‘Big Brother is watching you’. Though going by the viewing figures, nobody else is.

J Fergus Lamont, arts critic and author of “‘Two Points to Kintore Rotary’ – The Top Club Story”

Regular readers will be aware of my profound disinterest in Television. I own a set, of course (in the forlorn hope that Melvyn Bragg might, one day, return to our screens) but I invariably turn it on with a terrible sense of ennui. Imagine my surprise, then, when I stumbled upon a hitherto unheralded gem – the ‘Channel 5’ (5 channels? Surely we can’t need so many?) current affairs discussion forum, “Celebrity Big Brother”.

Most will have missed this delight, which received little, if any, promotion, but I can assure you it is the most coruscating examination of contemporary society since the Singing Kettle’s dystopian meisterwerk, ‘Calamity Castle’.

Who has not longed for a platform for debate that is free from the bourgeois shackles of order, civility and logic? In this televised version of ‘The Moral Maze’ a cross section of humanity are brought together, and each participant’s attitudes relentlessly scrutinized. If they take up an unacceptable position (on race, gender or in relation to someone else’s dressing gown) they are ejected from the discussion. The inevitable conclusion, I realised, was that ultimately the only participant left would be the one who most closely reflects and represents the views and mores shared by us all. A true Brechtian Everyman. In all probability, Cheggers.

I wept.

Struan Metcalfe, Conservative MSP for Aberdeenshire North – an apology

Once in a lifetime one realises that it’s time make a drastic change, to move on, to skedaddle before even more skeletons topple out of the cupboard.To quote a true hero of mine, “With great power comes great responsibility” (Winston Churchill. or possibly Spider-Man. Either way). As an MSP, one does have responsibility – but ultimately one realises that to make it worth the hassle, one really needs a lot more power. As MSP for Aberdeenshire North, I have neither great power nor great responsibility. I am a supremely able and surprisingly humble politician stuck in a provincial backwater.

One of my favourite TV series of the 1990’s was Boon, with Michael Elphick playing an amiable rouge of a motorcycle courier and a young Neil Morissey (before his singing career with The Smiths) playing his amiable rogue of a sidekick. So I was delighted when, late last night, I stumbled across an episode somewhere in the high numbers of the TV guide as I sped past the shopping channels on my way to Babestation. The title song ‘Hi Ho Silver ‘ got me pretty fired up, I can tell you, and in that moment; at 3 am, half-cut on Peach Schnapps and Crabbie’s, watching UK Gold in my kimono, it struck me that, like Boon, I had an important delivery to make. It is the delivery of my extraordinary talents from the North East of Scotland to Westminster.

So this week my apology is not for my latest gin-fuelled escapade. Nor for my expenses claim for purchases made at a specialist shop in Diamond Street. It is to say “Sorry, but I’m off. It’s Auf Wiedersehen, Pet!” (Another of my favourite TV Series of the 90’s, with Tim Healy as an amiable rogue of a bricklayer.)

I’m following Michael Gove’s lead, and quitting Jocksville for a safe Tory seat in the South of England! To raise my profile, I’m starting a weekly column in a newspaper of some import and gravitas. You can read my explosive revelations and astute political insight from Monday in the Turriff Squeak.

​Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

This week saw great excitement as hundreds of bird-watchers flocked to Aberdeen in search of a Harlequin sea-duck – more usually found in Iceland – which had made a visit to the Don Estuary. I am pleased to say that it looked a great deal livelier than the last duck I saw in Iceland, although rather lacking in hoisin sauce and pancakes (Willie Young bet me £5 I wouldn’t include that joke). It was pleasing, too, in the present political climate, to see people unequivocally welcoming the arrival of an unscheduled immigrant.

Of course, at these times of uncertainty over the oil industry, the incident provided a much-needed boon to the city’s hospitality trade. Your council is, as always, working tirelessly on behalf of the City, and we have taken immediate steps to ensure that we can continue to attract the twitcher pound. We’re dressing up Barney Crockett as a Count Raggi’s Bird of Paradise and Len Ironside as an Emperor Penguin.

 

2015 is the Chinese Year of the Sheep. Surely that’s a good omen for the Dons?

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit whose second touch is a tackle

What a festival period it has been for the Dons! The New Year’s Day 2-0 demonstration of St Johnstone saw the Dandies at the pineapple of the Premier League. And when Celtic’s game against Partick got cried off the Reds was there for more than just a few hours! That’s not something that ever usually often happens. Apart from at the start of the season, before a shin has even been kicked, when Aberdeen always gets top spot thanks to being first in Arithmetical order.

Older Dons fans might remember the ditzy heights of first place, but there’s a whole generation of the Red Army what must be suffering Verdigris when they look at the table!

I’m hoping that when the transfer window opens the board will be ambiguous, and push the boot out with real high-profile signing. And who better than Stevie Gerrard, who’s just announced that he is going to leave Anfield at the end of the season for postures new. Stevie says that wherever he goes, he won’t line up against his boyhood club. Well Aberdeen should work out perfect. We’ll be in the Champions’ League next year and there’s no way Liverpool will make it, the season they’re having!

