Why are Aberdonians so apathetic about culture? If only we could be bothered to find out.

Ron Cluny, Council Spokesman. There are three beliefs which are central to every true Aberdonian’s being: that the Dons are a great football team, that the buttery is a culinary delight to match anything produced in a Parisian patisserie, and that Aberdeen is better than Dundee.  17 years without a trophy at Pittodrie and Terry Wogan’s notorious on-air attack upon our iconic savoury treat have already done immeasurable harm to the Aberdonian psyche.  But now we face the greatest challenge ever mounted to our collective self-esteem, with the annoncement that, while we did not make the final shortlist of four for the UK City of Culture 2017, Dundee did.

Citizens should be assured that in these darkest of times, your local authority will offer clear headed leadership.  This is certainly not a time to panic, as I said to my assistant immediately after the result was announced, whilst running round the office swearing, screaming and putting my foot through a succession of filing cabinets.  We are currently looking into the possibility of mounting a judicial review against this decision on the basis that our crafty southern neighbours may have bribed the judging panel with marmalade, Dundee cake and rare first editions of the Dandy.  Having appointed the same legal team who acted for the ”Road-sense’ campaign we are confident that we will be able to over-turn the jury’s decision, or at the very least postpone the awarding of the title of UK City of Culture 2017 until 2027.

But despite this, frankly perverse, decision, we remain convinced that the Aberdeen bid was a strong one. As we said when asked by the application form to point out the city’s three cultural high-lights, we have a beautiful art gallery, a magnificent theatre, and a beautiful art gallery.  It is hard to understand why the jury overlooked these many and varied attractions in favour of a city that has a number of historic ships berthed close to the city centre, a branch of the V&A museum opening in 2015 and which plays host to a thriving Rep theatre.  I don’t know what a Rep theatre is, but I find it very hard to believe that it can be as good as a great big muckle granite one.In any event, this is no time to be churlish.  While I am sorry that the many virtues of our bid were not recognised, it is time to put petty rivalries aside and get behind the local candidate.  We must be as gracious in totally unjust defeat as we would have been magnanimous in our well-deserved victory. So here’s wishing Dundee every success in their….No.  I’m sorry, I just can’t do it.

‘CAVA’ KENNY CORDINER, the football pundit who goes in feet first!

Football usually takes a back row seat during a summer without any major inter-marital tournaments taking place, but I have been glued to the back pages of the TV all week.  Firstly, the Dons has been very busy in the transfer market, Hearts have been on the blink of going into retrievership and the folk in Brazil have been getting ready for next summer’s World Cup by practicing their crowd trouble.

Dons gaffer, my old pal Derek McInnes, has given 3 stars extenuating contracts this summer as well as getting his chequebook out 3 times to bring in fresh faces to Pittodrie.  Do you think they still sign players with cheques?  I have not used one in ages.  The paper shop won’t even take them anymore.  I’m owe them for 2 years’ worth of Racing Posts!  If fact the only time you see cheques these days is when somebody gives one of that really big ones to Children in Need. What a size of a chequebook they must come from. Anyway, I never heard of our latest signing Calvin Zola before, but he’s got a cracking name for football.  Of course, Aberdeen has been able to field some great names over the years, players like of Zoltan Varga, Mixu Paatelainen, and Ilian Kiriakov. Great footballers, but more importantly, great Scrabble scores. My old pal Stewart McKimmie telt me that the strapping 6’ 3” target man left his old club, Burton’s Biscuits, to form a little & large partnership with Niall McGinn, here’s hoping their team-up is as successful as that other famous double act.  Cannon & Ball.

I just do not understand the folk in Brazil. They’ve got great weather, a superb football team and lots of beautiful women, and this year they have even got the Confetti Nations Cup as a warm down for next year’s World Cup. But because of the bus fares going up, instead of enjoying the feets of Football, those crazy Braziliantines have been marching and rioting and causing a stink. If Scotland was hosting such a major tournament I think we’d all be going bananas!  But how are that lot going over in Brazil?  Nuts. 

 There’s only one thing a North East schooling can’t prepare you for – being Secretary of State for Education.

 

JONATHAN M LEWIS, local headteacher

I felt a great deal of sympathy for some of my fellow headteachers who have found themselves in the news this week.  Down in England, Michael Gove’s third attempt to overhaul the exam system has caused quite a stir.  Several headteachers were asked for their views and many of them unwisely lampooned Gove’s plans as the sort of desperate ill-conceived shambles they had come to expect from the author of ‘Michael Portillo: the Future of the Right’.  They criticized the Secretary of State for creating a climate of bullying, fear and intimidation. What nonsense! And completely unconnected to the announcement the following day of OFSTED inspections of each and every one of their schools.

 

Michael, his extensive experience of education matters derived from his own, very representative, schooling at Walker Dam Primary, Robert Gordon’s College and Oxford, is definitely the best placed person in the country to decide how absolutely everyone should be educated. It’s a good job he doesn’t listen to the so-called experts, (shackled as they are by the conformity of their many years of teaching and studying evidence) or none of his brilliant ideas would ever get off the ground.  I, of course, am fully in favour of our fabulous new Scottish exams and if the government want to change them again, I’ll support the new ones too.  You’ve got to admire the tenacity of the man though.  Three attempts?  Let’s hope he has more luck than Callum McGhee in last year’s S6.  He never did crack Standard Grade Woodwork!

