You can never have too much education. Unless, of course, it clashes with ‘Pointless’

Jonathan M Lewis, local Headteacher  

This week I’ve had my door literally battered down by concerned parents, teachers and pupils.  It’s not as dramatic as it sounds, the door had been on a wobbly hinge for some time, having been hung by young Tyler Bishop, one of our alumni who entered the world of work at the earliest legal opportunity. While it’s always nice to see a former pupil as he progresses in life, Tyler’s workmanship was always dubious; he only achieved his ‘acceptable’ in Practical Craft after successfully carving “BISH WOZ ERE 2012” onto Mr Henderson’s car bonnet with a braddle.

But no doubt you’ll be wondering what could have caused such consternation as to render the very portal to my office defunct. It was Michael Gove’s latest suggestions which had a few people somewhat needlessly hot under the collar.  As you know, Educational issues are devolved to the Scottish Parliament and so, regrettably, the plans of the visionary Gove won’t directly affect us here at Garioch, but they proved a ‘Hot Topic’ nonetheless.   His inspirational proposal is that pupils should be in state schools from 8am until 6pm every day.  As you can imagine, our teachers relished the idea of having 3 extra hours a day to shape young hearts and minds.  Our Physics teacher Mrs Gray immediately propsed running a cleverly named course on LEDs and lasers.  “Me stay here until 6pm?  Aye, that’ll be shining bright!” she said.

The pupils, too, were devasted at the thought of their English counterparts enjoying a 10-hour day whilst they eke out an education on a meager 6 and a half.  “Get a grip!  There’s no way I’m coming to this dump for an extra 17 hours every week!  That’s like… 4 more days!”  said one student of Higher Mathematics. But thankfully, this outburst was all down to Drama teacher Miss Innes, who had clearly asked her pupils to adopt the role of disaffected, lazy, ungrateful and obnoxious teenagers.  They were all extremely convincing, and, staying true to Stanislavski’s teachings, have remained “in character” for weeks.

Some have asked where these revolutionary ideas come from. Well, as a contemporary of Mr Gove’s at Robert Gordon’s College in the mid 80’s, I’m perhaps better placed than most to shed light on his thinking. Clearly, Michael is keen to replicate his own Scottish private education as closely as possible for every state school pupil in England and Wales. He was always the first boy to arrive in the morning and the last to leave at night. Largely in an attempt to avoid the attentions of the first XV, whose second favourite sport after Rugby Union was flushing his head down a lavatory.

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands’ most eligible bachelor

I see ‘Back tae the Future’- that classic film aboot time travel and fancying yer ma – is tae be made intae a musical. Absolutely magic. I canna wait tae see that.

But it got me thinking aboot the other classic 80s films which they might turn intae a stage show. I loved the 80s. In particular the fashion. And as the Richard Gere of Ferrier Crescent, with a singing voice fit is the envy of the karaoke at the Pittodrie Bar, I think it’s high time some North East impresario took a pop at reviving these films and setting them in Aberdeen. For me tae star in, naturally.

Fit aboot Top Gun? I could fair see mysel as the Tom Cruise character looking cool in shades and flight jacket. Unfortunately, I canna fly a plane – or drive a car withoot L-plates – so it’ll need to be set at a different type of training academy. But I hiv the answer, transfer the action tae Aitken’s bakery and hey presto – Top Bun!

But my favourite film o’ the eighties hiz tae be Richard Attenborough’s multi-Oscar winning ‘Gandhi’. Yes, it is a hell of a length and yes; it is not immediately obvious how well the story wid transpose tae Scotland. But there is one man, a North East hero, oor equivalent of Mahatma; fa hiz never got the recognition he truly deserves. 80s goal-keeping legend, Jim Leighton. Fa widna buy a ticket for ‘Bandy – The Musical’?

‘Cava’ Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who’s totally unbiased. COYR!

The old saying goes that lightning does not never strike twice. Well my old club the Dons blew holes out of the water in that old wolves tale on Saturday down at Parkhead! Everyone was thinking they’d suffer something of an overhang after their heretics in last week’s semi-final. But they was well and truly up for the cup by beating Celtic in the ground the home fans cry “Paradise”.

It’s a funny nickname that, when you lie down and think about it. “Paradise” conkers up images of a place you’d love to travel to for a game of football. If they wanted to make travelling fans and teams fearful, they’d be much better off crying it “Hell” like what those Turkish fans in Istanbul infectionately called their ground.

Some Scottish stadiums do have daunting names. There’s Brora Rangers’ Dudgeon park – which sounds a bit like ‘dungeon’, and the less said about Dumbarton’s old ground ‘Boghead’ the better. I remember at Inverurie Locos there was once moves afeet to rename Harlaw park. The Chairman says to me he says, ‘Kenny, do you have any suggestions for a name for the ground – somewhere a footballer wouldn’t look forward to going?’ ‘That is a easy one,’ I says ‘call it ‘Disciplinary Hearing’.

When it comes to filthy thoroughfares, Aberdeen is streets ahead

ALEXANDER SANG, Chairman of the Executive Committee of the Licensing Board.

During this wik’s meeting of the executive Committee of the Licensing Board I had occasion to bring to my colleagues’ attention the recent report fae Friends Of The Earth. It wis fly time, fan we tak a wee break fae oor hectic schedule of cogitation, rumination and procrastination tae glance at the papers and bring oorselves up to date on world affairs. This survey fae the tree-huggers indicated that Aiberdeen has three of the dirtiest streets in Scotland; with Wellington Road, Union Street and Market Street all ranking high on the list. Fellow committee member Dick Hay was incredulous; in fact he very nearly choked on his non-subsidised yum-yum. “Weel, ‘at canna be right’ he says. ‘Surely Aiberdeen’s muckiest street is Bridge Street. You should ken ‘at Sandy, efter a’, you’re the een fa granted the licenses tae a’ that lap dancing placies.’