He’d fit straight in, too, after 18 years of passing to team mates in red he wouldn’t need to spend pre-season getting used to a new shirt colour. That’s what spoiled my short career at Brechin City. I’d just moved north from Hearts and was finding it difficult to adjust to the new strip. The fans was very understanding at first, overlooking the odd stray pass, but they couldn’t forgive me when I laid it on a plate for Arbroath’s striker in the local grunge match. In the bar afterwards I says to the Gaffer I says “Sorry boss, what a time to forget we was playing in red and white!” He says “Aye Kenny, that was some howler. Me and the lads were wondering what colour you thought we were playing in?” I never seen it coming, so I says to him, I says “Maroon”. The whole team grinned and says “Cheers Kenny, pint of lager please!”

Tanya Souter, Lifestyle Expert

I dinna ken if you seen it, but in the papers a couple of weeks back there wiz a story about a mannie fa hid tae ging up to ARI efter getting bitten by a crocodile! “Far fetched trock!” I thought, “Fa wid believe yon?” But then on Hogamanay, it happened to me and aa! Within thirty seconds of the bells, I wiz bitten by a crocodile, snogged by a goose and goosed by an Oompa Loompa! They wiz three fermers fae Mintlaw in a funcy-dress. Afore I kent it, I wiz in Union Terrace Gardens wi ‘them, scoofing fae their mixie of Vodka and Moray Cup and sharing the corned beef sandwiches their ma’s had made to save them hiving to tak oot mortgages to pey for a kebab . Ken is? That country boys really ken foo to treat a quine!

Still on the subject of unexpected animal encounters, the internet wiz buzzing wi’ news of Dumbledore, the seal fa fetched up in a field, 24 mile fae the sea. Apparently he hid pneumonia, got confused and followed a stream inland! Mind you, he wizna the only craitur waking up in a strange place feeling nae weel and disorientated over the last few days! At least he hid the benefit of a crack team of hunky RSPCA experts. On New Year’s morning, I hid to disentangle my ain hair fae the Rhododendron I woke up in, and walk the 3 mile hame in stillettos. I hear Dumbledore’s making a good recovery efter a course of antibiotics and some fish. I’m on the mend an aa, efter a box of Panodol, twa litres of irn bru, and fit wiz left of a corned beef sandwich.

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands most eligible bachelor

Monday 5th January, back tae work. How in the name of Kelly Brook did that happen? It’s a thought, is it? Jimmy lives for the wikend, ‘cause it’s nae fun for a postie in January trudging roon Clifton, Hilton and Woodside delivering credit card statements telling folk foo much debt they’ve racked up on booze, prezzies and Cadbury’s Heroes.

But Christmas and New Year isnae jist the maist wonderful time of the year for Andy Williams. As ye ken, Jimmy is dynamite wi’ the chicks and from the first Friday night in December tae The Bells on Hoggers, it is like shooting fish in a barrel. The best place tae be is next tae the slippy dunce fleer in Club Tropicana. Efter a works night oot, Lambrini loving quines in teetery shoes is aye falling ower whilst letting rip tae “Like a Prayer”. At which point Gentleman Jimmy springs intae action, catches them afore they hit the grun, and wi’ a dashing smile, asks if they is ok. If a Christmas kiss is forthcoming, I will then prove that chivalry is nae deid, wi’ a macaroni pie and half a pint of milk on the wye hame. Success rate = 90%.

In fact, wi’ moves like that, if I dinna get at least one trap on ony given evening in December it’s only ‘cause that’s the nicht I’m at hame wi’ Ma Hollywood watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang in oor matching onesies.

 Sepp Blatter vows “to fix things” at FIFA. Well, he’s the expert.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who’s of no interest to the FBI

The football season’s nearly over and most of the t’s have been dotted and i’s have been crossed. The weekend seen a great result for the Icy Teas in the Scottish Cup final and Motherwell did very well to thump Rangers 6-1 and confine them to another season in the dole drums. Mind you, there was ugly scenes at Fir Park when one of the Rangers players handed out a thumping of his own! It’s a disgrace to see that sort of thing after the final whistle. As any true professional knows, you should only lamp an opponent off camera, and when it might affect the result of the match.

Off the pitch, it’s been a tipsy turvy week for FIFA suprendo, Septic Bladder. One minute he’s celebrating his re-election, the next he’s promising to resign due to a massive sandal. The Americans has been looking into dodgy dealings at FIFA for ages and it seems the peg on which Mr Bladder hung his jacket on has shoogled for the last time. I wasn’t that surprised to be honest. When he first took charge back in 1988 I asked my pal Dunter Duncan what he knowed about him and he says to me, he says, “All I know is he is an old Swiss” and it looks like Dunter was right.

There is a whole host of alligators being throwed about. There might have been bribery and back-kicks involved the decisions to award the World Cups to South Africa, Russia and Catarrh. How has it taken the beaks so long to figure that out? Old Kenny is not the sharpest sandwich in the box but even I could tell there’d been a few brown envelopes passed about when they announced that last one. I still can’t find Catarrah on any map, and I’ve got World Cup wall-charts going all the way back to 1970.

It looks like there may have been contraption on a massive scale, going all the way to the top. So Bladder’s heard the writing on the wall and stood down, but he was the big cheese, and that leaves a big hole in Fifa’s big cheese board. I don’t know who’s going to step into the bleach, but lot of ex-players, like Figo and Platini has been eyeing up the top spot,. I thought about throwing my own ring into the hat, but Melody didn’t fancy moving to Zurich. It probably would be a bit of a culture shock. She’s from Sheddocksley, and they don’t have no culture there at all.

