The new definition of ‘Capital Projects’ – Whatever Edinburgh has previously wasted a fortune on.

Ron Cluny, Official Council Spokesman

The usual gaggle of naysayers and the perpetually disgruntled have been lining up to traduce the Council following the announcement that we are to investigate the feasibility of introducing a tram system in Aberdeen.  “Do we want to split public opinion once again?”, they ask us.  “Have we learned nothing from the “Union Terrace Gardens fiasco?”  Well of course we have.  What we have learned from that episode is that it is only when the population of Aberdeen is bitterly divided that it shrugs off its native apathy and becomes politically engaged.  Brother turned against brother and friend against friend.  People wrote into the papers about us, spoke about us around the water-cooler and chinned us in the Kirkgate bar.  It was magic.  We felt vibrant, alive and relevant.  A political life when you don’t get harangued by an angry wifie when you’re queuing to buy a BLT in Markies is no political life at all. But of course, this is not all about us.  The City and Shire’s population is expanding rapidly, with new developments planned, like Chapeltown of Elsick, and some others the names of which do not actually make you laugh out loud when you hear them.  So it’s not impossible that we might actually need something like this.  More to the point, if we do bring in a tram system, on time, on budget and without excessive disruption, we will have achieved that feat beloved of all Scottish cities, of sticking it to Edinburgh.  Just think how good you feel when the Dons beat Hearts or Hibs.  A successful tram system will make you feel like that all the time.  But of course, even if the project turns out to be a complete farrago, there will be benefits.  As the last few remaining historic buildings in the city are demolished and costs spiral out of control, a culture of protest will develop.  Graffiti will spring up all over the shop.  Long-defunct folk clubs will be re-energised, and the Council’s short-sightedness will be lambasted by mannies who stick their finger in their ear and sing through their nose.  With any luck, a performance artist will dress like a moustachioed Edwardian villain and tie damsels in distress to the rails in satirical protest.   This sort of thing can only help Aberdeen’s bid to be crowned City of Culture in 2021, ‘cause the judges lap up that kind of muck

Tanya Soutar, local lifestyle guru

I dinna ken aboot yous, but I’ve found the last few days affa excitin’!  I’m on the edge o’ ma seat ivry mornin’ waitin’ tae see fit whacky plans the cooncil’s ga’n tae dream up next.  A new exhibition centre is one thing, but trams?  Fit are they smokin’, an’ far can I get hud o’ some?  I’ve been thinkin’ aboot somethin’ else the cooncil could chuck their money at if they’re needin’ rid o’ it.

Nae doot ye’ve a’ experienced Union Street fan it’s hoachin’ jist afore Christmas.  Fit a nightmare it is.  It’s high time we hid dedicated lanes on wir pavements tae ensure smooth movement fer pedestrians.  Ye’d hae a lane fer aul wifies wi’ yon trolley things they drag aboot, a lane fer mums wi’ buggies and a slow lane fer plonkers ficherin’ aboot on their mobiles.  The Markies side wid only be fer folk travellin’ Westbound an’ the Trinity Centre side Eastbound.  There’d be a speed limit o’ 4 miles an hour an’ overtakin’ wid be strictly prohibited.  I think it wid be magic.  They’d hae tae build a slip-lane intae Poundland though!

Davinia Smythe-Barrat, ordinary mum

I almost choked on my falafel when I read about the council’s latest plans.  Pie in the sky pipe dreams seems to be their new stock in trade.  When will they think about us ordinary folk?  Trams and a new exhibition centre are all very well for some people, but all the while we’re still living in a city that doesn’t even have a branch of Harvey Nichols.  Surely the council should spend their money on something everyone can enjoy, like a Philharmonic Orchestra.  And while we’re at it, is a polo team to much to ask for?  It’s been ages since I’ve seen a decent chukka.  Sadly, I fear these everyday things will remain out of reach for us ordinary Aberdonians.

Shelley Shingles, showbiz correspondent

I’m just back from a trip to Hollywood and I’ve got a fab-u-lous idea for the Council to blow their money on!  Why don’t we have our very own “walk of fame” here in Aberdeen?  All the big names would be there, like Annie Lennox, Joyce Falconer and the boy that was in S-Club Juniors.  Instead of stars like in Hollywood ours could be shaped like a buttery and made out of solid gold.  I phoned my showbiz pal Emeli Sande to ask her views about it.  Her reply was as straight to the point as ever.  “Please stop calling here,” she said, “or I’ll notify the authorities”.  Wise words from a great lady.

So farewell, Offshore Europe. Or as the North-East hospitality trade call it: ‘Ker-ching Time’

Kevin Cash, Money Saving Expert and King of the Grips

So goodbye then, and see you in twa years time, Offshore Europe. Ye dinna hae to be a hotelier or a restaurateur to cash in fan the oil jamboree’s in toon, but it certainly helps. I made a killing by advertising a “penthouse apartment with en-suite facilities” in the Stavanger Gazette, then pitting bunk beds and a couple of pails up in the attic o’ my flat in Corthan Crescent. The 4 Norwegian lads that turned up werena happy. I widna mind, but I emptied the pails twice during the week. There’s jist nae pleasing some folk. Still, I got their company’s money jist the same, and I’ll try the Houston Chronicle next time. It wiz great, too, to see the Cooncil getting into the action this year and sending out a SWAT team of city wardens to slap tickets on all the cars that hidna managed to get into the wholly inadequate parking facilities. A good start by our city fathers, but next time, they should get seriously entrepreneurial. Close the car parks athegither, wait for gridlock in all directions, and then wheelclamp the hale lot, without fear or favour. I ken it’s nae the wye to win friends and influence people. But it wid pye for the City Gardens and the Broad Street renewal wi enough left over to let big Barney fly to New York; but hopefully, nae quite enough to fly him back.
That’s yer value, right there.