I was swift to correct him. ‘Gentlemen’s Clubs’ I says. And onywye, this list, as compiled by the Putin-baiting hippies fae Friends of The Earth is of the nation’s maist polluted thoroughfares, nae the best places for lonely mannies tae get their jollies.

Still, I wis surprised tae see us on the naughty list fan it comes tae pollution. The centre of Aiberdeen is very clean. That is een o’ the unsung benefits of the total absence of shoppers, tourists or pedestrians of ony kind. And fan is the last time you seen a scaffie, Gum-buster or Clean & Green machine in the toon? Years ago, that’s fan, fit just goes tae show foo clean it is. Moreover, the Cooncil’s Environmental Policy is now consolidated on the micro and macro levels. Global climate change is a fact, and we must take proper consideration of that in oor efforts tae reduce pollution and stoor at a local level. That is fit wye we now have a policy of harnessing extreme weather events tae oor advantage, and leave all street cleaning to the now regular downpours of torrential rain. I dinna think even the beardy-weirdies fae Friends of the Earth wid hiv ony luck finding much ‘particulate matter’ that hizna been swept awa been the highly-efficient deluge of hale watter that hits wir pavements every ither day.

 

‘Cava’ Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit whose sheep are on fire.

As a lifelong Dons fan who has been a Dons fan for all his whole life long, this was a weekend what I will not never be forgetting in a hurry. I was down in Edinburgh to watch the Dandies thump St Johnstone 4-0 and claim a place in this season’s League Cup Final. Melody drove me down in the Jag and while I was at the game she did a bit of shopping in Harvey Nicholas. There was a big, big, big lot of crowds around Tynecastle and she couldn’t not find no-where to park, so eventually we just had to leave the car up on some old tram tracks. Criminal.

The Dons have had something of a who-do-you-do in semi finals of late, losing five in a row before Saturdays long overdue triumph. Mind you, those defeats had come against the true giants of Scottish football, Celtic, Dundee United, Hibs and Queen of the South. Even so, I must admit that me and a lot of other punnets viewed Saturday’s match as a potential bandana skin. Thankfully, it was meat and drink to the Pittodire side who satisfied the fans hunger for a win by serving up a feast of goals and showing the Saints which side their bread is buttered on.

Big fixtures like that are what it’s all about for a footballer. I remember when I was applying my trade for Inverurie Locos and we met our bitter rivals Kintore in the semi-final of the Kemnay Invitational. We was tipped to win, of course, but we was always scared that in a David v Goliath match, the under-dog might win, unlike in the bible. As it transposed, we rose to the occlusion and thrashed them 1-0 to set up a thrilling final against Monymusk.

There is one person what the Dandy Dons should be truly grateful for on Saturday – the 12,000 fans that made the trip to Auld Dreechie to roar their team on. I was proud to be amongst them on Saturday, and when they trudged back along Gorgie road to their buses in the pouring rain I was with them every step of the way. Until Melody picked me up in the Jag at the top of Wheatfield Road. On the way back up the A90 I hears on the radio that Neil Lennon had been there, sitting in the Main Stand with all the Aberdeen supporters. Reputedly, he had got pelters and had left before the end. I have to say I was shocked at that. I’d always assumed he was a Celtic fan.

 

The Canadians think there might be something unhealthy in Irn Bru. Fair enough, we did used to make it fae girders.

DODDIE ESSLEMONT, Radical Independence Campaigner

So Canada has banned the import of Irn Bru on the basis that one of its additives, Ponceau 4R, is potentially harmful to children.  What nonsense.  I was weaned onto  Irn Bru when I came off my mother’s milk, and it didn’t do me any harm.  Canada’s action is no more than an outrageous slur on the good name of an iconic Scottish product.  The People’s Democratic Republic of 39G Seaton Drive’s manufacturing base is relatively slim – I make new bars of soap by pressing together the little remnants of old ones that have collected in the plug-holes of showers in public swimming pools, and sell the aggregate that collects behind my toe-nails as parmesan cheese shavings.  Scotland, as my nearest neighbour, is a major trading partner, and our relationship with Barrs is perhaps second only to that with the Tunnocks corporation.  As such, I confirm that we of 39G Seaton Drive will stand shoulder to shoulder with our Scottish cousins on this matter.  I hereby announce an immediate import ban on Maple Syrup, Canada Dry Ginger Ale, and Justin Bieber.  Although going by recent reports, I don’t think that he’s going to be in much of a position to visit for some time, anyway.

VIEW FROM THE MIDDEN – Rural affairs with MTV (Meikle Wartle Television) presenter, JOCK ALEXANDER

Fit like?  And a guid New Year tae ab’dy!  Ye may be wondering fit wye it is ye hinna heard fae me for a pucklie months. Well the fact of the matter is that I’ve jist emerged fae my traditional festive hibernation. Fan it gets o’er caul here the only thing tae dae is tae mak a nest oot o’ dry leaves and tattie peelings, draw the curtains and knock back a bucket o’ nettle and neep. Then we waken up with a great big bappit grin in late January. But michty, despite the sub-zero temperatures, it’s been a het wik in the village! I hid tae smile fan I heard that Aiberdeen’s Police and Fire control rooms are set tae close, and the North-East is gan tae end up wi’ emergency services operated fae Dundee, or even Glasgow.

