Meet the people who make the north and north-east what it is today… In our weekly column in the Press & Journal, we’ll be bringing you a host of characters chuntering on about what matters most to them. Updated every Monday.

This week’s column is here.

The archive of previous ones is here.

We were deeply saddened by the recent death of Scotland the What’s Steve Robertson.  Steve had been an enormous influence on us; both as a writer and performer we  greatly admired, and also as a very kind and supportive friend.  Greg Gordon writes, in tribute, on behalf of us all.

STW? were (and are) a huge influence on me.  One of the strongest memories of my childhood is of listening to their records over and over again; listening to the words of the sketches, obviously, but listening too to the laugh, that joyful, addictive sound that would rise up, peak and then, just as it was abating, suddenly peak again.  I used to sit and wonder what expression or piece of onstage business had caused the laugh to rise again? And (as I imagined form the records, and subsequently saw in the flesh at His Majesty’s Theatre) Steve really could work a laugh, taking it to new heights with a word or a gesture, riding it to the maximum extent of the audience’s enjoyment and then coming back in again with the next line at just the right time.

I grew up speaking Doric (or at least “Doric-lite”) at home, but not outside it.  The idea that the language of my parents and grandparents was something to cherish and celebrate in writing might never have occurred to me without Steve, Buff and George. The idea that they might hear something I had written and actually find it worth listening to was beyond all imagining; but as loyal supporters of the Student Show which spawned them, they did hear my material (and that of many other writers besides) and were scrupulous in seeking us out.  I first met Steve in 1994 in the Stalls Bar of his Majesty’s Theatre when I was one of a group of writers ushered towards him after he had offered his congratulations to the performers and then asked “But who wrote this? Who wrote it? The writers are always forgotten.”  I was fortunate enough to meet him many more times besides, usually after a Student Show or a Flying Pig production. “Never meet your heroes” be damned, he was an absolute gent, always unstinting with his encouragement. There could be the occasional criticism, too: he had an intense dislike of vulgarity in comedy and would soon tell you if he thought you had cheapened yourself (“You don’t need it, you don’t need it.”) But it was always with the best of intentions, and with the knowledge that times were changing: what was right for him was not necessarily right for the whole audience.  His views were offered not forcefully, but for whatever they were worth; usually, a great deal.

One evening I will cherish is the night I fell in with him on the way up the road from a Society of Advocates in Aberdeen dinner. At the time, he had a house in the country and an Aberdeen flat in Sillerton House, the former boarding house of Robert Gordon’s College.  Steve was not a Gordons Boy but an alumnus of Aberdeen Grammar School, and the idea of having a toe-hold in the territory of the “enemy” tickled him.  It was he who was responsible for hanging picturesque views of the Grammar School in the communal parts of the building.  He invited me in for a dram, which turned into several, and we blethered into the early hours. Steve’s main theme was how fortunate he had been: to be a solicitor at a period of time when a man of moderate talent could be successful (he was far too modest); to find such gifted friends and collaborators as Buff and George; to have received the rave review at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe that had brought them such acclaim; and to have such a wonderful wife and family. But then, we were all very fortunate to have known such a good, kind and encouraging man, and to have enjoyed (and still to have to enjoy) the body of work that he leaves for us.

He was a great performer, a great writer and a great man. He will be sorely missed.

Listen very carefully, I shall say this only eence – Aberdeen’s Flying Pigs delivered laughs in spades during their latest Doric comedy offering, Silence of the Bams.

Fit iver ye dae ower the next dizen days, mak sure ye ging tae His Majesty’s Theatre and tak’ in een o’ their shows and ye’ll nae be dissapinted.

The four piece Buckie Drifters provided a strong opening to the show led by Craig Pike. This is quickly followed by the exasperated Mr Duguid, brilliantly portrayed by Greg Gordon, who try as he might could not get anyone at the end of a phone to pronounce his name correctly.

No Flying Pigs show would be complete without the banter between favourite skiving workers Archie and Davie as they put the world to rights. And who needs Elton John when Hilton John is on our doorstep extolling the virtues o’ Rubislaw Den far ye can bide in a hoose that has a lavvie wi’ a door?