View from the Midden – rural affairs with MTV (Meikle Wartle Television) personality Jock Alexander

Michty it’s been an energetic wik in the village, I have been representing Meikle Wartle in the big city at Offshore Europe. Michty, fit a stramash it wiz! Jist getting there took mony hours of agonizing slow-moving road travel. But that is the price of travelling in a Massie Ferguson. Or, indeed ahind een.
And fit a show it wiz! We hid the maist distinctive stand in the place. All roond wiz a sea of chrome and multi-media technology, whereas we hid a load of 2 by 4s nailed thegither and draped wi a bittie sackcloth. We did hae trouble getting it through the AECC doors but a’ yon funcy plate gless wis nae match for Feel Moira and a great muckle pile of wid.

Michty, though, the place wiz hoachin’! High-powered businessmen swanning aboot, Scandanavian quinies in body-paint, and us, flogging Meikle Wartle’s very own renewable energy source – Selected High-energy Animal Recyled Nuclei, or, for short: SHARN. Wir business is nae so much Blue Chip as Broon Pellet. But it certainly is the perfect renewable resource. And as lang as one coo remains standing in the village, it will always keep on renewing! And I hiv tae say, we wis a hit! The free samples we were handin oot were the maist popular in the hale event. Cos onyone who battered through the crowds with a soggy bug of Meikle Wartle’s finest soon found that fan they held it doonwind, that nae matter foo crowded the place, they suddenly hid plenty room tae themsels. Cheerio!

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands’ most eligible bachelor

As the proverbial ‘Man aboot Toon’ Jimmy has an obligation to all the ladies of Aberdeen tae keep mysel in great shape and looking good. Once the lovelies get the sense that personal standards are slipping then yer chances of pulling a bit of stuff in Soul Casino on a Setterday night are slimmer than a whippet on slimfast.
Tae maist folk, keeping fit is all aboot joining a gym. That wiz fine for a filie for Jimmy – and I hiv David Lloyd tae thunk for a sweet run of yummy mummies who fell for my ample charms. I hid nae problem filling my lycra cycling shorts, until the wik I forgot tae pack an extra pair of sports socks. I’ve niver been back tae that spin class.
But I hiz since takin’ my personal fitness regime tae a new level. Charity fun runs, 10 k’s , half marathons, even a triathlon. I ging and watch them all. You wid be amazed at the amount of totty an attentive, well-groomed mannie like myself can pick up simply by dishing oot bottles of evian half wye roon the course. And, for the avoidance of ony doubt, giving the kiss of life to lassies fa are passed oot at the finish-line dis coont as a trap.
And fit wye div you think Jimmy enters The Moonwalk each year? Hundreds of birdz walking roon toon in their bras?!? I’ll hae a bit o’ that. Top class. Mind you, the first time I entered I got the wrong gist of fit the Moonwalk involved, and turned up wi nae breeks on. Mebbes nae the sort of ” Moon” the organisers hid anticipated.

See the Flying Pigs live in ‘Finzean in the Rain’ at HMT Aberdeen November 7th-16th

How to transform Aberdeen for £50 million: That’s £250 each. Just give us the cash, and we’ll all put smiles on our faces.

Sir Ian Wood’s £50 million is back on the table, but no-one seems to be clear what it should be spent on. We asked some of our regular contributors for their views.

Ron Cluny, Council Spokesman

The recent dialogue between Sir Ian Wood and the local authority has been much reported over the last week, with some reports presenting it as if it were some kind of high-stakes game of shove-ha’penny, with £50 million being shoved back and forth across the table as if by two elderly women arguing over who is going to pay the bill for tea and scones.  The Council’s wariness about accepting the money has been presented as sulky and ungrateful.  As usual, this is a complete misrepresentation.  The Council’s stance is not a churlish one; it is based upon sound principles.  It is about accountability; it is about honouring our democratic mandate; and it is about ensuring that Barney Crockett is seen to have the final word in any given argument that he happens to get involved in.

Doddie Esslemont, President, Prime Minister and Chief Cook and Bottle Washer of 39G Seaton Drive

So Sir Ian Wood wishes to make a donation to a local authority in order to fund redevelopment but is being frustrated by the Council’s reticence.  I can empathise.  I too am used to having my plans frustrated by the dead hand of administration, what with the United Nations still having failed to process my application for recognition of the sovereign status of 39G Seaton Drive.  I will be delighted to receive this money, which will be poured into the redevelopment of my drying green out the back.  The plans are still to be finalised but in my mind’s eye I see solid silver drying poles and a 50-foot burnished bronze statue of me that constantly rotates so as to face the direction of the sun.  I will accept bankers’ draft, electronic transfer or an Asda’s ‘bag for life’ stapped foo with cash.