Michty, I laughed for a good five minties fan I heard that een. “They winna like that in Finzean and Foggieloan”, I thocht tae masel.  But on the off-chunce it’s nae a joke, I can reassure ye that it’s nae cause tae worry. Here in Meikle Wartle we hinna had wir ain police or fire control cinter fer donkeys years, and it hisnae daen us ony hairm. We tend tae deal wi’ ony reports of crime here via wir ain vigilante

justice force. Or, as she’s otherwise kent, Feel Moira, efter twelve pints. Michty, she’s ragin’ fan ye call her oot of the pub, fit maks her a very effective crime deterrent.  Fires are nae an issue here either. Nae fan the hale village has burned doon as often as oors has. I wid certainly recommend that ony concerned citizens of onywye north o’ Dundee jist dae fit we dae; let the conflagration get on wi’ it, and gather roond the flames. Efter a’, It’ll be the only heat ye get till that one fine day July we cry ‘Summer’.   Cheerio!

CAVA KENNY CORDINER, The Green Final’s Sports Personality of the Year – 1984

I was listening to the radio in the Jag the other day and I got a right shock when I was hearing that Aberdeen had signed Rooney!  What a signing he would be for the Dons!  It turns out that it wasn’t Manchester United megastore Wayne, but former Inverness player Adam that had become a Dandy.  He scored on his first game too.  I remember my first game at Longside – I scored early in the second half but got sent off for my celebration.  I took out the corner flag and pretended it was a javelin. Everybody was laughing until it incidentally impaled the ref.  The rest, as they say, is geography.

There’s been a whole host of funny on-goings in the world of sport this week and as usual I’ve been keeping my finger on the plus.  Talking of fingers, I was watching Rafael Nadal in the Australian Open playing with terrible blisters all over his hands.  They was weeping all pus and blood all over the place.  It was not bonny, in fact I nearly spat out my Fruit and Fibre.  Of course, as a top-flight footballer in the 1980s I am no strangler to the pain of blisters. New boots was always a nightmare. I remember the time I got my first pair of Copa Mundials – my heels was in a right mess.  The lovely Melody eventually lent me the special blister plasters which she weared when she was breaking in a new pair of stilettos.  Sadly for me I put them on backwards. I couldn’t get my socks off for a week.

“A third bridge over troubled waters” – I’ll believe it when I see it

Tim Bee, The Conscientious Objector

It was with horror no little personal angst that I noted work on the ‘So-called’ third Don Crossing commenced last week. I live in Bridge of Don and whilst I very much object to the utter gridlock that our city faces twice every working day, I also object to the building of this new bridge. I’ve talked before about the inconvenience that the so-called Western Peripheral ‘Route’ is going to cause during the construction phase and I know – For. A. Fact. – that there will be similar mass disruption caused by this new traverse. The first phase work involved tree-felling. I object to that. I love trees. Without trees we’d have no Oxygen, and the atmosphere would be choked with Carbon Dioxide. By cutting down these trees the supporters of this project are saying, in effect, that they want to starve us all of air. Madness. Utter Madness. As always, it’s one rule for the Amazonian rain forest and another for Balgownie Drive. Secondly, there’s the confusion this will cause. I object to the fact this gives Aberdonians three options for direction of travel to work. Three? Are you serious? Existing road policy is such that there is only ever one way to get from A to B. One way from town to the airport, one way from the Haudagain to Altens. Who has the mental capacity to deal with multiple options like that at 7:45 in the morning? I can barely manage the choice betwwen toast and sugar puffs. You mark my words, The Parkway will be brought to a standstill with people simply sitting in their cars, unable to move while they think hard, really hard, about which crossing to take. Thirdly, and finally, I object to the ruling Labour group changing their mind over this particular development. We need consistency from our elected representatives, and this kind of flexibility and compromise completely bucks the trend of party-politicking and petty point scoring that we have come to expect from this administration. If they’re going to start paying attention to the needs of the electorate, the results will be chaos! For that reason alone, I object!

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands most Eligible Bachelor

So, according to some of today’s media, Monday 20th of January, is kent as Blue Monday. It is supposed tae be the maist depressing day of the year. Well, I suppose it depends on fit news source ye listen to. If it’s Metro or Sky TV then it’s today. A’by else thinks that Blue Monday fell on the 6th of January. Either way, for a self-confessed man aboot town, local romeo and frequenter of the Soul Casino, January in itself is a pretty rubbishy four wiks. Every quine that I wid like tae see oot is staying in. Efter the festive period, some are de-toxifying, some have blown all their cash on parties, onesies and ‘ironic’ Christmas wooly-pullies and some just scoffed ower mony Quality Street and cannae yet squeeze intae ony of their ga’an oot claes. On any given January Setterday nicht in Aiberdeen, it is pretty much impossible tae get a trap. Aye, for mere mortals it’s impossible. Jimmy will still get lucky. It’s just that in January, pickings is slim, and it’ll most likely be with a lassie that looks a bit like Lionel Blair. There’s nae getting away fae the fact that a’bdy’s skint in January. So, oan a night oot, I too like to economise whilst still making sure I look the business. Nae taxis, I’ll get Ma Hollywood tae drap me aff in town (and she’ll pick me up again at The Dolphin at 3am, assuming I’ve nae managed ony a pick up of my ain, if ye ken fit I’m sayin’). I’ll dust aff the old Miami Vice white suit and I’ll head tae Club Tropicana (far my mate Dykers is the Bouncer). Be warned, though, contrary to popular belief, at Club Tropicana the drinks are NAE free – aye, unless ye get friendly with a gaggle of those Bieldside Cougars fa’re drippin’ in cash and Chanel Number 5. Cheers!

