3 draw with Dundee. McInnes has distilled a never-say-do-or-die attitude, and the lads know it isn’t over til the fat lady blows the final whistle. I was the same back when I was playing – 90 minutes of blood, sweat and tears. My sweat, and my opponent’s blood and tears, usually.

Speaking of 90 minutes, what a shambles there was at Ibrox last week! They seem to go from one apostrophe to another at the moment. Having their televised top of the table clash with Hearts abandoned early in the first half was Sunday league stuff. Except on a Friday. Ibrox is allergically a top-class European stadium, but they hadn’t even turned on their undersoil heating. It just goes to show, if they can’t even keep their grass in order, Ally McCoist and Kenny McDowall have got a lot to learn on their gardening leave.

                                                        

‘President’ Trump. That’s who you want with the nuclear button; a man who tilts at windmills

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

It has been a week of ups and downs here at Council HQ. We were disappointed that plans to turn the old E&M building into a hotel had fallen through, as no company had been found to operate the premises. I am mystified by that . Of late, opening a half-empty hotel has become a tried and trusted business model here in the North East. On the plus side, the city has been bolstered by the news that Trump International’s Menie Links is to host the Scottish Open golf. Of course, relations between Mr Trump and the Council have not always been straightforward, but this is a great achievement and it therefore behoves us to rise above our difficulties and to offer a heartfelt and lukewarm “well done”. Nor was this the most significant piece of news to issue from Trump Towers this week – the bold Donald is running for President of the United States! Of course, even a man as dynamic as Trump has finite time and energy, and if he were to succeed he would inevitably have to scale back his activities over here. With that in mind, Aberdeen City Council is giving Donald our unconditional backing in the Presidential election. Go Donald! Go Donald! Go, Donald.

Shelley Shingles, showbiz correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1983

OMG! It’s been an amazeballs week in showbiz. It started with a bang for one of my major crushes, the totes adorbs Dave Grohl out of the Foo Fighters. He was doing a gig in Gothenburg when he managed to take a heider off the stage and break his leg! Oocha! Mind you, he is so rock and roll, he came back to finish the gig in a stookie. Ledge! I’ve never met Dave, but I do know how it feels to have an accident at work in Sweden’s second city. Most Aberdonians will have fond memories of 11th May 1983, but mines are mixed. As the newly crowned Miss Fetteresso I’d gone across on the ferry as the face of McIntosh of Dyce scotch pies. The journey over was fine but, after the Dandies won the cup, the trip home was mental! Let’s just say I was lucky that carrying a tray full of pies whilst wearing high heels in a bar full of bleezing Aberdeen fans only resulted in a sprained ankle. Still, like Dave, I was soon back in the game. It’s amazing what a bit of ice can do. Especially when it comes in a triple peach schnapps and lemonade!

The whisper in TV land is that lovable ginger-nut Chris Evans is taking over as host of Top Gear. There’s plenty presenters well jell about that one! Chris has promised to respect what has gone before, so hopefully that means there’ll still be plenty of what Top Gear is famous for; casual racism. Totes hilare! The BBC spent a long time choosing, and having plumped for Evans it’s safe to say one thing – they obviously never watched TFI Friday at the weekend! Of course, me and Chris go way back. I first met him when I was starting my modelling career down in London. I’d scored some work on a feature on the Big Breakfast, where I was dressed as a chicken whilst Bishop Desmond Tutu chucked eggs at Zig and Zag. Five minutes before my big moment, Chris came up to me and I’ll never forget what he said. “Sorry love, we’re running over schedule, so your bit’s cut.” Wise words from a true gent.

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

As a scientist, people are forever asking me questions such as , “When will the average human lifespan exceed 100 years?”, “You appear to be on your own; do you want the toy for this happy meal?” and “Did Jon Snow really die in Game of Thrones?” This week, people have been asking me what I think about Professor Tim Hunt’s comments about women in science. I have to say that the portrait he paints of female scientists crying and falling in love with co-workers is not one that I recognise, although this may be because the Institute’s staff consist solely of myself and Professor Tiddles, a ginger tom of unusual insight and ability. There is no place for these outdated gender stereotypes in the cerebral discipline of science. I can say – hand on heart – that female scientists are very welcome to apply for a job in my lab. Very welcome. And that the sassy, gothic one with the tattoos who helped lead the “distractingly sexy” twitter campaign would be very, very, welcome indeed.

 

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