Craig Pike excelled himself as Faither, dreading the arrival of nightmare couple and pair o’grips Selma and Eddie who arrived complete with a bottle of tattie brandy.

The Mieklewartle Television sketch featured farming characters Jock and Jim waxing lyrical about their state of the art tractor which runs on North-East sharn is an absolute must for any Flying Pigs’ show – as was the Doric skit revealing the truth behind those lonely hearts columns.

Steve Rance’s hilarious parody on Union Terrace Gardens was superb and really struck a nerve with the audience, while John Hardie excelled as new character The Lurker who happens to be very choosy about who he approaches in men’s toilets.

The air stewards sketch featuring Greg, this time joined by Moray Barber, had everyone in stitches as the retired trawlermen talked everyone through the Doric version of the safety drill – advising everyone to keep their own set of teeth as they would come in handy for identification purposes later on.

Well done Flying Pigs and their superb back-up team of talented writers for another gem of a show.

Evening Express 11/10/2011

‘A…gem of a show’ – Evening Express

‘Another hilarious romp’ – The List

We were back at His Majesty’s Theatre Aberdeen with a new live show from October 12th to 22nd.

We enjoyed it fine, as did several thousand ither folk, thank god.

The HMT website allows theatre goers to post their own reviews of the shows they’ve seen, and that’s where, if you click on ‘reviews’  you’ll find these kind words left by satisfied punters.

More info about the show coming soon, meanwhile there are some details about our preparations, and some rehearsal photos here, a preview piece in the P&J here and the full text of the Evening Express review here (they liked it).

Previous show: How to Look Good Glaikit – 2009

Our new 2011 stage show had it’s premier at an oot ‘o toon preview on Sunday the 11th of September at the Townhall, Inverurie.

We performed ‘The Silence of the Bams’ for the first time, a month before the start of our two week run at HMT, Aberdeen, with all profits from the performance going to the Friends of Insch Hospital & Community.

The Friends were established in 1988 to promote, provide or assist by voluntary and financial means anything which improves the standard and quality of care or environment of patients of Insch Hospital, Community and Health Centre; supplementing the service provided by Grampian NHS Trust.

The big project today is to raise funds to build a Health Hub immediately in front of the present War Memorial Hospital. This will assure the continuation of the services available at present, and add further services to benefit patients in the future.

It’s a great local cause, and the Friends are an extremely able and dedicated group. We’re very pleased to have been able to assist, and it was great to see that the show was sold out.

In fact, we were told that it was ‘mair than sold oot’, which was great for the charity, but less so for the fire safety officer.

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Day One: Monday, 05 April

Filming begins; 15 of the finest film and TV technicians in the country, and us. What must they be thinking? We’re off to a cracking start at 7 am on a gye mauchie day in Inverurie with Susan, Craig and Elaine up first in the shop. First item is in the can by 10:30 and the crew seems pretty happy with what they’ve got. The TV incarnation of Susan’s character ‘Donna’ looks uncannily like Amy Winehouse. Later action has Greg wrestling the Mitchell’s dairy coo across the High street, to the bemusement of passersby. We spent the remainder of the day pretending to be primary school children. Lots of laughs as we get to know the crew, many of whom are fresh from filming the latest series of ‘Taggart’ including Karen (make-up designer, mutilations and cadavers a specialty) for whom Greg’s grazed knee for ‘Mrs. Valentine’ does not present too big a challenge.

Quote of the Day: Faye (1st Asst Dir)

‘…Cut! Can we reset Steven’s bottom, please?’

Day Two: Tuesday, 06 April

On location in Old Aberdeen, another 7:00 am call for Greg and Susan. Shooting schedule is knocked for six when a great muckle removals van arrives at the location an hour early. Out on to the High Street for Robbie Shepherd’s ‘Fit Ye Sayin’ Til’t?’. Only gaggles of cagouled tourists, the surprisingly frequent number 20 bus and traditional Aiberdeen pishing rain to contend with there. 3 more items in the can, and we break for lunch. Great soup courtesy of ‘The Inn at The Park’ (Other hotels are available, but we can’t guarantee the quality of their soup). In the afternoon Elaine takes over from Susan in the Caledonia Bank call centre, John gets some tattoos and Greg gets his chest shaved in preparation for the ‘Personal Trainer’ sketch, much to Susan’s barely concealed delight.