 Tanya Souter, lifestyle guru

Since Hogmanay, the papers his been full of stuff aboot the dangers of overeating. And me wi a pile of selection boxes still to plough hrough – a happy new year to you and a’! The boffins is saying an obesity crisis is rushing towards us. Which I thought wiz funny, cos I didna think fatties really did running. Apparently, reports that 50% of Brits could be obese by 2050 seriously under-estimate the problem and the NHS is nearing collapse as a result. Scary stuff, it’s enough to mak ye start comfort eating! The big problem is that sugar is a right sleekit so and so, and is hidden in a’ sort of places that ye widna expect: in things like fruit, vegetables and even condiments. Obviously there is only so much you can do aboot the last een, because birth control is very important. But we can still tak sensible steps to keep the pounds aff. So I’ve been on a health kick – diet mixers in my vodka (ye dinna notice the difference efter the first 5), saying ‘No’ to satsumas and picking a’ the lettuce aff my kebabs.

The Northern Lights of Aberdeen just mean standing in a freezing garden and a crick in the neck to me

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 ‘What will climate change mean for us in the future’, ‘What exactly is a black hole?’ and ‘What are you doing here, have you forgotten about the restraining order?’ But recently, people have been asking me all about the Northern Lights. “Well”, I advise “it was written in 1952 by Mary Webb, from Leamington Spa. Ironically, she’d never even visited Aberdeen’” And then we laugh. Uncomfortably. The Northern lights, or Aurora Borealis, which were allegedly visible last week in the North East of Scotland, are an astrological phenomenon caused by something called the Solar Wind. The Solar Wind blows on an 11 year cycle and is currently at its most celestially flatulent, sending energetic charged particles into the thermosphere above the Earth. The famous light show we can see is the result of these particles colliding with the atmosphere at enormous altitude. They would be harmful to us but thankfully the ozone layer and the ionosphere protect us, a bit like the sun tan lotion we lather upon ourselves during our annual pilgrimage to the Costa Dorada. Here in Aberdeen, where the Northern Lights is sung as something of a city anthem, we can’t see them at all. This is because of the light pollution, caused by street-lamps, neds with laser pens and the lights at the old Twin Spires Creamery. To truly witness the marvel of the Northern Lights one should, as I did, drive South to the Muchalls bend, stop your car in the middle of the A90 and look skyward. The view was magnificent, although the detention, breathalyser and night in the cells were a pest.

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

Few things in politics really surprise me anymore.  But recent events in New Jersey have taken my breath away.  The economically-named Governor Chris Christie has become embroiled in a scandal.  Leaked emails have established that a senior member of his administration instructed a contact in the Port Authority to close two lanes of a crucial bridge in order to bring traffic chaos to the citizens of Fort Lee as part of a petty political vendetta against the Mayor of that town, who had not supported the Governor’s re-election.  That public officials should collude in order to inflict intentional harm upon a blameless electorate is bad enough.  But that in America – the land of the free, the birthplace of modern political intrigue, the country that gave us Watergate, J Edgar Hoover and McCarthyism – they should be stupid enough to leave an easily discoverable email trail is truly shocking.  Have they no under-utilised city centre parks in which to have whispered, plausibly-deniable conversations? Thank heavens for Union Terrace Gardens.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, The Footballer’s Footballer

I have been keeping my baldy eyes on the sporting world this week and, you could not make it up, believe me you. Back when I was applying my trade as a footballer, you knew you was going to be playing your matches at 3pm on a Saturday. Them days is behind us as was proved by the Dons’ match against Hibs on Friday night. It was a great evening, and I was enjoying drinks with some sponsors in the lounge so I missed half of the whole first half. It was looking like the match was going to end in mate-lock until Willo the Wisp stepped up to the hotplate and scored a peach. Then I got a bit confused, because I could swear the Red Army started singing ‘The Sheep are on Fire’. Maybe I’ll need to go easy on the corpulent hostility in future. David Moyes is having a tough old time at Man United, trying to stimulate Fergie’s proud record. Old Trafford used to be something of a buttress under Sir Alex but poor old Moyes cannot buy a win. Some people in the medium is all saying that Moyes needs to be given his jotters but I stand by my original statement – Rome wasn’t built in 2 days. David will need time to put his stump on the team, but like I says when I was eating Melody’s sherry trifle on Christmas day, cream always rises to the top. Speaking of the lovely Melody, after she spent 5 hours online we got our tickets for the Commonwealth games in Glasgow. Sadly we will not get to see one of Britain’s sporting greats, Jessica Ennis. The Olympian has decided that she will not be managing the games because she has a bun in the family way. I am not wanting to designate Britain’s Golden Girl, but I think that is a poor show. In the 21 years I played football plenty of my team-mates had kids, but I never heard none of the lads use that excuse. But the biggest news of all was the shock announcement from former footballer Thomas Hitzlsperger. I do not know no-one who doesn’t agree that it was real brave of him brave to admit, even after all these years, that he used to play for West Ham.

No matter how awkward your Hogmanay was, just be grateful you didn’t need an ice-breaker

Doddie Esslemont – radical Independence campaigner

It was an eventful Hogmanay in the People’s Democratic Republic of 39g Seaton Drive. Inspired by my near-neighbours in Stonehaven, I decided to see the New Year in with a spectacular fireball display.