Professor Hector Schlenk, science explained

As a scientist, I am often asked questions, such as ‘in a universe in which everything is constantly expanding, is there any point in going on a diet?’ But this week I have been principally asked what transformative project I would fund with Sir Ian Wood’s £50 million. Obviously, in this day and age, environmental concerns are paramount. So my first priority would be the long-overdue pedestrianisation of Union Street.  Some suggest that this would simply cause gridlock elsewhere in the city, and that is why I would simultaneously propose an exciting new scheme to take the burden away from cars and buses.  A system of clear perspex travel tubes, which will wheech you from Union Street to all outlying areas of the town. Just like in Willie Wonka’s Chocolate factory.

Back to School with Jonathan M Lewis, local headmaster

Well, what a week that was!  The collective sigh of relief was almost audible here at Garioch Academy on Friday at 3.20pm.  Not due to pupils and teachers alike glad to see the back of the place after 6 weeks of joyous, worry-free liberty – not a bit of it.  More so a relief that we’ll all be back again on Monday, hungry, nay zealous in our common goal of universal excellence!

A new term is always an opportunity for new beginnings here at Garioch.  Many new staff has joined our dedicated ranks, ready to begin moulding our young people into the luminaries, visionaries and champions of tomorrow.  Miss Watson, our latest recruit in the Biology department has proven very popular, with staff and pupils alike. We are often told that the sciences are too commonly a male preserve, but Miss Watson demonstrates that they are also a field in which young women can excel. Very, very, feminine young women, in her case. She has ably communicated that enthusiasm, being an instant hit particularly with the S5 boys.  Indeed, a small delegation of these eager lads came to my door asking if she could run additional practical support on their “human reproduction” topic work.

Pupils, too, make new starts.  I’m quite sure our second year boys will grow to love our two new arrivals from the city, though I do confess to being most confused by the nicknames these youngsters come up with!  I mean, why on earth would these pupils be referred to as “The Nipple Crippler” and “Commander Wedgie”?

My final note sees me dispense with my usual understated modesty to mention one final new arrival that has caused quite a stir throughout the school.  I’ve not worn a beard since my student days, but decided over the summer in Tuscany to cultivate some well-tended facial topiary.  Some have observed that in a certain light I now remind them of Che Guevara.  Though pronunciation has posed problems for some.  The most common misnomer was, would you believe it, “Che Vyaminker”!

See the Flying Pigs live in ‘Finzean in the Rain’ at HMT Aberdeen November 7th-16th

Doctored Bats, Ginger Snaps and Political Attacks

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit with the crunching tackle

I am well glad that the football season is back up and running again.  Summer is a confusing time for old Kenny.Other sports sometimes has me scratching my head and burrowing my brow.  Boxing and golf is OK – a dust up in the car park and a round at the beach links after training was very much de rigor mortis when I played for the Dons, so I’m on safe ground there.  But when I get beyond those, I start to get out of my comfort moan.

I seen handball on the telly the other day.  Efter 5 minutes I wiz goin’ nuts.  They wiz blatantly picking up the ball and throwing it.  How baith those teams ended the game wi 11 men I’ll never ken.  But the most confusing of all is cricket.  I cannot get my head astound it.  There’s silly mid-on, deep long legs, BMW and all sorts.  (I know a story aboot long legs and a BMW but the lovely Melody says I’m naeallowed to write it doon!)  And these cricketeers sometimes play for 5 days and it still ends up a draw!  What’s that all about?  Have they not heard of penalty kicks?  Last week there was some news story about players maybe putting tape on their bats to cheat the thermal video replays.  I have absolutely no idea what that means, but my clever mate Frankie Gray says to me, he says “ye’ll need tae mention yon cricket cheatin’ in yer column Kenny”.  So there you go, Frankie.  Never lead it be said that Cava Kenny diznaengage wi the major sporting issues o’ the day

Wednesday night will be a monumentous occasion when Scotland travel to Wembley to take on the Aldi Enemy, England.  I’ll be down there, cheering on the boys as a loyal foot soldier of the Spartan Army.  We haven’t stuck England since 1999 when we beat them 1-0 on their own spoil.  Although we are definitely the wonderdogs I’m hopeful my old pal Gordon Strachan can upset the odds and pull off a smash and grab.  Wee Gogsy’s got a great football brain.  I mind him saying to me once, “Kenny”, he says, “The team that scores the maist goals nearly always wins.”  That’s the sort of tictactical mouse we wiz missing under Craig Levein.  Of course, there has been some famous triumphants for Scotland over the years.  In 1967 we beat them when theywas world champions.  In 1977 we beat them and then ripped up the pitch and tore down the goal posts.  Mind you, I’m nae suggesting we do that again.  I totally and utterly condone violence.

Struan Metcalfe  – MSP for Aberdeenshire North and Surrounding Nether Regions

Summer tends to be an absolute whizzo time for politicians. Whilst some MPs and MSPs swan off to their overseas villas or some secluded island retreat in the Caribbean, I prefer to take full use of all the sporting jollies here in the UK, from Wimbledon to the Open, The Ashes to the Meldrum Games.

When not being corporately hospitalised, I still seemed to have found the time to make some mischief this week again. This came as a slight surprise as I had no idea quite how many followers I had on Twitter. Or indeed of the fact that so many of my constituents here in the desolate North East of Scotland actually had internet access, followed me on Twitter and were carrot-tops.

I really am desperately sorry for any upset my recent tweet has caused to a wide selection of the Scottish community:

“Sponsored walk in Edmbra today celebrating Gingers. Keep eyes peeled for Danny Alexander, Prince Harry andBeeker. One is a Muppet. Guess which one I mean. LOL #ginger minger”

I am getting a bit of negative press for that one. Whoopsy.