Meanwhile, an Aberdeen City school’s headteacher had a most difficult two days last week when representatives of the Travelling Community briefly occupied his playing fields.  Parents will not need to be reminded of the occasion we at Garioch played host to an unannounced visit from some of our Romany friends.  That week saw a record number of complaints and concerns, but also an unparalleled opportunity for our young people to see alternative lifestyles, at first hand, and I was extremely proud to see the pupils of this school embrace and interact with the Traveller culture, rich as it is in history and tradition. It was very dissapointing then, that after only a few days the age-inappropriate clothing, bare-knuckle fighting and defiance of all forms of authority, coupled with the destruction of property, littering, verbal abuse and intimidation all proved too much for the Travellers who moved on to some where more peaceful. ‘Beirut’, I think they said.

Ah, the freedom of the open road. What fascinating lives they lead!

 

JIMMY HOLLYWOOD, Woodside’s most eligible bachelor

Jimmy always finds Father’s Day difficult, ken? As I get blawn oot by my mates who are spending the day with their old boy in the pub, or see that the bits of stuff that I’ve trapped are posting pictures of their dads as their profile pic on Facebook (it’s permissible for quines, but some of my mates dae it too – jessies!), Jimmy can get a wee bit introspective, wishing that his old man wiz here so he could see how well his little boy is getting on.

He wid be SO proud o’ fit I hiv achieved. 79 blonds and nae lasting relationships, a BMW X5 in the driveway and only 11 live penalty points, and THE best rendition o’ ‘Suspicious Minds’ ever tae be heard on the karaoke at Café Bardot (and that assessment came fae the mooth of John McRuvie, nae less).

But, alas, my daddy his nivver been around tae see his laddie grow up. Ma Hollwyood wiz cagey, but fan pressed, she explained everything  tae me, and I noo unnerstand fit wye Jimmy nivver got tae meet hiz da. I mean, for the love-child of a megastar, the media attention wid hiv been unbearable. And the birds? I’m already beatin’ them aff wi a stick – if they kent I wiz the direct offspring o’ this particular legend, I wid nivver get oot of my hoose let alone doon tae Soul Casino for a few bevvies.

However, in the interests of freedom of information, and given that female interest in Jimmy’s charms dis appear tae hiv tailed aff a thochtie since he turned 39 for the fourth time, I feel the time is richt tae let the truth be kent. As youse ken, Jimmy is the soul of discretion, so here’s the story, but I’m naming nae names.

Back in 1970 Ma Hollywood, a fresh faced Tilly quine, and barely 20 years old, happened tae be working in the International Hotel in Vegas – she tells me this was afore the days o’ BunaCamp and gap years. Onywye, she met a gentleman in the bar after een of his shows. To safeguard his identity, I shall refer to him as “The King”.  After ‘A Little Less Conversation’ than you might have expected, they were getting “All Shook Up” in the Presidential Suite. Then, faster than she could say “Thank you, thank you very much”; he’d left the building.

9 months later, oot pops Jimmy at the Aberdeen Matty. So Da, here’s tae you on Father’s Day. If yer 1962 hit film “Girls Girls Girls” is onythin’ tae go by, Jimmy is doing you proud.

 

Does anyone else remember when ‘Lobby’ just meant the place you kept your meter-cupboard?

STRUAN METCALFE, MSP for Aberdeenshire North and Surrounding Nether Regions – An Apology

Here’s the thing. I am deeply sorry for what was posted, in my name, somewhat oddly on the Twitter-sphere this week about the latest “scandal” to engulf hard-working and much-maligned career politicians. I did not mean to make light of the cash for questions rumpus, let alone imply that it was nothing but a tornado in the Royal Doulton. Hence my unreserved apology for any contrary impression that might have been created by the following tweet:

“So, Patrick Mercer caught with his pants down by TV crew. Whoosh! Now that’s a sight that really would be a Panorama! LOL”.

Clearly – as was pointed out to me by Super Dave and his quite fearsome Whip, Sir George ‘eats his’ Young  (Yikes!) – the issue is one of grave national import and speaks to the integrity and honesty of our Westminster brethren. Not to mention their entrepreneurial ingenuity. And Dave told me specifically not to mention their entrepreneurial ingenuity.

Oops!

I am so sorry for making light of what is, quite clearly, a very important issue. Some commentators say that Lobbying is the “next big scandal”.  Jessica – my latest,  terrifically long-legged researcher – tells me that Lobbying is, in fact, the act of attempting to influence decisions made by government officials or politicians, usually by organized groups or big business. “Fa wid hiv thunk?” as they say in Banff.

Can’t see what all the fuss is about. Surely it’s just a bit of harmless, if lucrative, fun? I have been lobbied myself. There I was, minding my own business in the members’ lounge when, completely out of the blue, old Buffy Caruthers came up and lobbied me! I’d never been so lobbied. He lobbied me like I’d never been lobbied before. Oosh!

Anyhoo, it turns out that Paddy “Power” Mercer wasn’t won over by the lobbyists, he was merely acting as a consultant and advising on how best to get the question of whether Fiji should be accepted back into the Commonwealth, debated. To my mind, a spot of well-remunerated consultancy is an elected official’s god given right. How else are we supposed to make a little bit of wonga on the side? Let’s face it, you’re not going to attract the best and the brightest into politics with MP or MSP salaries. It’s only the promise of a bit of knockabout fun to fund our Singapore Slings in Boodles (and, with a bit of luck, Singapore) that keeps chaps of my calibre interested in the whole shebang!

But, as I say, my apology is without reservation. Going forward, I will undoubtedly take far more care over what I tweet. Or, indeed, who has access to the Metcalf smartphone when one of Buffy’s hilariously ribald anecdotes has left me helpless with mirth. Although, I would have to accept that, as this is the 7^th time I’ve used that excuse, that might make me the boy who cried ROFL!