What a sight I was, striding manfully up and down my lobby, whirling around my head a home-made fireball composed of lighter fluid-soaked “Better Together” campaign literature, retained specially for just such an occasion. “Freedom!” I declaimed. “Freedom for Scotland!” “And, for 39g Seaton Drive, freedom from Scotland.” I kept it up for a full 20 minutes, and I’m sure I could have gone on for even longer had I not succumbed to smoke inhalation after a stray spark set fire to my pouffe.

So it was that my first foot of 2014 consisted of a squad of burly firemen putting my door in and charging through the blaze to rescue me.

Generally, I will not tolerate any attempt by institutions of the illegitimate pretend state of the so-called UK to exercise authority over any aspect of my life. But on this particular occasion, I’ll let them off.

 

Davinia Smythe-Barratt, ordinary mum

I know that, as an ordinary mum, I’m not particularly well-off or lucky, but a recent Facebook post from a good friend of ours really had me thinking “there, but for the grace of God, go I”.  They ran into a spot of bother on an adventure holiday, a trip that Emmeline, Fidel and I almost took ourselves.  Talk about dodging a bullet!

I’m sure I’ve mentioned before the lengths to which I will go to try and avoid the masses when booking each of 5 precious fortnights of holiday we take every year.  We’ve enjoyed some of the world’s last true undiscovered gems recently; the Atacama Desert, our friend Giles’ private island off the coast of Venezuela and even our darling little riad in Marrakech.  We have to travel during term time, naturally, which means the kids missing school but I’m sure their teachers understand that travel broadens the mind. What is a fortnight in the Maldives if it is not a really intensive Geography field trip?

This winter we had hoped to jet off somewhere truly exclusive.  3 berths on the Akademik Shokalskiy, a Russian research vessel, promised “a secluded cruise to Antarctica with a handful of likeminded individuals keen to experience Earth’s last true wilderness.”  But when I heard that our friends Kitty and Rollo Hawkes-Meade were booked on the same trip I immediately cancelled our tickets.  I mean what’s the point of a holiday like that if you’re not the only person you know who’s been on it?

So imagine my shock when I heard that the ship became trapped in ice on Christmas Eve and passengers only rescued by helicopter on the 2nd of January!  How irresponsible of the tour organisers?  The Hawkes-Meades reported that they had received no warnings at all about the possibility of ice at the South Pole. I know that if I’d been made aware of the risk I would never have booked our tickets in the first place. You would think that the organisers, the Australian Antarctic Expedition, would have the gumption to pack a scraper and some deicer? I mean, it is winter after all! Poor Kitty and Rollo must have had an absolutely horrendous time, stranded like that. Apparently they had to be rescued by an ice-breaker. Well, sometimes on these cruises, making conversation can be very difficult.

 

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

Boy oh boy! What news this week in the political stratosphere. Nick Griffin has popped up on my beloved Twitter to announce that he is bankrupt. That’s financially bankrupt and not morally bankrupt, for the avoidance of any doubt. Nicky Baby tweeted that being bankrupt did not prevent him from being a MEP. He is now putting his efforts and experience into producing a booklet on dealing with debt. Pity you didn’t do that before blowing all your money on legal battles, eh Nicholas?However, I do appreciate that insolvency is a very serious business. So I sort of regret responding to him with the following tweet:

“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. LOL”

In these straightened times, debt is a real concern for a large proportion of the people of this great nation of ours nation, as well as many of my constituents. And when people are struggling then politicians at the extremes of the spectrum can often pick up new followers (much like those of us on twitter). It was once thought that tough economic conditions would push the common man towards support for the far right, but that hasn’t materialised. Fortunately people who like to blame immigrants for all their problems are now perfectly well served by the Conservative PartyBut in all seriousness, I do understand the plight of those facing financial ruin, I truly do. I still haven’t fully recovered from my own horrid personal experience of bankruptcy. It was back in sixth form at Gordonstoun. Its still very painful, but let me just say that Fatty Blenkinsopp was absolutely merciless in collecting his debts and I’ve never played monopoly since.

 

Sung exclusively on Hogmanay and at the end of weddings; has anyone ever heard “Auld Lang Syne” sober?

 Shelley Shingles, showbiz correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1985

I am so looking forward to OAITS down at Stonehaven 2moz! That’s Open Air In The Square for those of you not UTD on your acros, LOL! I’ve always been a fan of the fireballs (they are totes amazeballs!) but this year will be extra special because ‘80’s legends Simple Minds are going to be playing! OMG! (That’s ‘Oh My God’, as opposed to OMD which stands for ‘Orchestral Manoeuvers in the Dark’. Mind you, they are also ’80’s legends. I wonder where they’re playing 2moz night?)

Simple Minds singer Jim Kerr and I go way back. Our paths have crossed more than once and I just know that when he’s up on stage giving it laldie I’ll catch his eye and we’ll share a moment. We first met back in 1984. I was doing some promotion work as the face of Bon Accord Sparkling Drinks at one of their gigs in Glasgow. The band had just finished their set and he comes over to me all sweaty and horrible and he says ‘see us a round of ginger for the band, doll’. I was running low so I told him I’d need to go and get a new crate. As I walked away he called after me:  ‘I’ll wait here, hen but don’t you forget about me!’  Now I’m not saying I co-wrote their biggest hit, of course not, but I was clearlyan inspiration to him. Particularly as I bumped into Viv Lumsden on my way back from the cellar. What a blether! By the time I got back to Jim, the band had settled for Irn Bru. We met once more in 1992.  I was in my early days as a showbiz journo doing an interview with him for ‘Smash Hits!’ Magazine. He’d turned up with a blonde woman in tow, and although her face rang a bell I just couldn’t place her. I’d done the traditional in-depth questions about his star sign and favourite colour when I noticed his wedding ring. I asked him ‘What’s your wife’s name, Jim?’ He paused, and then nodded at the blonde wifie and says ‘Patsy Kensit’. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. Imagine not knowing something like that! So I turned to her and said ‘So, Patsy, what’s Jim’s wife’s name?’