I have been accused of “Gingerism”. I have been branded as prejudiced and likened to a school ground  bully, picking on those I perceive to be weaker than myself. This is very harsh. As I have said before in previous apologies, I know what it is like to be bullied. I had a torrid time of being bullied at Gordonstoun, let me tell you. If it hadn’t been for Fatty Blenkinsop – who I bullied in turn – my life there would have been dashed un-bearable.

Anyway, after some feedback from Super Dave I am taking this opportunity to right the wrong with some facts about our “Glow in the Dark” brethren rather than cheap jokes on the internet. Scotland is home to one 5th of the world’s gingers – that’s about 650,000 people, which is 13% of the Scottish population. And at least 1.8million of Scots carry a red head gene variant but are unaware of that fact. We should celebrate being Ginger, not shy away from it. So, a message to all those Scots with a black and white Facebook profile picture…you are not fooling anyone. ROFL!

Ron Cluny, Council spokesman

The recent spat between the First Minister and the Council’s own Barney Crockett has been an unseemly affair.  As the spokesman of a cash-strapped authority, I say this to both of these political heavyweights.  Put the mud-slinging behind you.  Resolve your differences by meeting.  Then touch gloves and knock seven bells out of each other.  Early projections indicate that match-up would sell enough tickets to fund the third Don crossing.

One Man, One Vote, One Russian Fishing Boat – lessons in democracy from Seaton Drive

RON CLUNY, Council Spokesman, is magnanimous following the Authority’s victory in the legal challenge to its plans for St Nicholas House

So, HFD has lost its legal challenge to the St Nicholas House redevelopment scheme, and the Council can press on with its joint venture with Muse.  We shall be gracious in victory, as I told the challenger’s legal team on the telephone while giving a series of 2-finger salutes and waggling my bum in the general direction of their offices.  Well, running a local authority is a stressful business, and one has to celebrate life’s little victories as best one can.  It’s just a pity I forgot it was a videoconference.

I can only hope that the court’s ringing endorsement of the plan will lead to a long-overdue respect for the Council’s strategic vision.  To the nay-sayers and whingers, let me say this: yes, your local authority is capable of taking rational and defensible decisions; no, we are not a complete bunch of neeps.  I therefore hope that the Council will be permitted to press on, without unhelpful and wasteful legal challenge, with the other exciting projects it intends to press on with for the public good – tunnelling beneath the city, solving the Haudagain problem by introducing an innovative “park and teleport” scheme, and the building of the Eastern Peripheral Route – which will be much like the Western one, but wetter.

Great times lie ahead.

JONATHAN M LEWIS, Headteacher of Garioch Academy, responds to an unfounded allegation

There was once a time when even a headteacher could enjoy the first 4 weeks of their summer holiday without a heady mix of nerves and foreboding every time the phone rang.  Sadly, my annual pilgrimage to Nairn was rudely interrupted last week by yet another jumped-up journalist hell-bent on besmirching the good name of Garioch Academy.

Rather than focus on the endeavour and effort displayed by pupils working so hard in the holidays, or the remarkable profit margins that they have achieved from their endeavours, this hard-bitten hack put it to me that there is something “dodgy” about one of our 4^th year Enterprise Group’s activities.  I must admit that their business plan rather stood out from the usual proposals for car-washing, bake sales and cheap knock-off Christmas decorations.  “Scrap metal sales” certainly seemed an ambitious venture.  However, Mr McVicar in the Business Studies department is a remarkable man.  The story of how he put a life of petty crime behind him in order to retrain as a teacher is one that should be celebrated, not something that should be endlessly cast up at him.  I would have set it out in more detail in this column, but his mobile phone seems to be out of range just now.  In any event – it is his inspired leadership that has seen the group achieve a 6-figure turnover within 2 months.  There is money to be had in scrap metal, it would seem!Sadly, the media have been quick to point the finger at the group.  Apparently, selling approximately 3 miles of copper cabling as a job-lot is “suspicious”.  We live in a sadly cynical age.  After an angry phone call with the paper I rushed to the train station to head back to Garioch, only to find that the line had been closed due to a nocturnal theft of signal cabling.  I don’t know who did it, but I just hope they catch them and string them up!

DODDIE ESSLEMONT, President of the People’s Democratic Republic of 39G Seaton Drive, offers political asylum to Edward Snowden

Pity poor Edward Snowden, the US Citizen who leaked news that the US authorities are systematically spying on us.  I must admit that I can’t understand what the fuss is about; I’ve known all about this for years, through such television documentaries as Homeland and The X Files.  Even so, he finds himself in a terrible bind: facing imprisonment in America, he has been forced to seek refuge in Russia, where those who oppose Putin would happily tell him a thing or two about state snooping and oppression, if only they had access to social media in prison.  His association with the Ruskies is swiftly losing him support among the liberal intelligentsia.  He needs to find refuge in a state which shows a clearer commitment to the democratic principle of one person, one vote. 

This is where the People’s Democratic Republic of 39G Seaton Drive comes in.  It contains one person (me), one vote (cast by me), and a government which commands 100% popular support.  You don’t get much more democratic than that.

I expect that Snowden probably has already sought asylum here, and that his letters have been intercepted by a foreign power.  I challenged the postie on it, but he just ran away, as per usual.