Shelley Shingles (Miss Fetteresso 1983), showbiz correspondent

OMG! What a totes amazeballs finale to this season’s Britain’s Got Talent!

I don’t know about you but I was transfixed by Sunday night’s final when all the attention was on an incredible dog. Or a couple of dogs if you believe the shocking revelations online. And I’m not speaking about Alesha Dixon and Amanda Holden. And I’m not even joking.

It turned out that the dog everyone thought the lady had trained to walk the tight rope was not the same as the dog who had been trained to do something different in the semi-final (sorry, don’t know what it was, didn’t see it, clashed with Game of Thrones. Did you see that? Gads!). So there has been a total Twitter storm about the result, but it’s the dogs I feel sorry for. Which of them is going to get the £250000 prize? I suppose the trainer lady will have to share it between them. That wasn’t the only controversy about the final though, there were hundreds of complaints about the cleavage shown by the judges. And I agree. I mean, with a neckline as plunging as that you could practically see what Simon Cowell had for breakfast!

My favourite act was Jamie Raven, the magician. His act took me back to the time I got to hang out with my great pal, the original boy wizard, Paul Daniels. He was up to open the new William Lows in Forfar in 1985 and I was the face of Forfar Bridies.

I gave him a sample of my wares and told him “You’re going to like this…not a lot, but you’ll like it”. I’ll never forget what he said to me as he’s spat it back into a napkin:

‘Good grief, it’s like eating a padded envelope full of salt’

Wise words from a great man.

 

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

At the Council’s Oil Summit there will be no toilet breaks. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

We face challenging times in Aberdeen. With the oil price dropping like a stone, the solid foundation upon which our local economy rests suddenly looks a bittie dicey. Of course, we have seen this before. I well remember the oil crash of 1986, when a repossessed house in the Bridge of Don could be snapped up for the price of a poke of chips. And things could be worse: at least there isn’t a vast programme of office and hotel construction going on throughout the city. But action is urgently required. That is why we, the Council, have convened an emergency summit meeting on the future of the oil industry. Of course, the usual naysayers and malcontents have been giving us the unconstructive catcalls to which we have become accustomed. “It’s knee-jerk,” they say. “It’s not properly thought-out.”

Well, we know exactly what we want to achieve from this meeting. We want to give the impression that we are doing something so, when the excrement collides with the extractor, no one can say we sat on our hands. And we know exactly how to go about it. We are going to lock a load of people in a room without agenda, direction, sustenance or toilet-breaks until, they all agree to whatever half-baked proposal is put in front of them. And if that sounds in any way irregular, let me assure you that it is not. It’s how we’ve been deciding policy for years.

Shelley Shingles, showbiz correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1983

2 more sleeps! I am getting hot flushes just thinking about Wednesday night in Stonehaven, and I’m not talking about the swingers and their great balls of fire! I am so excited to see my fave 80s synthpop band, The Human League, on Hogmanay that I may have to pop into the Asda at Portlethen for a packet of Tena Lady on the way there. I’ve always loved their songs. ‘Mirror Man’ is an all time fave and ‘Fascination’ brings back some very special memories for me. It was playing when I snogged Eric Black that time in Mr G’s. But there’s no doubt which tune will get the Stonehaven crowd jumping on Wednesday night!

In case you have been living in a cave, The Human League’s ‘Don’t You Want Me Baby’ has become something of an anthem to Aberdeen fans, only they cleverly change it to ‘Peter Pawlett Baby’ which is totes hilare, and never gets old! The Dons fans even got the song in the charts earlier this year, and singer Phil Oakey even tweeted his approval of the new version. Straight after he got his royalties cheque!

Of course, me and Phil go way back. I first met him at Oscar’s in November 1995. I was doing some promotional work for an Irish cream liqueur on the night The Human League played the Capitol. What a get-up! Frilly shirt, one earring, black eyeliner and lopsided hairdo. Not one of my best looks. But anyway Phil and the two girl singers came in after the sound check and ordered a round of drinks. I put on my best seductive look and says “Don’t you want my Bailey’s?” I’ll never forget what he said to me.

‘No thanks love, just a Vimto for me and two pints of heavy for the lasses.”

Wise words from a great guy.

Tim Bee, The Conscientious Objector

I more than very much object to the fact that my attempt to get to London to participate in the Regent Street sales was interfered with by the closure of Kings Cross station. I objected strenuously when First Bus closed off the local bus stop that I don’t use for gas-main works last year, forcing me to walk a hypothetical extra hundred yards to catch the bus that I never catch. So imagine my dissatisfaction when the announcement came over the train that an entire main-line station was shut, and we were going to be stopping in Doncaster. Doncaster! If I’d wanted to shop in a grey, draughty city of moderate size that’s had the life sucked out of its main thoroughfare, I would have stayed in Aberdeen.

Naturally, I made a Bee-line for the guard – a gentleman called “Peter”, we had been told, in interminable prior announcements, repeated at every bleeding stop (a practice to which, might I add, I vigorously object). Let me tell you, I gave him what for! He stood there, a picture of zen-like tranquillity, and calmly and patiently explained that essential engineering works had over-run; that while the delay was highly regrettable, there was clear statistical data that the railways really were less busy at this time of year, so it made good sense for the works to be scheduled at this time; and that ultimately they would improve safety and service levels.