Ron Cluny, official Council spokesman

No sooner have the malcontents and whingers who criticise the council’s every move polished off their Christmas pud but they are on our case again.  No complements of the season for us; it’s straight into the supposed paucity of our Hogmanay arrangements, with snide comments about Edinburgh’s street party for 80,000, and some wags wondering aloud about how it can be that an oil rich city of a quarter of a million people cannot afford a major celebration, while a town of ten thousand a few miles South manages to stage a high quality event.

I have a two word answer for our detractors.  Who cares?

Who cares what happens in the rest of Scotland? Aberdeen does not engage in such petty, small-minded rivalries. We play on a global stage. We do not aspire to have the best Hogmanay celebration in Scotland; we aspire to have the best Hogmanay celebration of any town called Aberdeen anywhere in the world. And don’t worry, a fireworks display and sets from a couple of crack local bands is enough to knock Aberdeen, South Dakota into a cocket hat. Although, in fairness, Aberdeen, Hong Kong is definitely going to be the Aberdeen to be in on 31 January.

As the New Year arrives, all across the world, people will be joining hands and mangling the lyrics of an Eighteenth Century Scottish folk song. Even those who get them right don’t really know what the words mean, so here’s an updated version of Auld Lang Syne, for 2014 and beyond:

The Irish have Saint Patrick’s Day, which they celebrate with vim.

We’ve got a saint as well, but naebody gives a hoot for him.

In Scotland, Hogmanay’s the time to ramp it up a gear.

We tak an affa bucket on the last day of the year.

 

A snifter fairly warms you up afore you leave the hoose.

And mind and set your video for ‘Only an Excuse’.

Then out into the freezing night tae see, performing live,

A band who hinna had a hit since 1985.

 

We wrap ourselves up warmly; for the lads, a short sleeved shirt

And the girls in winter boob-tube teamed with cosy mini-skirt.

A night of wild abandon is enjoyed by many folk.

But pity those who hiv to hose doon the streets of a’ the boak. 

 

In days gone by we’d wait in silence for midnight bells to chime

Now ab’dy’s mobile phones go off at slightly different times.

On New Year’s Day – a price to pay. We look and feel like hell.

So bravely, as a nation, we take the second off as well.

 

 

In the Internet age, Christmas cards are outdated, wasteful and redundant. Mind you, an email looks rubbish on your mantelpiece.

Davinia Smythe-Barratt, ordinary mum

I’m sure all our friends are wondering when the eagerly awaited Smythe-Barratt Christmas card will arrive, but we’ve decided to dispense with tradition this year and send our annual newsletter without a card. The time has come to finally reject the tyranny of that outdated mode of communication and bring an end to the rapacious capitalism of Hallmark, Clintons and their ilk.  I usually send environmentally sustainable cards in aid of charity, but this year the designs on them were frankly ghastly.  You’d think the Barnardo’s ones had been drawn by a child!

First of all, Milo wishes you all a ‘Feliz Navidad’ from Belize.  Christmas is a difficult time to have a husband in exile in the Caribbean, but Kaiser Osborne’s latest tweak to the tax system leaves us no choice.  If the revenue raised was being put to good use, like supporting the NHS or foreign aid, then that would be one thing, but as a protest against the policies of the Coalition government we refuse to pay a single penny more than is absolutely legally required by the current legislative framework.  Milo hopes to make it back some time in 2014 but it’ll most likely be to the villa in Guernsey. In the meantime we shall stay strong.  On the plus side, it was probably high time that Milo saw at first hand how our tobacco plantation is doing.

Emmeline is, of course, getting along fantastically well at school.  She’s top of her class in all subjects and is captain of the dressage team.  We were hoping to take her to Aspen for some advanced skiing lessons in February but her coach has rather inconveniently taken a year’s sabbatical to join the Red Cross as an emergency aid worker. Emms was distraught, poor thing. She was really looking forward to improving her carving.  Very selfish.  Still our solicitor assures us that we have a water-tight case against him for breach of contract, so that’s something.  He’ll think twice about distributing blankets to Syrian refugees once our legal team gets hold of him!

As for Fidel, he continues to develop into a wonderfully wacky little character.  He wears shorts every day. Not because he has to, but because he wants to. He & two of his pals are on a mission to make it through the whole school year. I did object, for the first twenty cold days, and then I gave up – I’m not fighting with him about it every morning. I never win anyway.  And he’s so endearing when he puts his fingers in his ears and blocks out what you are saying by shouting “I hate you I hate you I hate you” at the top of his little lungs.  He did it the other day, when we were stocking up on festive necessities in the Waitrose in Stirling (I still maintain that it is a breach of our human rights that there is no branch in Aberdeen).  I asked him to go and get me some vacuum-packed chestnuts to use in the stuffing for the organic guinea fowl with orange and Szechuan pepper. He absolutely refused, and rolled around on the ground screaming until mummy said she was sorry.  It transpired that he had seen Michel Roux on “Food and Drink” say that the frozen ones were much superior.