TANYA SOUTAR, Local Lifestyle Guru

I dinna ken aboot youse, but I am FED UP with scientists and experts being a right bunch of killjoys with their so-called “advice”.  Dinna get me wrang, I appreciate their words of wisdom on important matters, like the latest lash-extending mascara technology, or the fact that there’s bacteria in yoghurt (Gads! Though cheers tae Tiffany fae Eastenders for the heads up on that een) but fan they’re bangin’ on aboot pregnancy I jist wint tae scream!

Last wik there wis a report aboot fit things ye should avoid fan ye’re up the duff and I dinna mind telling you, it’s really got my goat. It came fae the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists. And I ken fit you’re thinking, fit wid they ken aboot it?

 Onywye, afore youse start gossiping, yes I am pregnant! I think so onywye.  Either that or I’ve got an affa dose of trapped wind.

This report wis sayin that ye shouldnae tak painkillers in case it harms yer bairn.  Honestly?  How are you supposed tae recover fae a night oot in the Holburn Bar withoot a blister pack of Panadol the next day?  I mean, I ken I shouldnae really be drinking, but vodka & orange is my principal source of vitamin ‘C’ and that’s meant tae be good for the baby, so MAK YER MINDS UP!

Even worse is them saying you shouldnae be clarting yoursel in moisturiser or fake tan.  Fit a joke!  Little Beyonce-Rhiannah (Aye, if it’s a girl. If it’s a boy I’m crying him efter his da, and I’ve narrowed it doon tae fower possibilities) is a’ready turning my bikini body intae something that looks like Alex Salmond daein sit-ups, and on top of that I’ve got tae ging aboot peely-wally and wrinkled? I da hink so.

But the absolute pits is the advice that ye shouldnae buy ony new sofas, because of the chemicals that’s in them.  That’s a total bummer, I dinna ken if you’ve seen, but DFS hiv a sale on jist noo. Foo lang’ll it be afore that happens again?

 

Crime doesn’t pay, but it’s a great way to reduce Council Tax.

RON CLUNY, Council Spokesman.

The papers, mouthpieces for those who oppose us as they are, have been full of their usual innuendo this week when reporting the theft, from a vulnerable elderly person, of several thousand pounds. The culprit was, as the media have not been slow to point out, an employee of this local authority; the clear inference of this sly and disingenuous piece of reporting being that the Council was somehow to blame. There is no room, on occasions such as this, for equivocation or shades of grey. Let me nail my colours firmly to the mast. I absolutely and unequivocally approve the actions of this individual. This marks the start of the Council’s orchestrated fight-back against the unrealistic funding levels set by central government which are ham-stringing us in our attempts to deliver essential public services. As a central component of a new policy that we are calling ‘Entrepreneurial Funding’, carers will be ‘liberating’ (I dislike the word “stealing”) money from their clients in order to pay for their care packages. And we will not stop there. The St Nicholas Guitar Wifie has been coerced into competing as the token novelty act on this year’s X Factor on our behalf, with all profits from her activities (after Cowell and Louis Walsh have taken their pound of flesh) funding musical instruction in schools. Our city wardens will no longer be content to slap a ticket on an illegally-parked car; they will try its door, nick the stereo and if they can hot-wire it, drive it to a lock-up in Tullos, give it a respray, change the plates and flog it on Gumtree. Some of you may be surprised at our methods. Some may even be shocked. But before you criticise us, ask yourself how else we can keep delivering decent front-line social services in the face of a budget that is cut year after year after year?

View from the Midden with MTv (Meikle Wartle Television) personality JOCK ALEXANDER

It’s been a historical wik in the village. I wiz sad tae hear that the Archaeolink Prehistory Park, near the bustling metropolis of Oyne, is to be declared ‘surplus to requirements’ by Aberdeenshire Cooncil. It’s a sad day indeed, for the attraction that wis eence considered Insch’s answer tae Disney Land. Nivver again will wee kiddies stert greetin fan they don’t see ony teletubbies, or fowk get accosted by over-enthusiastic actors in authentic Bronze Age jimmies. I must say I am baffled fit wye a dynamic historical experience for all the family in the freezin caul and rain didnae catch on. Truly, though, athing has it’s time, and here in Meikle Wartle we hiv oor ain Prehistory Park jist aboot tae open. Feel Moira hiz traced her fem’ly richt back tae a terrifyingly hairy cro-magnon ancestor she found a likeness of in her bathroom mirror. We also hiv a selection of historical artefacts, uncovered through a painstaking archaeological dig of the field ahin’ my hoose, fit happened fan I telt Shifty Billy Wilson aboot the case of Glenn Fiddich I hid beeried there in case of emergencies. But fit treasures were unearthed! A fossilised bike! Going by it’s marking, we hiv reason tae believe it was eence the property of Sir Walter Raleigh. Some roosty cans with photos of attractive women on the side fit dates them back to the Dark Ages, and twa mysterious bitties of string, believed tae be a pair o’ Mesolithic nicky-tams. Fowk in the village are sure it’ll be an attraction tae eclipse even the Sewage Farm, and visitors will be pouring in all summer. Indeed, I can assure ab’dy that given the length o’ the summer, we should have no trouble in equalling Archaeolink’s numbers. Cheerio!