Well, I object to this most strongly of all. I have a right to rant and rave at public servants as and when I see fit. But if they are not going to have the common decency to go red-faced with rage and try to shout me down, where does that leave us? Doncaster, as it transpires.

 

 

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Now that Christmas looks like a drunk office manager in a Santa hat.

TANYA SOUTAR, Local Lifestyle Guru

I dinna ken aboot yous, but I love the Christmas Hol’days! It’s that magical time of year fan drinking in the middle of the day is nae frowned upon, yer kids’ll behave fer five minutes if ye threaten them that Santa winna come, and ye can take the great pile of rubbish ye get fae yer pals and femily and exchantanks in the sales for stuff ye actually wint. Mind you, the pairty season diz bring its ain set of dilemmas. Here’s my guide so yous can avoid gan crazy this Christmas!

First of a’, ony Christmas nicht oot is a chance for us quines tae get dolled up tae the nines. It’s the time of year fan we can bring a touch of the Paris catwalk tae the Broadsword Bar. So it’s affa important tae keep yer fashion fresh. If yer onything like me, ye’ll hae invites tae hunners o parties, soirees and full-blown drinking sessions ower the next few wiks. The last thing ye wint tae dae is weer the same claes tae different parties, especially with aa yer photies gan on Facebook! I niver hae this problem, because my pal Big Sonya works in Debenhams. She smuggles me oot a couple of new ootfits ivry wikend, I weer them, then she pits them back in store on Monday morning. Ye’ve tae mind and pretend that yon security tag thingy they funcy brooch fae Claire’s Accessories, though. And watch ye dinna boak on them either. This season’s patterns is aa geometrical, so a smattering of 3 am kebab doon yer front winna ging unnoticed, mair’s the pity.

Spikking of food, if yer throwing a party of yer ain, dinna let snacks brak the bank. Wi as these funcy foods ye can get these days like pulled pork and aromatic duck and mini chicken kievs, catering fer yer pals can be a costly business. But ye dinna wint tae be a total grip that disnae pit on a spread. So tak my advice an buy snacks that naebdy could possibly wint tae eat. Potted Heid Humus Is a good een. As is Sweet and Sour Corned Beef Hash and, of course, Bombay Mix. They winna be touched and ye can keep pitting the same stuff oot time and again!

Last of all, eence we get tae Hogmannay, there’s the hale question of First Fit presents. I love tradition, but sometimes it’s a right scutter. The last thing ye wint tae dae on New Years Eve is tae trail a bug fer life full of parcels aroon wi’ ye. Particularly on a nicht fan yer plan is tae celebrate the dawning of a new year by necking a bottle of bacardi, snogging a random and blacking-oot in a bush on Great Northern Road. So, instead of turning up at yer pal’s hooses wi’ gifts, yous should dae fit I dae. Jist afore ye get there, phone the Bobbies and anonymously gi’e them a tip off aboot drug dealing activity. There’ll be a tall dark stranger through their door with a search warrant afore ye can say ‘Happy New Year’. Fan they eventually get back fae the cop-shop they winna care ye hinna brocht nithing. Better still, files yer waiting for them tae be liberated, ye can help yersel tae the contents o’ their drinks cabinet. Boost!

View from the midden – JOCK ALEXANDER

Weel it’s been a hyperborean wik in the village. It’s that time of year fan the temperature drops sharply, ice and snaw sterts forming indoors, and ye hiv tae chisel yer dog fae aff a lamppost. Toasty it is nae, although strangely eneuch, efter 5 minutes in the toaster my fingers stert tae recover. It wiz files daeing this the other day that I read reports in the press of dizens of ‘ice pancakes’ the size of dinner plates found floating in the River Dee. Weel, michty, here in Meikle Wartle cauld weather phenomena are nithing new. We hiv ice pancakes in the village stream maist years. Though in oor case this is because Moira sterts practicing her bannock tossing for Shrove Tuesday gye early, and in the interest of public safety his been persuaded tae dae it ootside, trustin tae her thick winter pelt tae keep warm. Also, at this time of year, frozen ‘country pancakes’ can be found dotted aboot the fields. As weel as sheep and coos staggering awa fae them wi’ a look of blessed relief. The village kiddies tak great delight in collecting up these items, cos wi’ the correct angle and velocity they’ll skim them fer miles on frosty grun. Mony’s the resident crossing the square of a winter’s morn that’s hid tae duck a low-flying ice doldie. Like those in the Dee, they are often the size of dinner plates, and indeed I highly recommend them as a good wye of getting the extra plates ye need fan the fem’ly come roond for Christmas. Just mind and chuck them oot efter. Ye dinna wint them stacked in yer sideboard come the thaw. Cheerio!

Alex Salmond to stand as M.P? Well, it just goes to show; sooner or later, ab’dy heads tae London for the big money.

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

There has been much awkward looking at feet and unease in Council circles this week with the news that Alex Salmond is to stand as a MP in Gordon.  We always had an uneasy working relationship with the former first minister but when he retired we decided to put all that behind us and generously praise his extraordinary contribution to Scottish political life.  Now that it turns out that he’s the political equivalent of Lazarus, we would like to make it clear that all previous praise is now rescinded, and he is back to being a balloon of the first water until such time as he really does retire, at which point he will again assume his rightful place in the Pantheon of Scottish political greats.