Our festive catering this year comes, as always, courtesy of Snežana, the au pair. She’s Bulgarian, but she’s marvelous. Last week she actually asked for Christmas off to visit her mother in Plovdiv. Bless her heart, I told her I would be happy pay for the flight myself, but she’s just indispensable at this time of year, so sadly I had to refuse.

As for me, I just muddle along as always, like any ordinary mum. The Range Rover has done 50,000 miles  this year – and not just on the school run! I’ve criss-crossed the length and breadth of the country, as I campaigned against the environmental impact of unnecessary car journeys.  I have also taken up the cudgel against the latest predations of the oil and gas sector (I have warned BP; if they start fracking, I shall have no alternative but to sell Daddy’s old shareholding).  In the New Year, I shall be using the media attention afforded to the World Cup as a platform for my drive across Brazil.  Freya from two doors down and I shall be hiring an air-conditioned Toyota Hilux, stripping to the waist to demonstrate our solidarity with the oppressed and exploited Akuntsu people of Brazil, and touring the country to highlight the twin threats of deforestation and climate change.  With any luck, we’ll manage to bring home some under-priced native art and a mahogany side-board into the bargain.

People often say to me, “Davinia, what an inspiration to us all you are.  Why do you do it?”  Well, the answer is simple.  We live in a dreadfully self-absorbed world.  It takes the actions of people like me – simple people doing remarkable things, quietly and without fuss, – to change the world for the better.

So, dear friend it simply remains for me to wish you a non-commercial Christmas and an ecologically-sound New Year.  May your chipolatas be hand-raised and may all your chestnuts be frozen!

Mandela’s memorial saw world leaders both black and white join together. To flirt with the Danish Prime Minister.

Ron Cluny; Official Council Spokesman

Last week provided us with an opportunity to reflect on the wonderful contribution to humanity made by Nelson Mandela, and also to Aberdeen’s own contribution to popularising what was then a controversial cause by awarding him the Freedom of the City. I well remember the arguments at the time. Why should the city of Aberdeen involve itself in these, matters should they not be left to diplomacy between national powers? The answer, then as now, is this. Yes, the world is made up of countries. But more fundamentally, it is made up of people, living in local communities, but subject, too, to broader bonds of fellowship and humanity; bonds which, although subtle and often overlooked, are real. Real, too, is the fact that every person has a voice, albeit a small one easily drowned out by the winds of oppression. But when people band together, their collective voice is louder. And when cities band together: Aberdeen, Glasgow, Rio, Rome, and call out that a wrong is being done and must be righted, the collective voice of their citizens becomes too loud to ignore. Having said, that, given North Korea’s attempts to become a nuclear power and the recent fall out in the Kim Jong-un family that puts even the most hardcore Christmas family dust-up in the shade, we, the council wirsels, have come to the conclusion that it’s probably best to shelve our plans to rename Seaton Drive ‘Jang Song-thaek Way’.

Struan Metcalfe; MSP for Aberdeenshire North and Surrounding Nether Regions

“Bravo!”, I say. “Bravo! Hoorah!” and multiple “Hosannahs!” to the Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority! An 11% pay rise to MPs from 2015 – now that’s what I’m talking about. Take note Eck Salmond. Instead of chucking away the tax-payers’ hard earned on your glossy pamphlet (“Scotland’s Future”, cracking read by the way. Hilarious.) why not spread the love a bit? I guarantee massive Cross-Party support for a Crimbo bonus! You could learn a thing or two from the IPSA Chairman – my old buddy Sir Ian “Comedy” Kennedy. He’s come in for a bit of stick for proposing such a massive hike for the honourable members given the prevailing economic climate. But as the IPSA pointed out, it’s a very good deal for the taxpayer – and if they don’t like it then, well, they weren’t appointed to be popular, so stuff them! Quite right, I didn’t come into politics to be liked by the electorate. That’s just something I have to appear interested in temporarily once every four years. I came into politics to meet totty. And to make this great nation of ours a better place for the people I represent. Politicians with trust funds! That said I am more than somewhat shamefaced and apologetic about my mid-week – and mid-snifter – tweet: “11% pay rise to MP’s undermines trust in MPs whilst Joe Public struggle”? I should coco! Means we don’t need to fiddle expenses any more. LOL!” The down-side to the proposals of course is that they involve an end to the ancient tradition of the Tea & Biscuits Allowance. They giveth with one hand and taketh with the other. That’s put paid to my ambitions to move from Holyrood to Westminster. What’s the point if I can’t argue with the lefties whilst enjoying a Gin and Garibaldi? Apparently, making the MPs pay for their own tuck at the Houses of Parliament is going to save a million quid a year. Of course, the Government could achieve the same thing by de-selecting Eric Pickles.