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

The CAMRA beer festival returned to Pittodrie for its annual shindig this wikend and I and my colleagues from the Executive Committee of the Licensing Board duly carried out a surprise site visit at the grand opening to ensure that the venue could cope with the anticipated numbers (they were expecting a few thousand and Pittodrie hasn’t had to accommodate that mony for a filie), check the adequacy of the glassware, and sample the good stuff afore all the beardy-weirdy pot-bellied connoisseurs got stuck in til it. Well we sampled and sampled and not content with sampling, we sampled some more. Hoppy notes and caramel aftertastes awye. Dick said he got hints of shellac from one, but we think that was jist his false teeth dissolving in a 18% barley wine that hid been shipped in fae Ulan Bator. When we were fully satisfied that the people of Aiberdeen weren’t being palmed-off with second rate booze, Doddie very obligingly took a heider doon the stairs, allowing us to test the alertness of the first-aider on call (exemplary) and the response time o’ the emergency services (verra good). All in all, it was an arduous evening’s public service, and I think I speak for the executive committee as a whole when I say I canna wait for the next een.

These days, phones are ‘smart’. Unfortunately, people are still idiots.

JONATHAN M LEWIS, local head teacher

Several parents have expressed concern about the possibility of mobile phones becoming “de rigueur” in classrooms here at Garioch Academy.  Ironically, the children of those same parents declared a day of celebration at the very thought of it.  Once again, I want to take great pains to reassure parents that it was our neighbouring Local Authority, Aberdeen City, which was considering the controversial proposal to provide all pupils with the latest handsets. 

Of course, here at Garioch, we have blazed something of a trail in the field of mobile technology supporting learning.  Many parents will recall our recent successful pilot of the “fone zone”, when for one week we suspended our usual policies in connection with such devices and positively encouraged pupils to access their phones in class.  Cynics will focus on the minority who engaged their peers in a bit of harmless joshing and banter – or ‘cyber-bullying’ as the police report and subsequent expose in the local press referred to it – but I ask you, shouldn’t every child with poor personal hygiene be made aware of the fact?  And is there a good way to find out? In education, we must always be looking to the future, and being made the subject of a co-ordinated Internet hate campaign is so much more 21^st Century than having the words “Dwayne Anderson smells” daubed on a bike-shed wall.

At Garioch, we prefer to focus on positives.  The “fone zone” provided yet another vehicle for our pupils to demonstrate their ingenuity, creativity and IT skills.  Several Wikipedia pages were barely recognisable once our talented young people had finished with them.  Who’d have thought that “Gangham Style” was the national anthemn of South Korea, that the winner of this year’s Oscar for Best Picture Oscar was ‘Fast and Furious Six’ and that the world’s tallest building was Alex Salmond’s pantry?  And by the end of the week MI5, The Pentagon, and the Chinese Government have all been in touch to say how interested they were in the work being done here.

But perhaps the most encouraging outcome of the “fone zone” was in its impact on academic achievement.  It seems that simply by giving our young people the opportunity to use their smartphones in class as they do in every day life we were able to raise self-confidence levels and remove much of the performance-related stress which so often impedes our pupils from realising their full potential. The upswing in results has been truly remarkable. During the experiment pupils not only aced the Geography test on capital cities, but also produced English Literature essay work that had all the hallmarks of being written by students at University level, and even managed a faultless performance in a classical music listening challenge.  As the pupils say when triumphant – Shazaam! 

STRUAN METCALFE, MSP for Aberdeenshire North and surrounding Nether regions

It is with deep regret – and as the result of a special request from Super Dave  – that I must most humbly apologise for my most recent foray into the fraught world of social media, a medium I am afraid to say I am still getting “my arms around” (to use the middle-management vernacular to which I have become all too accustomed). So, what was my bally old slip up this time?

Well, in the words of the Tory Whip – to err once, Struan, is human. To err twice, so spectacularly, is illegal. And he was correct. It turns out the High Court have interpreted my latest tweet as being of a libellous nature, a contempt of court and, I shouldn’t wonder a contravention of the European Convention on Human Rights. For that reason the message in question has been redacted to protect the guilty.

I apologise unreservedly for the following Tweet which was sent by “someone” from my smartphone:

“So, why is the name **** **** trending? And featuring on airport security watch lists and the next edition of Crimewatch? It must be because he’s got a temper like raging bull and a left hook to match! *innocent face”.

So, to avoid an out of court settlement so hefty that it would involve me selling off not just the family silver but also my youngest son (Struan III) there is absolutely no truth in the rumour that I was referring to recently and repeatedly disgraced MP Eric Joyce who is something of a pugilist and banned from all the bars in Westminster. “*innocent face*”

But my heart goes out to Eric. He gets a terrible press, just because of all those previous occasions on which he has been charged with crimes of violence. And that one time when he plead guilty, of course. But which of us, when faced with the petty bureaucracy of airport so called ‘security’ can honestly say that we have not shouted, sworn and resisted the police who’ve been called to attend? I know I have.  I was at Dyce last week when they had that power cut, by which time I was the wrong side of five stiff G&T’s and let me tell you it was carnage in the Executive lounge. Jolly good job for me it was too dark for anyone to recognise the old Metcalfe fizzog!

Some say Eric is no longer suitable to represent the people of Falkirk. Well, to them I say ‘You’ve obviously never been to Falkirk’.

Poor old Nigel Farage; imagine being made to feel unwelcome in the country you think of as home.

LORD COSMO LUDOVIK FAWKES-HUNTE, 13^th Earl of Kinmuck

I am not afraid to tell you that the bullying and ballyhoo that surrounded Nigel Farage’s trip to Edinburgh made me feel ashamed to be Scottish.