So, Edward: if you are reading this in far away Russia, if you can loup onto a Russian factory ship and get yourself to Aberdeen harbour, I will be there to convey you to 39G Seaton Drive in the official Diplomatic chariot, always provided that the legal dispute regarding  its status has been resolved.  Morrisons say it’s theirs; I say I bought it off them for a quid.

See the Flying Pigs live in ‘Finzean in the Rain’ at HMT Aberdeen 7th-16^th November

CAMBRIDGE; Weelum and Kate (née Middleton) are delighted to announce the safe arrival of George (Dod). Great-Granny chuffed to bits.

I dinna ken aboot youse, but I wis affa pleased tae see Wills and Kate get their bairnie this wik. Being born at the end of July, means that just like me, he’s a Cancer. So he’ll hae a strong sense of tradition and is destined tae rise tae the top of his field. Which must be a relief tae his mum and dad. If Kate had hud on for just a few mair oors he’d have been a Leo, and Prince Philip would’ve dangled him aff the balcony at Buckingham Palace for a chorus of ‘The Circle of Life’.

I really like the name an a’. I didna at first, but it’s grown on me. At first I thought ‘George’? Gads. But the mair I thocht aboot it, the mair I liked it. There’s a lot of great George’s oot there these days, Clooney, Galloway, Zippy’s pal. But wee Prince Dod isna named for ony of them. My royal insider (Big Sonja, eence seen Camilla buying fags in the Co-opie at Ballater) tells me he’s been cried George efter the magic clothes range at Asdas. I buy a’ my summer dresses there and I’m gled that Kate obviously dis the same. I wonder if she’s still the same size, noo she’s dropped een and a’thin’ll be oot of shape?

I must say, though, I dinna agree with the folk moaning about the blanket coverage. In all the reports I seen, the blanket hardly got a mention.Mind you, there wis an affa lot aboot it on the TV on Monday nicht. My Darren said it wis great, fit surprised me, but then he said it meant he didnae hae tae sit through ‘Long Lost Families’. It wis a bit much though. The BBC should’ve let peer auld Nicholas Witchell awa tae his bed lang afore they did. I wis feart he’d keel o’er. The big problem wis, efter they’d telt us ‘It’s a boy, pound 6, ab’dy fine’ there wisna much else tae say. Fit we really wanted wis tae see the big event in all its glory. Like their wedding, but withoot the Archbishop of Canterbury and with mair gas and air. Efter aboot twa oors I switched aff the rolling news, cut oot Wills and Kate’s faces fae this month’s OK, stuck them onto my telly and watched an auld episode of ‘One Born Every Minute’

And did ye see the media scrum outside the Hospital? The bairnie wisnae even a day auld fan he’d tae appear at his first photocall. Shame. I ken exactly how Wills & Kate must feel- I had the press camped ootside my door for days an a’, that time I left my seventh bairnie ootside William Hills.  It’s nae fine!

CAVA KENNY CORDINER, the football pundit with the crunching tackle

Sometimes even an old stager like me who has literally saw it all, has to read a headline twice to believe it.  That was the case this week when I seen that a Cristiano Ronaldo free kick had broke a young lad’s wrist during a match between Real Madrid and AFC Bournemouth. I never knew that Bournemouth was in Spain.  Mind you, I went there once on holiday with my folks and the weather was quite topical.  That Ronaldo must have some shot on him though to break the poor little loon’s wrist.  I have often said that, footballing-wise, me and Ronaldo are simulator in many ways, and seriously injuring innocent fans is just one of them.

I’ll never forget that match.  It was a December evening, in baking hot sunshine, and Longside was losing 3-0 to Maud in the McLeman cup.  Their winger had been giving me the running round for the whole of the 90 minutes and when he nutmegged me for the third time in a row he shouts at me, he shouts “Ole!” I was surprised and angry. Angry that he was making me look like a conker and surprised that Maud had signed a Spaniel. 

The next time he got the ball I decided enough was enough and I slid in on him hard.  Even old Kenny will admit it was a bad one.  His left boot came clean off, spirographed through the air and hit a young spectator right in the testimonials.  He went down like a sack of tatties and he stayed down for a long time.  When he finally did get up he looked like a puppet what had had some of its strings cut.  His mum and dad was raging.  The ref was raging.  I tried to tell them it was the Spanish lad’s boot what done the damage but once again I was unfairly sent off.  Diabolical.

See the Flying Pigs live in ‘Finzean in the Rain’ at HMT Aberdeen 7th-16^th November

The Open Championship – it’s open to everyone, as long as they don’t have two X chromosomes

STRUAN METCALFE, Conservative MSP for Aberdeenshire North-by-Northeast – An Apology

Fore! Get in the Hole! Howzat?

What a splendid time I had down at Muirfield this weekend. The Open is always an excellent chance to catch up with some old faces in the 19th hole and to sink a few swift ones with new friends. On that note, I do need to apologise to Nick “tubby” Faldo. I’m ashamed to say that when I spotted him at the bar I was a little bit forward. Urged on by my host, Fatty Blenkinsop (former Gordonstoun tuck-shop monitor, now something big in Imperial Tobacco. Btw – cheers for the tickets Fatty!) I tapped him on the shoulder and said “Mr. Faldo?”

“Yes?” He replied, quick as a flash.

“I’ve been watching you for 25 years, and I just wanted to say, thanks…”

“Well, that’s very kind”

“Thanks for making my golfing look good nowadays, you has-been! Ha ha!”.