J Fergus Lamont, arts critic and author of “Twitter, how does this work again?”- The unauthorized biography of Cllr. Willie Young

‘Tis the season to reflect on and celebrate all that is best in the cultural zeitgeist. Speaking of which, If you have room for but one artistic event on your Yuletide ‘to do’ list then you could do no better than immerse yourself in ‘The Nativity’ as performed by a daring young company known as Garthdee Primary School.

This searing production took that most familiar of stories, and managed to deliver it entirely afresh, for a modern audience. Oh, that our National theatre’s alumni, the Nunns and the Hytners of this world, had the wit and brio of Miss Mackenzie. The introduction of several pirates, a tinsel-bedecked boxing kangaroo and Paddington Bear into events, clearly signifying the contradiction between the consumerist frenzy which now attends the festival and the simplicity of Christ’s birth in a stable. Hence the presence, between Magi and shepherds, of Peppa Pig and Barney The Dinosaur.

What elevated this production to greatness was the music provided by an ironically out of tune upright piano played by Mr. Galbraith, a clear Phillip Glass devotee. His tinkling of the dissonant ivories was a delightful distraction as we were forced by this Avant-garde ensemble to decipher any semblance of melody or rhythm. Each line was sung by 1 or perhaps 2 of the cast, with no apparent structure. It was almost as if the cast were choosing which lines to sing as they went along. This impressive free form arrangement was not only a constant atmospheric reminder of the centuries of discord in the Middle East, but more specifically a trenchant commentary on the recent Band Aid single.

As the nativity reached its denouement, the heavenly host sang ‘Angels’ by Robbie Williams. Ivan Finnie made a wonderfully deconstructed Gabriel, dressed in his Mike the Knight costume.

Whilst slightly younger than previous interpretations of Mary, 6-year-old Taneesha Dykers truly embodied the ethereal quality of the role. In a key sequence, her frustration at Joseph’s failure to utilise Tripadvisor ahead of their visit to Bethlehem, and her ire at his providing transportation in the form of a little donkey (an assured debut by Isla Sandison) provide fuel for an expletive laden verbal tirade and subsequent battering of Tyler Wisely (a very moving Joseph), deftly signifying the difficulties in the couple’s relationship, given Mary’s explanation of her pregnancy. Joseph, in counter-point simply falls to the floor, wails for his ‘Ma’ and refuses to continue.

Like Joseph, I wept.

Entertainment news with showbiz insider Shelley Shingles (Miss Fetteresso, 1993)

This week I was down at Earl’s Court, London, which it turns out is not just a tube station but a music venue too!?! I was there for the new BBC Music Awards.  I really hope they take off – there is a real need for it, with only the Brits, the Grammys, the Mobos and the MTV awards for competition.  Certainly Pharrell Williams took it real seriously, taking time out of his busy schedule to collect it in person via videolink from his neighbour Gwen Stefani’s house in LA. Going by his acceptance speech, which I think he is nearly finished now, he seemed “Happy” to win, LOL!!!  Mind you, I have my doubts aboot some o the lyrics in that song.  “Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof.”  If you were in a room with no roof around here, you’d have to clap your hands, stamp your feet and run on the spot and a’!!

While I was there I just had time to catch up with MasterChef in my hotel room.  (Premier Inn – white and purple is so this season).  I was bursting with pride when I saw Aberdeen chef Brian McLeish get through to the final!  Of course me and Brian go way back.  I always use the Moonfish Café when I’m interviewing the big stars who come to Aberdeen.  I once made Gareth Hale laugh so hard that he inhaled his Cullen Skink and a bit yella fish came out of his nose, LOL!!!

Brian his obviously come a long way.  The first time I was there I ordered gazpacho and when it come it was stone cold!  Well, when I complained he tried to tell me it was supposed to be like that!  I just said, if that was his attitude he could cancel the order and bring me the lobster thermostat instead!  Well fair play to him, he took a long look at me and says,

“I’ll go and warm it up for you.”

Wise words (and totes amaze cooking!) from a true gent!

Osborne aims for public spending at the level of the 1930s. Those halcyon days of the Great Depression, Fascism and World War II.

Cosmo Ludovik Fawkes Hunt, 13th Earl of Kinmuck

I’ve decided to go back to the Tories. I had been thinking of throwing my lot in with that UKIP chappie, Farage. He shows the occasional flash of good sense, but he has seriously gone down in my estimation this week, with this business about not letting women breast-feed in public. What an appalling message that sends. Opportunities to surreptitiously sneak a peep at an unclothed bosom come seldom enough in modern life. We should give our unabashed backing to the infant’s right to slurp. We are so badly let down by the political classes these days. So when the Chancellor mentioned “cuts” this week, my ears pricked up in much the same manner as do those of my Bull Mastiffs, Adolf and Hermann, when they hear me shout “trespassers”.

The Chancellor plans to turn public spending back to the level of the 1930s! Ah, the Thirties! A golden time for we Fawkes-Huntes, when grandpapa, the 11th Earl, made a stinking pile of money from steel manufacturing fuelled by coal hewn from our lesser estate down in Fife. The steel was needed for munitions, you see, as the country girded its loins for war. Happy days, and as one looks at events in the Ukraine and the East one is not wholly without hope that we may see them again. In the meantime, though, we must tolerate a great deal of tommyrot. There are even some shrill voices in the lower orders opposed to the Chancellor’s proposals. They talk of the death of any pretence at caring capitalism, the evisceration of the welfare state and the deliberate creation of a new underclass.