I’m far from being Farage’s greatest fan.  His politics are too liberal for my tastes (he still clings to the redundant notion of votes for women and the lower orders).  He went to a rather suspect second-tier public school and worked in the City for some time.  So he’s trade, essentially. Furthermore he has tainted his bloodline by marrying into Prussian stock.  Lastly there’s the name. Nothing wrong with ‘Nigel’ of course, but his surname is a portmanteau of ‘mirage’ and ‘farrago’ and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover that the man is at least partly French. Which certainly ought to be enough to disqualify someone from public office, although sadly isn’t, anymore. It’s political correctness gone mad.

But despite all that I still see something in the man that I like.  No politician who smokes, drinks and annoys Alex Salmond can be all bad.  And in some of his pronouncements I see at least a measure of the stout common sense that is needed to make Britain great again.  He isn’t yet talking about abolishing the minimum wage, re-introducing the workhouse and providing border guards with machine guns, but one is not without hope.  That said, irrespective of whether you like the cut of the man’s jib or not, answer me this: what is the world coming to when a fellow can’t attempt to put across a simple message of xenophobic isolationism without being shouted down by isolationist xenophobes? When will the nasty, bullying left realise that threats of violence and crude attempts to silence their opponents achieve nothing?  If it was down to me, I’d parcel-tape their filthy mouths shut and stick their placards where the sun don’t shine.

‘CAVA’ KENNY CORDINER, the football pundit who goes in studs up

It has been another truculent week in the crazy world of football. But even an old hat like me sat up and took notice when David Beckham announced he will shortly be bending it like himself for the last time.

I only met Beckham the once.  He was part of a Man United squad that Fergie took to the late Teddy Scott’s testimonial in 1998. He was at the height of his Manchester fame, and I had got into the hostility suite through the dodgy fire door at the Dick Donald stand but we hit it off because we had so much in common.  If you compare Becks’s and my careers, you can draw lots of parables between us. You could say I was the original Goldengirls.  And a lot of people did.

He played for some of the biggest clubs in the world – Man U, Madrid, LA, Milan and Paris.  I played forbig clubs too, like Longside and Formartine. Sadly though, it wasn’t all success for Becks.  Like me, he had a tendency to get himself into hot weather with referees.  Who can forget his red card at the 1998 World Cup when he aimed a little kick at Argumentative player Diego Simeone.  The English media was not happy that their team got knocked out and they made Beckham the escaped goat.

But the similes don’t end there.  His career took off when he scored that wonder goal from the halfway line.  I used to get took off when I halfed someone on the touchline.  He has Victoria Posh, his glamorous pop star wife and I has the lovely Melody, who once filled in for Diana Speed doing continuity on Grampian TV.  He posed in his undies in that advert for Armani  whilst me and Joey Harper once posed in our dookers for McKay’s of Queen Street.  What a booking that was, as well as our fee, old man McKay gave us the swimming trunks to keep. Well, that budgie smugglers was a bit on the nippit side, especially for King Joey, so I’m not sure he’d have been able to re-sell them anyway. There is still a pair of that trunks in the shop window – right next to the corduroy dungarees and the luminous green hard hat.

But the one thing Becks has been really famous for is his different hairstyles.  He’s had skinheads, cornrows, lassie’s hair and even, when he was younger, a mock-chop.  Thousands of men tried to copy his looks.  Well, when it comes to personal grooming old Kenny is no stranger to blazing a trial.  In the 1970’s I was the first footballer to go for the often-copied combination of bubble perm and Zapata moustache. In fact, that look was known as the ‘Full Cordiner” and it fairly got a recreation from the fans. When I was playing never a game went by without someone shouting from the terraces “Good grief, look at that full Cordiner’!

Aberdeen 2 – 1 Real Madrid

Those of you who have seen the Dons play this Century may need to read that scoreline again.

There’s only been one story this week – the elections in Pakistan.Just kidding. Sir Alex Ferguson’s retirement and the 30^th anniversary of the Reds’ greatest triumph have provided a perfect storm of Dons’ nostalgia.  We asked some of our regular contributors to enjoy a wallow

‘CAVA’ KENNY CORDINER, the football pundit who goes in feet first

It’s the end of an earring.  After 26 years in the Old Trafford hotpoint, my old gaffer Fergie has finally decided to hang up his hairdryer.  There has been a tonne of tributaries to the great man from all across the world of football, but nobody has asked for mines, so here’s it:

I’ve wrote before about my decision to leave Pittodrie shortly after Sir Alex became gaffer, so as he would not feel overshadowed by my aurora in the dressing room, but before I moved on I did experience his man-managering at first foot. But I never seen him give no one in the Aberdeen dressing room the hairdryer treatment. In them days he just used to shout at you.

He was a great at tictacs and many’s the game he changed with a clever subbuteo.  John Hewitt famously got cried “Super Sub” after his habit of coming off the bench and changing the match.  Before him, I was Fergie’s leading bench warmer.  He only put me on once though, which is a sign of how much he valued me.  We was 1-0 up against Morton, and the Gaffer looks at me and says, he says “Kenny, their playmaker’s getting too much time on the ball, let him know he’s in a game” I went on that pitch, full of running, and I went up to that boy and says to him, I says “You’re in a game, sunshine”.  I looked back at Fergie and nodded.  His face was bright red and his chuddie was going mental.  10 seconds later I went in late on that boy and hoovered him straight up in the air. Straight red card, diabolical. But the Gaffer was always looking out for his players, and the next week, when I headed off to sign for Hibs, he says to me, he says “So long Kenny, and don’t let the door hit your backside on the way out”.

