P&J Column 10.8.17

Can you have a ‘right to be forgotten?’ Well, it seems to have worked for Barry from Eastenders.

Struan Metcalfe, MP for Turriff and East Speyside

Your tireless public servant is on his holibobs, enjoying some well deserved time away from Westminster and taking in the best of all that is Scotland in summer – the weather, the Festivals and, of course, the lingering undercurrent of seasonal disappointment.

But I like to keep up with what number 10 is planning ahead of our return to strong and stable government, and, by Gove, I was bally delighted to read that we’re considering the ‘Right to be Forgotten’ -new legislation which allows the Social-media-savvy more control over the data we post on-line.

This is completely brilliant because I have been known to get extra-pectoral on Bollinger then tweet like Trump on steroids. So the more of my internet footprint I can delete the day after the night before, the better.

My highly-qualified new researcher, Tiffany, tells me this legislation is aimed at helping young people not to ruin their whole lives by making an indelible on-line error of judgement; offering protection to, for example, teenagers who make the mistake of sending pictures of their unmentionables to their school-mates.

I just wish we’d had that when I was a Gordounstoun! I could have used a bit of protection the time I tried to use the Photography Club’s Polaroid One Step to make romantic overtures to head boy Tristam Ticklefeather in the gymnasium. It’s a tricky shot to get without a selfie–mode, and due to my contortions I fell off the vaulting horse and broke my clavicle. But it wasn’t at total wash-out. I won the school prize in photography for my still life ‘The Bruised Nectarine’.

J Fergus Lamont, arts correspondent and author of ‘Writing on the Wall – the Willie Young Story’

Aberdeen continues to be a mecca for the finest events. Glasgow may have held the tittle of European City of Culture, Edinburgh may play host to the largest celebration of the performing arts in the world and Dundee may have a branch of the V&A, but only Aberdeen can boast the Granite City Beard and Moustache Festival. How ground breaking, how inspired, to bring attention to the great artists whose facial hair was intrinsic to their work. I was very much looking forward to exploring the art of Salvador Dali, the theatre of George Bernard Shaw and the music of ZZ Top.

I myself have no beard, or moustache, or indeed much hair of any description save the few wisps atop my head, which I have been told give me the air of an octogenarian Art Garfunkel. But inclusiveness is all in the world of the arts, and so, I drew on a small, Chaplinesque moustache in felt tip, and let me tell you, my appearance attracted many wide eyed glances of admiration on the number 18 bus from Kincorth.

On arrival at Aberdeen’s fashionable Parkway Bar and Lounge, I was amazed to see upwards of 200 young people engaged in a far more hedonistic display than I had anticipated. There was quite a cacophony; so, in attempt to alert the organisers to my arrival I raised my arm aloft and shouted “Hi!” This worked well, as all eyes turned upon me and the room fell silent. Regrettably, it seems the event was oversubscribed as I was asked to leave immediately, and upon being marched to the door by one of stewards in a warm and welcoming headlock, I inadvertently got some of his beard unguent in my eyes.

I wept.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the sports pundit who sets his stall out early doors.

There is an famous saying that says, it says “a lightning bolt never strikes in the same place more than the one time”. I was looking forward to that theory getting disapproved on Saturday night when Usain “lightning” Bolt run in the 100m final. But he never run fast enough, and never won for the first time.

Contraverbially, the boy what won the race has a bit of a repudiation as a drugs cheat. Justin Gatlin was an unpopular winner and got a chorus of booze when he took the title.

Of course, old Kenny is no stranger to receiving a hostel welcome. Back when I was running the Brechin midfield I once got an undeserved red card against Montrose. After that, the crowd singled me out for rough treatment, I was jeered every time the ball come anywhere near me, and I don’t mind saying they made me feel like a total piranha. Needless to say, like the true professional what I am, I rised above the abuse and kept my cool for the full 90 minutes. Then, as the final whistle sounded, I coolly and calmly walked back towards the dressing room, louped the hoarding and clouted as many of the radges as I could get my hands on.

See us live at HMT in ‘Now That’s What I Call Methlick’ – 20 years of Flying Pig. June 2018

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