He didn’t see the funny side. In my defence I had spent an afternoon in the “Bollie Tent” quaffing champers with one eye on the big screen leader-board and another oggling for totty. Which leads me to my latest apology. After a few too many sherberts I really ought to learn to keep the android in my trousers. I must sincerely apologise to Muirfield Golf Club after my tweet of Saturday afternoon:

“The Open. What talent there is on display. Am talking about Woods and Westwood, not the eye candy. Hardly a girlie to be seen. Boring! #nogirlsallowed #likebeingbackatschool”

In no way did I mean to imply any disrespect towards the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers. Their ancient tradition of barring women from membership at Muirfield has nothing to do with sexual discrimination. It simply reflects the fact that the club dates its constitution from the mid 18^th Century. So little from that period has survived – smallpox, child labour, the slave trade, – Muirfield should be applauded for trying to preserve a little of the past!

TANYA SOUTAR, local lifestyle guru

I dinna ken aboot youse, but I am so totally over the bonny weather. I’m scunnered with a’ this “summer” we’ve been getting. Het? The ither day I wis that plottin’ I needed to change my boob-tube fan it wis nae even ten in the morning! Regular readers may hiv daen a double take fan they read that last bittie – but dinna fear, I wis still in my bed!

But it’s nae fine is it? As I write this my oxters is dripping and my decollage is like the Falls of Feugh. But since it looks like the weather’s set fair for the next few days at least, here’s Tanya’s guide tae getting by in the sun.

Firstly, ab’dy kens you’ve tae be careful with yer skin.  These days, we dinna rely on exposure tae potentially harmful radiation tae get that sun-kissed glow. Instead we get the same effect by carefully applying to oor skin a solution of bisto gravy granules. But the real sun is still hinging aboot in the sky like a great big orange bampot. So even fan your skin is a delicate shade of stewed tea, you still need tae tak care tae avoid getting burned. Sadly, nae only does sun tan lotion block up your pores and bring you oot in plooks, it costs an arm and a leg.  Fan I pay fifteen quid for a bottle of something exotic, it’s nae the UV I wint tae ken aboot, it’s the ABV! So, rather than shelling oot tae get a pizza face, clart yersel in salad cream instead.  It’s a fraction of the price, looks the same and it smells much finer!

Secondly, ab’dy will be looking’ at yer summer ootfit.  So mak sure ye work oot fit style suits ye best.  This summer, all the fashion conscious quines I ken are working denim shorts and tiny tops. This is a great look, unless you are a fat pleiter, in which case you will appear to have accidentally pit on your bairn’s claithes. If you’re an auld mannie, wear brilliant white socks with your sandals, a knotted hankie on your heid, and a short sleeved shirt under your Harris Tweed jaiket.  If you’re a skinny ned, malnourished by a diet of Irn-bru and Monster Munch, whip yer top aff and tuck it doon the waist band of your 3/4 length Adidas trackie-bottoms so’s folk can coont your ribs and hae a chucke at your farmer’s tan.

Lastly, hot weather is the only time of the year fan ye dinna get disapproving looks fae strangers for drinking in public.  Right noo, the swanky beer gairdens and funcy sit-ooteries of the toon are hoaching with middle class folk sipping Prosecco and pear cider. So mak full use of this cultural shift by cracking open a bottle of Thunderbird or a can of White Lightening at een of the city’s mair lang established al fresco venues; like the Castlegate or the top of the St Nicholas Centre.

See the Flying Pigs live in ‘Finzean in the Rain’ at HMT Aberdeen 7th-16^th November

Never mind Glastonbury or T in the Park, it’s Meikle Wartle’s answer to Woodstock – Livestock!

View from the midden with Jock Alexander

It’s been a bacchanalian wikend in the village. It’s nae jist the massed ranks of music fans at Kinross that hiv been enjoying themsels, here in Meikle Wartle we hiv hid oor ain equivalent tae T in the Park, oot on my boggy field aside the Sewage Works. Oh aye, Balado diznae hae a monopoly on mud and insanitary conditions – we’ve hid them in Meikle Wartle for years. Oor festival is all about the music, it’s nae sponsored by a brewery or a multinational corporation (though we hiv hid some interest from the makers of Dettol, efter they noticed the event coincided with an upswing in sales of their antibacterial products fae the Tescos at Huntly). So we had a happy crowd of nigh on 40 toonsers with a pressing need tae recapture their youth, and a similar number of local worthies. Fa needs young lassies in pink wellies and denim hot pants fan ye’ve got Skittery Willie in tackety beets and rolled-up dungers? And fit acts! T in the Park may have hid Emeli Sande, Travis and Kraftwerk, but we hid Sandy Emslie, Tarves and Croft Work. We had Feel Moira operating the burger van, serving a wide variety of meat-equivalent snacks. These were a resounding success, as significantly fewer folk were cowking efterwards than last year. Taking wir lead fae T in the Park, fa charge a verra reasonable £5 tae use their luxury showers area, I hiv been charging only twa pounds mair than that for onybdy that winted tae use my ootside lavvy. Of course, with all that toonsers in their Hunter’s molloching aboot, the hale place ended up looking like a plooed field, which is handy, as it’ll save me having to ploo the field. Cheerio!