Quote of the day: Eleanor (Director)

“Can I get the art department to confirm the position of Greg’s    electrodes, please?”

Day Three: Wednesday, 07 April

We’re doon on Doonie’s Fairm for Mtv (Meiklewartle Television) and the ‘Haud ‘is’ video shoot for their biggest hit, ‘Auchnagatt For Good’.
Today’s guest star was McGinty the Ram, the James Earl Jones of sheep, whose personal attributes drew the attention of Eleanor, our director (a close second for quote of the day: “Ivan, make sure you get his danglers!”). Then Susan gave the Haud ‘is boys the nasal equivalent of colonic irrigation as they expressed their love of rural Aberdeenshire through the medium of interpretive dance. All that remains is for Karen (Make Up Designer) to apply Greg’s Willie Miller moustache at lightening speed before Mr Duguid is ready for his close up.

Quote of the day: Joy (Costume Asst)

“You are to be congratulated on your turds.”

Emer (Prod Designer)

“Thank you. I made them last night, in my bedroom.”

Day Four: Thursday, 08 April

A hairy kind of a day today, starting with Greg’s aural and olfactory orifices and Elaine’s decollage. Karen (Make Up Designer) and Lynne (Wardrobe Mistress) brilliantly turn everyone into their own parents for Eddie’s Woes, but the morning shoot over runs, and the price is paid at the end of the day when we run out of time, light and Craig when filming The Liar. It would be a pity if Susan had been shot repeatedly with ping-pong balls for no good reason. Hero of the day is Moray, whose painstaking efforts to strain soup and barbecue sauce through his RAF moustache proved, ultimately, futile. An honourable mention goes to Jim (props master) who squeezes his size 10s into Maurice’s size 8 golf shoes for the filming of the golf shots, undaunted by the fact that he’s the only person on set (or, possibly, earth) with less golfing experience than John.

Quote of the day: Faye (1st Asst Dir)

“Now we need the close up on Elaine, licking the biscuit. Thank you.”

Day Five: Friday, 09 April

Back in Old Aberdeen today for Man’s Man, which requires the Machar Bar to be set dressed to make it look ‘more like a pub.’ Archie and Davie and Bob Spence; plus a couple of quickies and a great load of little wee fickery bitties. Happily, last night ended well with Jim (props-master) completing all the golf shots in one take, thanks to the tactical masterstroke of deploying ‘beginner’s luck’. The end is in sight; just one last push… and we’re wrapped!

Quote of the day: Faye (1st Asst Dir)

“Eleanor, you are now asking for jam”.

Listen to our audio clips here and see our video clips here.

Find more stuff to listen to on the History pages, where we’ve included one or two sketches from each of our stage shows going all the way back to our first ever production.

If you want to hear more, you can get a CD from our Shoppie.

The May 3rd council elections. Your chance to have your say on local government….and a nosey round a primary school

This week’s local elections invove a record number of candidates standing as independents. We provide some of them with an opportunity to get their message across:

DODDIE ESSLEMONT, Radical Independence Campaigner, asks for your vote

In stark contradistinction to the small-beer, cheap rent, vision of independence peddled by a certain well-fed First Minister ourt who I COULD mention but certainly won’t, I, ME, Doddie Esslemont of that ilk, offer you all the real deal.  Where others prpose a referendum on the breaking up of the Union, I actually promise to break up the Union, with a series of explosive charges along the line of Hadrian’s wall, down the Great Glen Fault, up the line of the A90, and along the garden wall that forms the boundary between myself and THAT BALLOON AT NUMBER 20.

No man is an island?  I beg to differ.

