P&J Column 11.2.16


A sliced backhand lob – and the nappy’s in the bin

Shelley Shingles, showbiz correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1983

Oh. My. Actual. G! There is nothing more exciting than the patter of tiny celebrity feet, and Scottish tennis grumph, Andy Murray has had a little girl! Well, he hasn’t, his wife Kim has. God – can you imagine how miserable he’d look if he popped the sprog instead?! I’m made up for the pair of them though, and I’ll bet Andy was glad to get home from Australia in time for the birth.

Of course, me and Andy go way back. I first bumped into him at Wimbledon in 2004. He was playing in the boys’ championships and I was there as a spokes-model for Kia Ora, who were mounting an ill-fated campaign to break the stranglehold of Robinson’s Barley water. First thing in the morning I was setting up my stall when I saw this young lad warming up on the practice courts. Even then, you could tell he was going places. He was training so hard he looked totally puggled, so I thought I’d try to help him cool down. “Hey,” I shouted over, “Squash?”.

I’ll never forget what he said to me.

“No, tennis.”

Wise words from a lovely lad.

Kevin Cash, Money Saving Expert and king of the grips

This wik Age UK got caught oot receiving a kick-back fae an energy company for recommending an expensive electricity tariff to its members. Ken ‘is? It’s nae jist electricity that can gie ye a shock. Elderly readers should note that my ain long-standing advice on how to reduce your energy bill remains unchanged: either get my pal, Mick the Pill, to jerry-rig you a connection fae a street-lamp; or, if you absolutely insist on not stealing electricity, pull oot a’ yer fuses, get yersel doon to the central library and tak up residence in the local interest section.

Of course, we a’ ken that the world o’ commerce is a cut-throat place. That’s why I recommend haggling for everything fae bus fares to sweeties. Bus drivers love it if you haggle. Honest. They may sweer at you, but trust me, they love it. Vending machines are tough negotiaters, leaving it to you to dae maist, if not all, of the spikken, but if you shout at them for long enough, the mannie that comes to re-fill them will eventually gie you a Mars Bar to clear aff.

It is terrible, though, fan ye canna trust the advice you are given by an apparently reputable organisation that is supposed to be on your side. How Age UK didna recognise it hid a conflict of interest is beyond me. But I would like to assure a’ my loyal readers that my ain money saving tips are completely impartial, and you can have complete confidence fan you pit yer dosh into my recommended investment vehicles – K. Cash (Vegas Holiday Fund) Pte, and hightimekevgotanewmotor.com

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who always checks his balls

Scottish football has always been a bit of a laughing stick, but Monday night’s Scottish cup quarter final draw was the sherry on the icing on the cake. You wouldn’t think pulling some balls out of a bowl would be too big an axe, but those lads looked like they couldn’t organise a press up in a brewery.

To make it worse, Celtic wriggled out of playing Dundee United away and got a cushie home tie against Morton in the second draw. Lots of people think that Celtic gets presidential treatment, and the fact that they profited out of this balls up is just more fuel for the conservatory theorists.

I’ve been watching that reality show “The Jump” and I was horrified to hear about the injuries the contestants has picked up. There’s been dislocated shoulders, broken arms and even a broken back. Them injuries has no place in a bit of light entertainment. They belong on the football field, and I speak of what I knows, having caused most of them in my time.

I stayed up into the wee small hours on Sunday night to watch the Superbowl. Now, old Kenny is all about impounding his horizons, but that American football goes way over my heads. I fairly enjoyed the half time show, though. With Beyonce, Coldplay and Bruno Brookes strutting their stuff, no stop was left unpulled out! But I don’t even understand why it’s called ‘football’ in the first place. It couldn’t be more differenter from the beautiful game as I used to play it. Except for the tackling, of course.

Don’t miss the Flying Pigs live in ‘Dreich Encounter’ at HMT Aberdeen June 2nd-11th 2016