Davina Smythe-Barrat, Ordinary Mum

One feels under such pressure these days to holiday in Scotland.  There is the environment to think of, of course (I cannot tell you how much time I have spent over the last year, driving round and round in the Landrover, dropping off leaflets advising people on how to reduce their carbon footprint).  And one so wants to both support the local economy and to provide the children with a valuable glimpse of what a working class person looks like.  But recent attempts at “stay-cationing” have not met with great success.  Last year’s stay in a Mongolian Yurt by Loch Tay came to a soggy end when it rained so hard poor Emmeline was hospitalised with trench-foot.  Our camping break on Arran the year before ended no better, when our Teepee took off while Fidel was trying to erect it in a gale. Ultimately it was designated a hazard to aircraft and got shot down by a couple of Tornados from RAF Leuchars.  So we have decided to ring the changes this time, and to holiday on the continent.  Well, it is important for the children to improve their language skills and to gain some first-hand experience of where the best cheeses and French country wines come from.  So this year, instead of sitting inside a glorified shed in the middle of nowhere, obsessively checking the weather forecast to see if it is going to be at all better tomorrow; we will instead be sitting in a gite in Provence, obsessively checking the weather forecast to make sure that the temperature here is higher than in Aberdeen.

‘Cava’ Kenny Cordiner, the sports writer who goes in studs-up

As my royal readers will know, it takes a lot to shock old Kenny, but something happened in the world of sport this week that has made me sit down and take notice. I’ve never been that big a fan of cycling, I was 15 before my old man, Billy Cordiner, could take the stabilisers off my Chopper, but I’ve been following the Tour de France ever since Britain’s Arjo Wiggins won it last year. But it was another Brit, bicyclist, Mark Cavendish, who hut the headlines last week. The fans cry him ‘Cav’, which is not very different from my own Monica, “Cava”. They also sometimes always cry him “the Manx Missile” – because he comes from from the Brotherhood of Mann. Sadly, he got the ultimate insult from the crowd during the race the other day when someone chucked a bottle of urine over him. He says to the press, he says, “at first I thought it was water, but then I could tell what it was from the taste”, which kind of raises more questions than it answers. I know all too well the dangers presented to us sportsmen from disjointed members of the public. Back when I was playing for Longside I always suspected one of the local farmers was deliberately letting his cattle onto our pitch at night. Many’s the time old Kenny went sliding into a tackle only to get a pat on the back.

See the Flying Pigs live in ‘Finzean in the Rain’ at HMT Aberdeen November 7th-16th

Unusual and dangerous weather condtions for the North-East. Three consecutive fine days!

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

It’s been a thermogenic wikend in the village. It reached 22 degrees on Setterday, and as I sit here, plotting, in my seemit and long johns, I am well aware that we in Meikle Wartle are simply nae equipped fer this kinda thing. Fan enjoyin wirsel beneath a bakin hot sun, it is all too easy tae forget aboot the hazards of prolonged exposure; dehydration, sunburn and heatstroke, but there are also other dangers. The incidence of road accidents gings through the roof fan fowk stert strolling aboot strippit doon tae their bare necessities. We’re only human, and it’s hard enuch tae concentrate on the road fan ye see Dottie Scottie the village totty in her teeny-weeny tweed bikini. Worse still is fan you’re temporarily blinded fae the glare bouncing aff some auld fairmer’s pasty torso.
But the village diz look affa summery of noo. The flies are buzzing languidly aroon the midden, and amongst the locals there is a torpor, a unique Meikle Wartle quality fit can only be descrbed as Canna-be-ersedness’. There’s a heat haze in the air. Though that may jist be the alchol evaporating fae oor Meikle Wartle summer cocktails; Sex on Balmedie Beach, Tullynessle Sunrise or my ain favourite, Pimm’s and neep. The grass in the square is sterting tae look a bittie parched, so we’ve sent for Skittery Wullie fa has a big hose plumbed in at the sewage works. Those of us fa survived the Cholera ootbreak of 1976 are jist hoping that, this time, he minds fit een’s the watter main and fit een’s the works’ outflow pipe. Cheerio!

STRUAN METCALFE, Conservative MSP for Aberdeenshire North-by-Northeast – An Apology

 As you well know, I am a fair and kindhearted soul who means no harm to man nor beast (apart from the odd fox, hunted in my youth; but let’s not dwell on that blood-thirsty, if hugely enjoyable, episode). So I was deeply saddened that my latest foray into the Twitter-sphere has caused such upset. 

I had the good fortune to attend Wimbles this week – as a guest of my pal Sir Cliff Richard– he of Bachelor Boy and Devil Woman fame.  Of course, a lifetime bachelor, the Cliffster is still to meet his Devil Woman, but we live in hope. Anyhoo, after watching the particularly vigorous women’s final – I was appalled to see that a certain BBC commentator had suggested that the new champion was ‘not a looker’. So, by way of riposte, I tweeted the following:

“Oof! Gah! Hi-yaa! I don’t care what John Inverdale says; Bartoli can volley my dropshot into the net anytime! #Centrecourtcuties”

 Of course I am deeply sorry that my tweet has been misinterpreted.  Obviously my intention was not to suggest that I found the exertions of the players arousing, or that these wonderful, fascinating, complex, talented athletes should, in their adorable little white outfits, be reduced to objects of desire. Heaven forfend.  I was, of course, attempting to highlight the issue of sexism in sport and the media. Until we eradicate these lazy and outdated attitudes, women are never going to be able to walk down the street without being wolf-whistled at, shatter the glass ceilings of our corporate boardrooms, or win major sporting events without their faces being compared to either an oil painting or a bag of spanners.