TANYA SOUTER, Lifestyle Guru, asks for your vote

I widnae say I’ve eyewiz fancied bein’ a politician – but I think I’ve got fit it takes tae mak a difference.  I’ve nae idea aboot yous, but I’m fed up seein’ wir female cooncillors lookin’ so frumpy!  Yer Jaeger suit might be knockin’ them deid in the planning committee, but yer nae going tae generate much interest in yer hustings if yer covering up yer main electoral assets. Da get me wrang, my grunny sweers by her twinset – but if she tried tae attract the young male vote dressed up like yon, she’d lose her deposit!  And the men are nae better. It’s a choice between baldie mannies in blazers and spotty loons in their first suit fae Slaters. Fit ivery elected chamber needs is a bittie Tanya Souter makeover mugic. So, if elected I’m gan tae bring some much needed glamour tae the cooncil, an’ I’ve got ma canvassin’ outfit back fae the dry cleaners.  I think thigh-high PVC boots, leopard-skin hot pants, an’ a spungly boob-tube will let everyone see fit Tanya his tae offer!

DAVINIA SMYTHE-BARRAT, Ordinary Mum, asks for your vote

I’m sure I’m not the only ordinary mum who has had enough of our ordinary issues being ignored by our local representatives.  Every single day I seethe with rage when dropping Fidel and Emmeline at school.  It’s a nightmare, and not at all safe. Who is responsible for these infernal zig-zag lines that stop me parking the X5 at the door?!  I’m forced to pull over on the only part of the road that doesnt have lines, the zebra crossing.

Obviously, as a lifelong supporter of the underprivileged both here and abroad (We sponsor a little boy in South Africa. It’s only a few pounds a month to us, but what a difference it makes to them. His name is Joost Van Der Beek. Not so little now, as it happens, he’s an engineering consultant.) I was all in favour, in principle, of last year’s public sector strike. It was clearly unjust that the government was forcing a unilateral variation of their terms and conditions of employment. But what they failed to consider is that Wednesday is our recycling day. Our utility room was packed for a fortnight with old copies of the Guardian, empty bottles of fair-trade Peruvian Malbec and Palestinian olive oil. I did consider putting it all into the stables, but Emms would have had an absolute meltdown!

Anyway, vote for Davinia – keeping it real.

JOCK ALEXANDER, Host of Mtv (Meikle Wartle Television) asks for your vote

If elected tae Aiberdeenshire Cooncil, I will dae my damnedest tae rid oor village of the scourge that is motorists, tourists and ither unwanted visitors fae the big city, or as we cry it, Inverurie. They jist get Ethel in the village shoppie a’ raivell’t fan they come in askin’ fer directions tae Auctherless. I propose diverting the funds currently being squandered on education, housing and enviromental services intae oor top-priority infrastructure project; movin’ Meikle Wartle 20 mile further inland. There’s a rare lookin’ blasted heath o’ a place at the fit o’ the Cairngorms fit wid be ideal

We shall also be seeking funding fae the private sector, by attracting the world’s top entripeneers. On that topic, I note Donald Trump has been complainin’ aboot bein’ lured tae Scotland under false pretences. I can confirm that the good folk o’ Meikle Wartle did consult wi him on the feasibility o’ bringing his Golf Course here, and yes, we did attempt tae lure him. Weel, it wiz Feel Moira hersel’ that did the actual lurin’, but I wiz ahin’ a dry-steen dyke, eggin’ her on. Unfotunately it didnae work, he showed nae interest in the raw meat she wis birlin’ aroon her heid. She’ll maybe hae better luck wi’ Richard Branson.

HELENA TORRY, The Union Terrace Gardens One, asks for your vote in her own, distinctive voice:

“   “

And finally, in the interests of political balance, here is a brief statement of the platform of each of the main parties standing in the election.

SNP  “Vote for us, it’s all the other lot’s fault”.

Labour  - “Vote for us, it’s been ages since it was our fault”

Liberal Democrat  - “You’re not going to vote for us, this time, are you? Can’t blame you really.”

Conservative  - “Vote for us, please? Someone? Anyone?”

The panda is an endangered species, but it’s not all black and white

“CAVA” KENNY CORDINER, the football pundit who kicks back!