Well, really. This is the sort of unalloyed tripe that has passed for political debate in this country since we introduced universal suffrage. And it leads to dangerous nonsense, like the conception that all are equal in the eyes of the law. Take the other day, when Andrew Mitchell MP lost the “plebgate” libel case. Now of course Mitchell is not out of the absolute top drawer. As a banker, his money is newer than one would wish. His commission was in the Royal Tanks, not the Household Cavalry; father only held a knighthood and he went to Rugby School, which, as we old Etonians know, is pretty much a local comprehensive. But still, he is man of some standing. So how could a right thinking member of the judiciary choose to believe the word of a policeman over Mitchell? “Credibility and reliability of evidence?” When he was the Sheriff-Substitute of Banff and Boyndie my great-grandfather, the 10th Earl, didn’t monkey about with that. He asked ’em what they did for a living and settled it on the basis of that. Landed gentry trumped professional, professional trumped trade, and trade trumped servant. Disputes between people within the same bracket were resolved by means of checking the turnover of their audited accounts or, if necessary, by seeing which one of them could run further before being bitten on the backside by Bertie, his Doberman Pinscher. The world was simpler then. People didn’t get ideas above their station. They knew where they stood then. And they certainly had to stand if they couldn’t outrun Bertie.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who saw more reds than Senator Joe McCarthy.

As I sit at my laptop to type my weekly amusings, I am sure that a lot of you will agree with me that footballers should not never be aloud near a computer! I’m talking about “Super” Mario Ballytelly after his latest giraffe on social medium.

For at least 30 years, football has always been about characters. Players like George Best (Besty), Jimmy Johnstone (Jinky) Paul Gascoigne (Gazza) and Diego Maradona (Maradona) have all been described as a “torchered Guinesses”. Super Mario is following suite and he’s just as likely to feature on the front pages as the back pages with some of his shenannygoats. The thing is, these modren footballers can put their foots in it at the touch of a button. I’m glad we never had that Facebook or Twister or when I was playing or I’d have sometimes always been in water what’s hotter than hot water. And believe me you, with all the early baths I had I was no stranger to it! Back in my day, if you had something to get off your vest, you had to wait til one of the local journos asked to do an interview for the Green Final. And that only come along once every four years. What’s got Mario into bother this time is he’s posted a image of a famous video game star what contained loads of racial stereotypes. He says it was just a joke but racism is not a joking matter. Especially in football, Where everyone knows that the powers that be don’t have no sense of humour. Just like the Germans.

Have we become too Americanised? I don’t know.  But this Black Friday I got a great deal on a pick-up truck and a gun!

Tanya Soutar, local lifestyle guru

I dinna ken about youse, but I love fusion. That’s fit ye cry it fan ye mix thegither twa seemingly unrelated things intae one glorious amalgam. Like smoking an eating. That’s fit wye I love this “Black Friday” thing that’s taken aff ower the last couple of years. It’s the perfect blend of my twa maist favourite activities; shopping and fechting. Like aa the really great ideas (Pop-Tarts, the Jery Springer Show) Black Friday comes tae us fae America. There they spend the last Thursday of November giving thanks for all that they have, and the following day showing each other out the wye tae get their paws on a cheap laptop. it’s the biggest day of the year for online sales, but the real bargains, alang wi’ the overstretched security guards and the smell of anarchy are aa tae be found ‘in store’. Mind youse, it’s nae fer the faint hairted or the amateur. So wi’ the January sales jist aroon the corner, here’s Tanya’s top tips fer keeping yersel safe fan bagging a bargain.

First of aa, ye need tae pick the right fitwear. Loads of quines’ll be choosin between their trainers or their comfy Ugg boots fan they head oot tae the sales. Dinna be daft! Trust me, if a melee develops and some peer sap falls ower, ye wint tae mak sure that they stay doon. Stillettos are good for inflicting injury, but fit you gain in damage-dealing you lose in balance; crucial if you wint tae stay upright in the human tsunami fan they open the doors of Argos at midnight. Check yer boyfriend’s cupboard. Yer looking fer fitba boots, golf shoes or if ye’re really winting tae dae a number on them, the safety boots wi’ the steel toe-caps

Secondly, queues. There’s nae doot the best bargains ging tae well prepared folk that arrive hours afore the sales start wi’ a fold up chair and a thermos full of Goldblend. But if ye’re onything like me then there’s nae wye ye’ll be daein ‘at. But fit aboot sending in a ringer? Maybe you’ve a freen fa’s got a nicht pot and his a tendency tae fall asleep in shop doorways fan they’ve hid a bucket? If so, just point out tae her that Lewis’s is a lot mair classier than Poundland!   Then aa you and yer pals need tae dae is rock up twa minutes afore doors open, chuck her in a taxi and tak her place. You can squash the protests fae the Middle-class wifies by simply saying “mind if we squeeze in?” accompanied wi’ a death-stnreser!