 I can’t help feel we as a society have gone backwards since Maggie Thatcher was our PM. Now she’d have taught Inverdale a thing or two. She’d have put him over her knee and given him a good thrashing I bet you. Imagine that, eh? Just imagine…that….Crikey!

 I, of course, would never make such a remark. I have utmost respect for all the ladies in my life – from the little woman at home, to the leggy researchers who bring me coffee in the office, and even the pretty little cocktail waitresses serving me G&Ts in Boodles.  Absolute sweeties, all. Even the plain ones.

 DODDIE ESSLEMONT, radical independence campaigner.

 At time of writing, I do not know if Andy Murray is going to be successful or unsuccessful in the Wimbledon final.  But I do know that the vexed question of whether he is “Scottish” or “British” will, as usual, be determined by whether he wins or loses.  Well, speaking from my position as Head of State, Prime Minister and Chief Cook and Bottle Washer of the People’s Democratic Republic of 39G Seaton Drive (official recognition from the UN still, mystifyingly, pending), I can assure Andy that we (by which I mean, I) in the Republic do not recognise such petty distinctions.  He will always be Scottish to me. And as such, as unwelcome in the People’s Republic as anyone else.

See the Flying Pigs live in ‘Finzean in the Rain’ at HMT Aberdeen November 7th-16th

 

 

Graffiti thought to be work of disgruntled council taxpayer – 180,000 suspects in the frame.

J. FERGUS LAMONT, Arts critic and author of ‘John McRuvie – Voice of the People’

I was stunned and delighted as I ambled down Broad Street, deep in cogitation, by the stupendous examples of Modern Urban Street Art decorating our public buildings. Clearly an Aberdonian Banksy is at large. What power! What brio to use, as one’s canvas, Grade A listed buildings. The first graffito, upon the Town House, was the message ‘Weilders of power beware’.  How inspired of the artist, to subtly indicate political maladministration through misspelling. Then it was but a short stroll to see the second message on Marischal College. the even more stunning:  ‘Ye have not yet done what ye ought’. Gracefully constructed to have the appearance of profundity, yet, delightfully, no actual substance whatsoever. I found it both compelling and moving, and a handy reminder to return that copy of ‘Cheryl Cole: My Story’ to the library.

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

Fan Lap-dancing clubs first made their appearance, I remember saying that they were not the kind of thing that we wanted to see here, in Aberdeen.  Particularly In the city centre, far the CCTV could catch us going in. But times and attitudes change. The news that the Scottish Government is consulting on a proposal to provide licensing authorities with a greater role in the regulation of such establishments his received a warm – one might say, ecstatic – welcome fae the Executive Committee of the Licensing Board. Doddie telt us how much he was looking forward to “looking at” these peer, vulnerable girls – I’m sure he meant, “looking after”.  Dick has a’ready, this last wik, conducted a baseline study of the working conditions in all of the lapdance bars in Aiberdeen, and has undertaken to repeat this study on the first Thursday of every month, fan his wife gings til her Bingo.  For myself, I think it’s a dirty job, but I stand willing to dae it, diligently and rigorously.  My colleagues and I look forward to mony long and rigorous nights of public service.

RON CLUNY, Council Spokesman.

The news that the Council’s awarding of the contract for the redevelopment of Broad Street to Muse is to be judicially reviewed has come as little surprise to us here in the newly-defaced Marischal College.  We live in a cynical and self-regarding age.  Respect for our public institutions stands at an all-time low.  Whether to press their own narrow, self-determined agenda or to advance their private commercial interests, the public and businesses alike never miss an opportunity to have recourse to the law.  I had a dream the other night when I imagined that Tetley had threatened me with a judicial review because I’d decided to make a cuppa using Typhoo tea.  It’s got to stage now that when I go for a pee I half expect some chump with a placard to come rocketing into the khazi and belly-ache on about how I am plainly standing at the wrong urinal.This constant stream of complaint, argument and challenge is wasteful.  It is draining.  It is not the British way.  I urge the people of Aberdeen, and their lawyers in particular, to leave this administration alone.  Give us the freedom to make a hash of things as we see fit, then vote us out so that the next mob can mess things up in their own particular way.  Is this not what local democracy is for?

‘CAVA’ KENNY CORDINER, what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man!

Sometimes your old pal Kenny has been called a bit old fashioned – a relic from a bygone area.  But if there is one thing I do not have no time for in modern sport, it is sexualism, and Scottish sport has hut the headlines for good and bad reasons this week with its attitude to women.  Three cheers for Andy Murray, who has said he would stick Selena Williams to a game of tennis.  Most experts is saying Andy is too good for Selena, but he’s still prepared to go to a luxury hotel in Las Vegas to prove it.  But while Andy is flying the flag for sexual quality, Muirfield golf club is bringing Scottish sport’s name into dispute.  Alex Salmond has announced that he’s going to boy-scout the Open because they do not never allow lady members to join their club.  Shocking.  Imagine a golf course in this day and age that doesn’t have lady’s tees!  I never got the chance in my career to not be a male chauvinist towards a fairer sex opponent, but my son Zander did when he made his debut for Port Elphinstone primary’s P6 football team.  They was playing Strathburn who had a lassie up front for them, (and not just one of that loons with long hair and a flappy run, an actual lassie).  Zander was worried at first but he comes over to his Da on the touchline and I says to him, I says ”Son, the proper thing is to treat her the same as every other player on the pitch”. Youse can imagine my pride as I watched him spend the rest of the match kicking lumps out of her.