View from the midden – rural affairs with JOCK ALEXANDER

It’s been a momentous wik in the village. We’ve said fareweel tae a man who has been a loyal servant through thick and thin, and although some might say he would cause a bit o’ a stink fan things were nae gan weel, nevertheless he remains a legend who shall niver be equalled. At’s richt, Sandy Mutch the septic tank desludging mannie has jist retired. ‘Clarty Sandy’, as he is fondly kent, worked 42 year, man and boy, fae his wee hoose at the edge of the village with the broon mist permanently hinging aboot it. But he’s giving it up at last, saying he feels he his lost his passion for effluent, his enthusiasm, and indeed, his sense o’ smell.  But as weel as him, I wiz also shocked tae hear that Fergie is tae retire. I can still mind the happy day fan he wiz guest of honour and referee at oor village fitba match. It wis the Fairmers’ League decider atween Wartle Wanderers and Athletico Lumgair. Fergie made quite an impression. Though it wis a surprise fan he turned up weering a frock, insited on us crying him ‘your Highness’, and burst intae tears fan a goal-line clearance caught him on the back of his unexpectedly ginger heed. We will nae see his like again.

DAVIE ANNAND, Chairman of the Seaton branch of the Dons Supporters Club

The Gothenburg Glory! I was there, fit an atmosphere! It sterted on the ferry over and fit a trip that was. There were four hunner of us on there singin wir heirts oot, and not a single lightbulb broken. I’ll grant ye we did destroy every stick of furniture on the boat, but nae bulbs. Weel, we couldna reach them. And then there wiz the game itsel, athin aboot it was perfect. They even laid on some lashing rain so’s we’d feel at hame. I liket Gothenburg fine. Rare toon, clean and tidy, reassuringly caul and dreich. And of course there wiz the ladies of Gothenburg! And their crashing right hooks. Fit a bosker of a punch, and all because of a misunderstanding aboot language. I says “Aye aye Svenga, fancy a game o’ hide the mealie pudding?” Weel, I didna think she’d spik Doric.

JIMMY HOLLYWOOD – Woodside’s most eligible batchelor

It hiz been an emotional wik. So emotional, I hiv been moved tae write a pome. This kind of creativity normally only happens on Valentine’s Day, Mithers’ Day or fan I am trying tae convince a bit of stuff tae stay ower at Jimmy’s love palace (aka Ma Holywood’s hoose). Onywye, here goes:

You twice took oor team intae Europe

In Gothenburg, we were sublime.

Then you went aff doon Sooth

Wi’ a hell o’ a drouth

That reed nose says you loves a red wine.

Fit a team, Strachan, Miller & Hewitt…

Heroes all, they stood out fae the crowd

Open top, through the toon

Ivery man, ivery loon

Cheered and felt, just for once, very pwoud

Though at Man U you managed real champions

Your return is my solitary wish

To Pittodrie, please haste

Once your hip is replaced

‘Cause for 26 years we’ve been pitiful

‘Give my regards to Broad Street’

This week, Some of our regular contributors stick in their tuppence worth on the Marischal Square proposals.

PROFESSOR HECTOR SCHLENK, Senior Research Fellow at the Bogton Institute

As a man of science, I am a fervent proponent of efficiency in all things. That is why I believe that the pedestrianisation of Broad street is a master stroke. Think how much valuable decision-making time our City Fathers will save when nipping across to Markies for a sandwich now that they wont have to wait for the green man! I understand we have ‘Muse’ to thank for these plans. Amazing to think that not content with designing big shiny buildings they are also Britain’s foremost twiddly rock group (I’m a great fan of their ‘Supermassive Black Hole’).

TIM BEE, the conscientious objector

The latest planning ‘farrago’ emanating from the Town House has left me speechless, dumb-founded and lost for words. So much so, I felt compelled to write this complaint: Our civic leaders suggest that Marischal Square – which is to include offices, an hotel and retail units – will create a “24-hour economy”. Well I object to that. Cities with 24-hour economies are rife with sin (binge-drinking, lewd displays, gambling, ‘fun’). Look at Las Vegas, Amsterdam or Peterhead. I strongly object to re-developing an area of our city centre simply to transform it into a den of iniquity. That’s why we have the harbour.

ARCHIE FRASER, gentleman of the road

I have more to lose than most by the re-development of St Nicholas house. Thanks to a loose bit of boarded-up window I’ve recently been kipping in what used to be, ironically, the office of the head of the Housing Department.  Nonetheless, I’m firmly of the view that the council has come up trumps. The proposed ‘Secret Garden’ will be the ideal place to surreptitiously contravene the by-laws against drinking in public, and will also provide a botanically intriguing selection of bushes in which one may secrete two litres of White Lightening, or, if the mood prevails, pass out. The variety of retail units, offices, hotel and gym facilities will provide a plethora of exciting new doorways in which to sleep. I only hope I can come through the 3 more winters until it’s finished.