Lastly, ye might find yersel jist missing oot on the best bargains, seeing a crowd of lucky shoppers wi’ yer dream purchase tucked under their airm. Dinna pick something else fer yer basket, just pick on een of them! Keep an eye oot fer weedy folk that look like they they’d snap on a windy day. That shellac nails ye got daen at the Aiberdeen Market can come in really handy here. They’re sharp, strong and winna leave yer DNA behind. They certainly worked fer me in ASDA last Friday. The laugh of it is, I dinna even hae onywye tae pit anither plasma telly!

Struan Metcalfe – Conservative MSP for Aberdeenshire North and surrounding Nether regions.

Well, pull down my boxers and call me Susan! I was jolly surprised to see my old jousting buddy David ‘wormy’ Mellor pop up in the news this week. I thought that the old toe- sucker had finally realised the merits of maintaining a low profile and keeping a lid on his japery. It would appear not. The plonker was recorded verbally abusing a taxi driver he had commissioned to take him home after a boozy bash in London Town. i can tell you that all of us on the right are deeply disappointed by David’s behaviour.

I mean, imagine being filmed slagging off the lower classes. Isn’t that was twitter is for?

I don’t know about you but I always check the great unwashed for recording devices before verbally abusing them for being on benefits, or from Buckie.

Mellor’s recent shaming reminds me of a similar episode after the Turriff Young Tories Dinner Dance (not a particularly well attended event). After getting delightfully squiffy on Krug and jäger-bomb chasers, I hailed a car to take me home. The driver was taking a very circuitous route and I was concerned I was being taken advantage of.

“You may have been driving a taxi for your entire career, if indeed we can call this endeavour a career, but you don’t know Aberdeenshire as well as I do, you stupid bumpkin” I said. ” I went to Gordonstoun, Oxford, and Aberdeen College. I am a distinguished member of Boodles Gentlemen’s Club. I have 3 drink driving convictions and a restraining order. Now take me home directly, or I shall deliver to you a sound thrashing”.

Of course I was unceremoniously and somewhat vigorously ejected at Mill o’ Tifty. the Turriff Squeak would have had a field day at my expense, but they couldn’t prove a thing. And thus I remained a MSP with my dignity – but not my spectacles – intact.

Mocking the white van man? Reckless stuff.

Struan Metcalfe, Conservative MSP for Aberdeenshire North

By Jove, this week has been a doozy hasn’t it? What with Ukip winning the by-election, a shadow cabinet resignation over a single (in my view) innocuous tweet and that top classical musician-turned-pop-star-and-bikini-model Myleene Klass going all Paxman at Red Ed live on TV; we’ve had enough political shenanigans to make Andrew Neil’s hair uncurl!

At the start of the week I was jolly confused when the press started banging on about Rochester & Strood. I thought that was the name of the whizzo law firm which got me off that totally unfounded sexual harassment case last year. But, no, it is the constituency that Mark Reckless (lovely name for a politician) won for UKIP. That should have been a black day for we Tories, but who caught all the negative press? Shadow Cabinet member Emily Thornberry! She caused a storm with a tweet of a picture of a terraced house, with a white van in the drive and 3 St George’s flags hanging out of the window and the words ‘image from Rochester’

Of course, I have some sympathy with poor Emily, and not just because I, myself, have occaisionally put my digital foot in it. Believe it or not, I too have suffered accusations of snobbery.

Lucky my response on twitter went below the radar of the national press (this time, *fist pumps air*):

“So Thornberry fallen on sword amid accusations of snobbery. Should have fallen on her Waitrose quinoa falafel instead. #Middleclassleftieproblems LOL”.

The Class War has begun my friends; let the working and middle classes thrash it out in a Hunger Games-like battle for survival! Meanwhile we, the elite, can get on with the important business of running the country, and trying to get with that Myleene Klass. She can challenge my fiscal policies anytime! I’m very fond of a feisty girl with an unrealistic view of what you can buy for £2 million. Which, I suppose, is why I am regularly in need of the legal services of Rochester & Strood!

Barclay Lloyd, a local banker you can trust

It has been a rocky time for the banking sector, with UK banks recently being fined £1 billion for rigging the foreign exchange markets. Although the bulk of the fines were levied on the big players, the Aberdeen and District Bank did not emerge unscathed: we were fined £93.70 for our part in the scandal. Apparently the manager of one of our outlying branches was caught trying to fix the rate of exchange between the Greek Drachma and the Estonian Kroon. News that, following European Currency Union, neither of those currencies actually exist anymore, had apparently not reached Fetterangus.

To all our customers, I say, I am sorry. I am sorry that your faith in the banking sector has again been shaken. I am sorry that my own Bank is directly implicated in the scandal. And I am particularly sorry that I never realised that brazen fraud on this massive scale could go undetected for so long. If I had, I might now be sipping champagne while sailing on azure seas in a yacht cheekily named the Fixed Forint, rather than placing a bucket to catch the drips from the leaking roof while waiting to once again explain the meaning of “direct debit” to a thrawn auld wifie and her squash-faced dog.

Jonathan M Lewis, local headteacher.

The word ‘adequate’ gets bandied around all too frequently these days, but I am delighted to announce that following our most enjoyable and stress-free visit from the inspectors, Garioch Academy can now officially lay claim to that glowing accolade.

True, the inspectors did find the odd trifling fault in some aspects of the school which ’caused concern’, but when they averaged everything out, ‘adequate’ was the result. May I say, I couldn’t be more proud of the outcome.

On top of this fantastic news, can I provide parents with some other post-inspection updates?