Tanya Soutar; local lifestyle guru

I dinna ken aboot youse, but I wis outraged to see David Cameron posing in some Danish wifie’s ‘selfie’ at Mandela’s memorial service. He embarrassed oor hale nation. I mean a’body kens, that’s nae foo ye tak a selfie! Here’s Tanya’s simple guide tae the perfect personal pic. The first wye oor PM went wrang wis fan him and Obama joined in someb’dy else’s photie. A selfie should ONLY contain yersel. Fit Mr Cameron wis actually doing is cried ‘photobombing’ – fit is a totally different art form a’thegither. Avoid this by ensuring naeb’dy else can get in sight of yer lens. The best wye is tae hiv it less than two feet fae yer face. A lot of the papers wis saying it wisnae appropriate tae tak a photie like that at the memorial service of een of the world’s maist respected peacemakers. They’re right, he should’ve turned roon first, to get the memorial service in the picter! In years tae come, fan oor PM is looking back ower his life, he’ll come across this snap and think “Fit wis I doing in a stadium?” The hale point of the selfie is so’s fowk can see far ye are. My pal, big Sonya, wis up in front of the sheriff last wik fer shoplifting. Dinna worry, she didnae tak a selfie of herself standing in the dock – no – she waited til she wis being led awa so’s she could get the jury in the background. That’s much mair memorable. Plus it’ll help her mind the faces of the radges that found her guilty files she’s doing her 3 stretch. But perhaps the worst thing aboot Cameron’s embarrassing effort wis his face. I ken he’s nae a bonny loon, but the standard pose fer a selfie is nae a glaikit grin. The correct look is, of course, an alluring pout with smouldering eyes. If this disnae come naturally tae ye, try tae imagine that yer blowing someb’dy a kiss files eating a spoonful of peanut butter and trying tae calculate the square root of 187.

I’m in Kennethmont…Get me oot o’ here!

View from the Midden – rural affairs with MTV (Meiklewartle Television) presenter JOCK ALEXANDER.

Its been a challenging wik in the village. I’ve been real busy hosting Meiklewartle Television’s top Reality show, I’m In Kennethmont… Get Me Oot of Here!!! 6 celebrities, a’ competin’ tae be King or Queen! o’ Kennethmont. They’re camped oot in a pig-pen fit we’ve leased fae Skittery Wullie, and conditions are very basic. Nae electricity; nae het watter; and nae Wi-Fi. Although Dame Evelyn Glennie’s fae Methlick, so she’s thrivin on’t. There wiz excitement last night fan Willie Miller kicked aff, roaring and shouting that he wizna putting up wi bieng humiliated, until Joyce Falconer pointed out he used to manage the Dons. And earlier the day we hid a Bush Tucker Trial, and Cooncil leader Barney Crockett stepped up to the plate. Noo on MTV, we dinna hud wi witchetty grubs and kangeroo’s ba’s. At’s jist gadsy at. So oor celebs hiv tae keep doon somethin’ fae Feel Moira’s Burger Van, which is just as gadsy, but at least ye dinna ken fit it is yer eating. Although Barney got a clue fan he found a bit hoof stickin’ oot. Then we hid the efterneen challenge, fan Frank Gilfeather pit his hand into a tank o’ creepy crawlies; and the creepy crawlies run awa! Efter that, it wiz time fer the Gratuitous Shower Scene! Ayewis my favourite bittie. Although it wizna a’ I wiz hoping for. I dinna think I will iver be able to forget the image o’ Alex Salmond in a pair o tartan budgie-smugglers. Cheerio!

JONATHAN M LEWIS, local headmaster

As another term draws to a close here at Garioch Academy, I find myself brimming with pride at our youngsters’ achievements but, simultaneously, mindful of what the future might hold for these precious gems. Our Chancellor’s Autumn Statement provided a timely reminder that as my favourite troubadour Bob Dylan sang, ‘the times, they are a-changing’. A brilliant songwriter, Bob, albeit grammatically remiss! Of course, my stewardship at this fine school may well be over by the late 2040s, when the retirement age will rise to 69. Some may be concerned by the thought of near-septuagenarians educating their children, but they needn’t fret. They’ll be educating their children’s children. There was a clamour from our dedicated staff too, with several of our more experienced colleagues hammering down my door, desperation in their eyes, eager to find out if they would be permitted to extend their careers working with the increasingly respectful youth of today. Sadly, the thoughtless comments some parents levelled at our teachers in their late 50s resulted in a most unsavoury atmosphere at our recent parent council meeting. People must accept that there is nothing inherently wrong with Mrs White falling asleep in the science lab of a Friday afternoon. Who among us would not have been tired after a long week and a lunchtime cup of Horlicks? Especially in a warm science lab with all the Bunsen burners going full tilt. Admittedly, it would have been preferable if she had been awake before the curtains went up in flames, but she certainly woke up when the quick thinking third years grabbed the fire blanket she’d been using as a pillow. Criticism levelled at Mr Cooper in the geography department was equally uncalled for. It is churlish to suggest that the enormous banner he has made, counting down the days until his retirement, displays a lack of commitment to the school. Nothing could be further from the truth, he clearly made it to help pupils come to terms with his impending departure. He has further softened the blow by displaying a live video relay of the beach in Crete he’ll reluctantly head to in 31 working days.

KEVIN CASH – Money Saving Expert and King of the Grips

So the tax disc has been abolished. Happy days! Mind, it maks no odds to me. I dinna hae a car. At least, nae so far as Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs are concerned. The thing that looks a bittie like a Vauxhall Corsa that you might sometimes see in front of my hoose has a tomato plant growing in the glove box, and is therefore, technically, a mobile greenhoose. Mind, I dinna think the chancellor’s thocht through the consequences o’ this change, particularly for the hard-pressed small businessman. My pal, Mick the Pill, used to earn a crust by sellin knock-aff tax disks he made by colouring in the label aff a Guinness bottle and sticking the details on using his loon’s Lettraset. At a stroke, the Chancellor’s decision has shut him doon. I’m nae sure fit he’s gaan to dae noo, but the last time I seen him, he said he’d nicked a chemistry set, hot-wired a Camper Van and ripped all 5 series o’ “Breaking Bad” aff Youtube. He didna say far he wiz going, but he’s got femly up by Ballater, so if you hear o’ someone roaming round the Cairngorms running a crystal meth factory, ye’ll ken fa’s responsible. George Osborne.