STRUAN METCALF, MSP for Aberdeenshire North (and Surrounding Nether Regions)

Once again, I really ought to apologise for the latest errant tweet wherein I called into question the capabilities of Aberdeen’s Civic leaders. In my defence, I had been accidentally whisked along on an ill-advised all-day bender with some strapping lads from the Ellon rugger team. Oosh! I’m pretty sure it was Bertie, the tight-head -prop from Barthol Chapel who put me in a friendly head-lock, got hold of my Android and tweeted the following in my name: “To let – massive carbuncle in East Aberdeen. Tenant must have GSOH. 10 storeys of stunning views of councillors asleep at their desks”

TANYA SOUTAR, local lifestyle guru

I da ken fit all the fuss is aboot.  Abody kens fit’ll happen.  They’ll pit up some bonnie buildings, a nice hotel and some smairt shops. Abody will ging there for aboot twa years, then something else will open up and the new St Nicholas Hoose thingie will jist hae pound shops, pawnbrokers and bookies. It’ll be deserted except for Eastern European beggars and single mithers with bairns using their prams tae shoplift.  Just like Union Street.  Still, a change of scene suits me fine, noo that all the security guards in the Bon Accord Centre ken my face!

DAVINIA SMYTHE-BARRAT, ordinary mum

I’ve read just about enough of the proposed corporate monstrosity opposite Marischal College –  another hymn to the Multi-nationals, rendered in concrete and glass. When will our Civic leaders be bold and opt for something that speaks to we ordinary people?  How can we realistically bid for City of Culture in 2017 when we lack such basic essentials as a Kabbalah Centre, shiatsu massage clinic or Nespresso boutique?  The space left vacant by St Nicholas House would easily accommodate all of that plus a branch of Christian Louboutin or Balenciaga.  But I fear we ordinary folk shall forever remain the silent majority.

RON CLUNY, Council Spokesman

You realise, when you enter into the bear-pit that is local politics, that you will face opposition.  You learn to accept it.  Sometimes, you thrive on it.  Local government is no place for the faint-hearted or the thin-skinned.  But today, I am shocked and disappointed.  I am shocked that this Council’s bold and innovative vision for the replacement of the much-maligned St Nicholas House has prompted such derision; and disappointed at the response to its innovative funding scheme.  Our critics contend that by letting the developers initially share rental revenues before full ownership reverts to us after 35 years we have given them a risk-free premium while saddling ourselves with a white elephant right at the time when it will be coming to the end of its useful life.  It is disappointing to see such cynicism; disappointing that they take us for fools; and most of all, it is bitterly disappointing that nobody pointed this out before we signed the bloody contract.

Many leading figures in the Government went to the same school. Is that why we’re in such an Eton Mess?

LORD COSMO LUDOVIK FAWKES-HUNTE, 13th Earl of Kinmuck

This week Jesse Norman MP has been hauled over the coals for defending the fact that one public school has produced the majority of the British cabinet.  The poor chap is speaking the unvarnished truth.  As an old Etonian, I should know.

My road to Eton was a circuitous one. My father’s elder brother, Archibald, was due to inherit the Earldom, but he died very suddenly in a shooting accident.  It was a grievous loss for the family, because my Grandpa, Wellington Fawkes-Hunte, the 11th Earl, was on his deathbed at the time.  The family had gathered to support him, and – Gramps having thoughtfully timed his illness for the Glorious Twelfth – my father and Archie had gone out onto the moors to bag some grouse when it happened. 

My father did not have long to wait before becoming the Earl: Gramps passed away the next day.  Poor Papa, what a 24 hours: he had been alone with Gramps when he went, too.  With my father now the 12th Earl, I became heir presumptive, and family tradition demanded that, suitable enough as Gordonstoun had been for a minor scion of the family, it was way below my standing now. There is no doubt in my mind that Eton made me the man I am today.  Public-spirited (I employ over 50 people, many of whom come close to earning the minimum wage); indifferent to notions of class distinction (two of my younger mistresses attended the local Comp) and a leader of men at all times – apart from when I’m on the moors, where I am sure to keep all men with loaded guns in front of me, where I can see them.  Floreat Etona!  Whatever that means; I wasn’t dreadfully good at Greek.

J FERGUS LAMONT, Arts critic and author of ‘Knowledge is Power -The Top Club Story’

It was with the heaviest possible heart that I received the news this week of the dissolution of the pre-eminent musical group of the modern age. Few of you will have heard of them, their four studio albums and twelve singles having received little, if any promotion, but the cultural significance of ‘JLS’ cannot be overstated. They must be regarded as the most important musicians since Stockhausen, and I include in that assessment the transcendent ‘Singing Kettle’.

Theirs is a body of work that other artistes can only look upon in awe. Could John Lennon have crafted a song with the subtlety of  ‘She Makes Me Wanna’? Could Bob Dylan at his most politically astute have penned a pop polemic to match the post-feminist credentials of  ‘Hottest Girl In The World’?  Could Mozart himself have written a chord progression as mellifluous to the ear as the bit going into the chorus of ‘Everybody In Love’?  I doubt it.

Marvin, Ashton, Oritse and the Other One will leave a gnawing void in the cultural landscape, the only solace coming from their forthcoming final single, a retrospective Greatest Hits album and intimate and poignant arena tour. Needless to say, I’ll always remember exactly where I was when I heard of the collective’s exit from this musical mortal coil. I was in a gent’s lavatory in the Bon Accord Centre, leafing through a discarded copy of that redoubtable cultural journal, the Daily Record, when I caught sight of the dreadful revelation in the ‘Razz’ section. So distraught was I that my wails of grief rent the air and caused someone, (no doubt equally affected and struggling, like Gertrude in Hamlet, to contain their own emotions), to request my removal from the premises.  Some burly men assisted in this endeavor, rather heavy-handedly, I thought. ‘Beat Again!’ I cried, in the manner of my heroes’ debut Number One. And they did.

I wept.