Firstly, Tyler Jordan and Beyonce-Shanice Soutar, the school bullies, will now be returning from their entirely coincidental trip to Disneyland Paris post-haste. Bespectacled pupils are asked to prepare accordingly, remembering to bring additional lunch funds. The bullies have informed me by means of a charmingly offensive Facebook post that they’ve had a lovely time, but that the flick knives and imitation fire arms they intend to smuggle back into the UK were not cheap, and so they do intend to backdate all claims for payment and will be striving to collect arrears by Friday.

Secondly, I’m afraid pupils should not expect the dramatically elevated standard of teaching they witnessed last week to continue. The Herculean efforts at individual encouragement, thorough preparation of lessons, and, in Mr Baxter’s case, staying fully awake until the bell in every single period, really took it out of the staff. Some of them collapsed in a heap at the end of last Friday and barely had the strength to join me in the Staff-room for a round of celebratory tequila slammers.

Lastly, all pupils and parents who met with the inspectors can collect their ‘thank you’ cards from the office from Monday. Plenty of time to get those cheques in the bank before Christmas!

It’s the crowning achievement of human ingenuity (batteries not included).

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

As a scientist, I’m always being asked questions such as ‘Can automated vehicles ever be safer than human driving?’ ‘What flowering plants grow best in soil with pH 6.1?’ and ‘Do you actually want to buy a car or have you just come in for a free heat and a coffee?’ But recently, people have been asking me about Philae. “Well”, I tell them, “Its the most expensive cut of steak, but personally I think rib eye has more flavour” And then I laugh. And so do they, when I point out that, in posh restaurants, ‘fillet’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘skillet’.

They are referring, of course, to the fantastic aeronautic achievements of the Rosetta mission, who have managed, after a journey of 10 years, to land a probe the size of a washing machine on the 4km rocky surface of a comet 300 million miles away. It can be difficult for the layman to comprehend the scale of an achievement like this, so to put it in perspective, this represents a challenge akin to the bit in ‘The Karate Kid’ when Mr Miyagi catches a fly using chopsticks – just let that sink in for a moment.

Sadly, it looks as though Philae’s mission will be cut short by a bad landing. The solar powered batteries were designed to recharge for 8 hours a day but due to failing to park between the lines they will only get about 90 minutes of sunlight. Readers may want to bear that information in mind the next time someone tries to sell you solar panels for your North-facing house in Hatton of Fintray.

Shelley Shingles, showbiz correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1983

OMG! Did you see it? I’m still totes reeling from Kim Kardashian-West’s attempt to break the Internet! On Thursday she posted some racy pics of herself in a state of deshabille. All the social media platforms went into meltdown, and fans and critics alike came to one unanimous conclusion. That is some size of a bahoochie she’s got there.

I’ve never met Kim, but her latest exploits do remind me of one-time Evening Express journo Charlie Allan. I once saw him getting out of the Bon Accord baths when his dookers had gotten pulled down and, save for a string of pearls and a fake tan, he looked very similar. And never mind a champagne glass balancing on Kim’s rear parcel shelf – Charlie could balance a pint glass on his belly and still play dominos in the Holburn Bar!

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands most eligible bachelor

Last wik James Corden admitted tae carrying a torch for a famous lady. In his case It wis Hilary Clinton, (fit is weird) but Jimmy is nae stranger to the celebrity crush. I hiv always hid a soft spot for the divas of the pop world. Dames like Cheryl Fernandez-Mankini, Kylie or Taylor Swift could top my hit parade onytime, and I am pretty sure that if I met them oot in the toon I wid manage tae snog at least een of them. Weel, mebbes nae Taylor Swift. I mean, she’s only 24, so she’d likely ging drinking in places like Nox or Amicus Apple, files Jimmy is mair of a Soul Casino kinda guy.

But I dinna think I wid like tae date a famous actress though. I mean, ye wid nivver ken whether she wiz being her real self or in character wid ye? Imagine going oot wi a quine like that Anne Hathaway. Talented? Certainly. Elegant? Absolutely. Tasty? Undoubtedly. But fit aboot fan ye tak her tae the pictures? One minute yer snogging her face off in the back row, then next thing ye ken she’s up on screen in a clinch with a Hollywood heart throb. Nae fine. Unlike Bryan Ferry, I’m nae a jealous guy, but seeing my blonde 30 feet high playing tonsil hockey with Mathew McConnaughey would fairly pit me aff my stott.

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

What a week it’s been for my old club, the Dandies. Stonehaven-based businessman Willie Donald has pledged to wipe out Aberdeen’s rippling debt of £14.5M in a display of philately the like of what we haven’t never seen before. I was surprised to read that The Dons has been carrying that debt ever since they rebuilt the Beach End in 1980. Now, I’m no expert in ecumenical matters, but it seems silly to carry it all that time. You’d think they could just have put it down? Still, reading the outs and ins of the deal in the press fairly made my head spin. Like my old fitness coach at alongside used to say, Kenny’s never had much of a figure for headers!

But it is a stroke of luck that Aberdeen’s new savour has the same surname as one of the club’s former greats. In fact, I think they should re-name the new Beach End after him, seeing as how he’s paid for it. I’m sure the fans would appreciate being spared the embarrassment of calling it the Dick Donald Stand. The Willie Donald stand sounds so much better!