What a weekend we have just had for sport. Grand National Day is always a favourite in the Cordiner household, as it’s the only time I can stick a bet on without the lovely Melody giving me the three degrees. Melody always has a punt too, and this year was no different. I sits for hours with the Racing Post, checking the form, the jockeys and the going and eventually picks Viking Blond. Melody looks at the paper and says, she says “I like’s Neptune Collognes cos he’s got a kind face”. I tells her “that’s no way to pick a winner!” but she never learns.

Speaking of picking a winner, I was caught between the devil and a hard place on Saturday when my old club, the Dons, graced the Hampden pitch in the Scottish Cup semi-final against another of my old stamping grounds, Hibs. I didn’t make it to the game myself. I had been waiting for the call from the BBC to be their neutral pundit, but it never come. No doubt my old clubs thought the same, because I never got no invite to go with neither of them neither.

Most readers will have fond memories of my extinguished Dons career, but I still sometimes get asked all the time why it was cut so short. Well, when Fergie arrived at Pittodrie, he was faced with a dressing room full of big personalities. Straight away I could tell he had the potential to do great things but he might feel intimidated by my presence and as long as I was at the club would remain something of a shrinking violin. So, to make sure that he went on to be one of the top gaffers in the history of the game, I put in a transfer request. Obviously this started a bidding war. Dumbarton, Clydebank and Hamilton Accies were all after my signature, but it was Hibs what I plumped for. I didn’t last long there though, because Melody got homesick. She never settled in Penicuik. It was a culture shock for her, I think. That and the smell. Hot Weetabix still makes her cowk. Still, I enjoyed my 3 appearances as substitute.

People ask if I have regrets but I’m glad I stood aside to let Fergie have his 35 years of 15 minutes of fame. I know he appreciates it too, because he once says in an interview about his Aberdeen days ‘The first thing I had to do was get shot of that idol Cordiner”. I seen Fergie at a dinner not long ago and thanked him for saying something so nice as that. ‘No problem, Kenny’ he says to me ’Even after all my years in football, you is still the idolest player I ever managed’.

What a gent.

 

PROFESSOR HECTOR SCHLENK, Senior Research Fellow at the Bogton Institute for Public Engagement with Science.

As a scientist, I’m always being asked questions such as ‘How did the universe begin?’ ‘Is time travel possible?’ and ‘Would you mind blowing into this bag, sir?’

But recently, a lot of people have been asking me about Pandas. ‘Well’, I say, ‘while I’m not an expert in that particular field, I understand that they are a form of musical-comedy theatrical production traditionally performed during the Christmas season’. And then we laugh. Albeit briefly.

The black and white bear native to South Western China has been in the news as we all waited with breath bated to see if the two currently shacked up at Edinburgh Zoo would get, as evolutionary biologists would say, ‘jiggy’. Alas, while clearly good friends, Yuang Guang and Tian Tian were unwilling to allow their relationship to get all complicated. Admirable restraint in a human; a game of extinction roulette for Pandas.

For while, with their big eyes and slovenly posture, they are extraordinarily anthropomorphic (a Giant Panda up close looks exactly like Boris Johnson in eye-liner) there is one enormous difference between them and us. We are the most successfully adapted life form on Earth; while they are what we scientists call, ‘rubbish’. Seriously, if it weren’t for our Herculean efforts they’d have gone the way of the Dodo yonks back, and while the erosion of their habitat is a big part of the problem, they’re not exactly doing anything to help matters.

The Darwinian model is often referred to as ‘survival of the fittest’. And so it probably helps to think of the Panda, in evolutionary terms, as Eric Pickles. This, after all, is a carnivorous bear that wilfully refuses to eat, not just meat, but anything at all apart from a particular strain of bamboo, which tastes terrible, but makes hard-wearing floor coverings. It can barely digest the stuff, and so has to spend 18 hours a day eating it to get up enough energy to sit still and look photogenic. It’s a wonder they ever have the energy for sex, and it’s nothing short of a miracle if that event coincides with the 36 hours a year when the female can conceive. That’s not a big window. In fact it’s not a window at all. It’s barely a cat flap.

In short, the future of the Panda is very much like St. Nicholas House. No matter how you approach it, it doesn’t look good.