‘CAVA’ KENNY CORDINER, the football pundit who goes in studs up

Anyone who knows old Kenny knows that I is no stranger to distillery matters.  In my playng days I had more than my fair share of run-ins with the powders that be – but I’ve never seen nothing like the 10 match ban what Luis Suarez got for biting that other boy.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not condoling violence on the football field.  Obviously, biting your opponents is not acceptable, especially with teeth the size of Suarez.  He could eat an apple through a tennis racket. But I do think it looks a bit like the FA has got it in for the fiery Ugandan.  I know how he feels.  A lot of refs treated me harshly on the pitch, and I got stitched up by the men in suites too.  One time I was in front of the panel and they says to me, they says “Kenny, you halfed Sunnybank’s winger with a late challenge.  Do you have anything to say in your defence?”  So I says to them, I says “Late?  How can you say it was late? I caught him, didn’t I?!”  They never seen the funny side and gave me a 5 game ban.  Still, I was back playing quicker than that Sunnybank winger was.

Sandstorms hit Aberdeenshire! Perfect conditions for Lawrence of Kemnay.

PROFFESOR HECTOR SCHLENK, Senior Research Fellow at the Bogton Institute

As a scientist, I am frequently asked questions about what constitutes a meteorological phenomenon.  “Ah yes”, I reply.  “The question is: Weather, or not?”  And then I laugh, uproariously.  For quite some time.  Rather longer than some people feel comfortable with, in fact. But such phenomena have been the source of many fascinating questions in a week when Aberdeenshire has experienced sandstorms, so shortly after extreme wintery conditions. “Just imagine” I thought to myself, while soaking in the tub “how handy it would have been if the blizzards and the sandstorms had happened at the same time!”  And then I realised what I had chanced upon: the self-gritting snowstorm!  “Eureka!”, I cried, as I erupted from my bath and ran naked down the hall to jot the thought down – just as my landlady came up the stair to ask why bath water was leaking into the lounge below, significantly impairing her enjoyment of ‘The Cube‘.

This leads me to what has become the most pressing question of all – does anyone have a spare room to let, preferably with an en-suite bathroom? My landlady has cancelled my lease. 

View from the Midden – rural affairs with JOCK ALEXANDER

It’s been a hairt-braking wik in the village and I hiv been moved tae tears. My central heating’s on the blink and the carbon dioxide is making my een watter, but I hiv been deeply affected by the big news story of the last siven days, which wiz, of course, the tug o’ love atween a Strachan fermer and an animal sanctuary over custody of the tiny wee lamb fit was lost, presumed washed awa by the Water o’ Feugh. ‘River’, they’d cried it. Rather an insensitive moniker that, if you ask me. If I’d near droont in a raging torrent I dinna think I’d wint tae be minded on’t the hale time. They should’ve cried him Banksy. But michty, it’s jist lik Kramer versus Kramer, if Dustin Hoffman wiz a fermer, Meryl Streep wiz an animal recue centre, and their wee loon hid been a sheep. It fair minds me on fan Feel Moira’s goat, Shatner, escaped fae her bothy and took up residence in Skittery Willie’s front gairden. Weel, he didna wint it molloching aboot his hollyhocks and, ill-natered craiter that it wis, she didna wint it back. Their ‘tug of hate’ only ended fan I interceded with diplomacy, chappit tatties and a whisky sauce. Fit fine. Cheerio!

RON CLUNY, Official Council Spokesman

We have been accused, by Trade Union officials, of engaging in bullying tactics in an on-going pay dispute.  This lazy and emotive rhetoric says less about the Council than it does about those who stand against us.   Let us be clear.  “Bullying” is a terrible thing: ask any of us who were constantly tormented during what should have been the happiest days of our lives.  I still remember the fear and shame of being affixed to the science block’s down-pipe by my school tie; and the burning sense of injustice from getting a detention after the whole class colluded to blame me for drawing a priapic figure on the Mannie Weir’s blackboard.  These are experiences from which one does not emerge unchanged. In this dispute, we are not “bullying”. We have simply pointed out that we are the bosses; and if the employees don’t accept the cuts we are imposing, they can lump it.  This is no more than responsible fiscal governance.  And if anyone says otherwise, me and the boys from finance will give them a dead arm and flush their head down the chunty.

 ‘CAVA’ KENNY CORDINER, the sports columnist who packs a punch!

My old club AFC have taken the decision to golfball the upper deck of the Dick Donald Stand next season.  They says they’re wanting a better atmosphere at Pittodrie so they’re going to get all the fans into a smaller space so they can make more noise.  If you want my opinion they is parking up the wrong tree.  Will slightly louder sweetie paper rustling make any difference to the atmosphere?  Back when I was a Don the crowd was magic.  They was singing and chanting and clapping all the time.  “Get Cordiner aff!” they would shout “He’s mince!”. You couldnt beat the banter. These days it’s all groaning and sighing.  The board need to give the fans something to cheer about on the pitch rather than herd them into pens like sheep.  The lovely Melody says to me, she says “They should rename Pittodrie ‘The Moon’ cos there’s no atmosphere there either!” I never knew they played football on the Moon, so I don’t know what she was talking about but everyone else was laughing so I put it in my column.

I see Olympic bicyclist Sir Chris Hoy has decided to hang up his helmet.  It is sad that we won’t see Sir Chris whizzing round the Velcrodome anymore but I bet he’s glad he gets to stop wearing them lycra shorts!  I tried them in a game once after my old pal “Champagne” Charlie Nicholas wore them when he was playing for the Dandies.  They was not comfy. Two minutes in, when I halfed their striker, the ref showed me a yellow and he says to me, he says “shocking tackle, Kenny”.  That shorts was tight, right enough.