There’s only One Direction – oot the door.

Shelley Shingles, Showbiz Correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1983

What a week, with Jeremy Clarkson getting his jotters from Top Trumps! I keep hearing what a loss he is to the Beeb, even the Director General called him “irreplaceable”. But surely his u.s.p. was that he was a grumpy bloke in unfashionable jeans, angrily smoking his way through two packs of fags a day and shouting abuse at strangers to impress his mates? You can see a dozen mannies like that any Saturday night outside the Butchers Arms in Inverurie.  At least one of them must still have a driving licence. My other half, Tony, is a big fan, and says he’s not paying his licence fee now that Clarkson has been sacked.  He reckons “allowances have to be made for true originals that fearlessly stick up for their principles.”  I’m not really sure how punching someone in the face and screaming abuse from point-blank range raises fundamental issues of freedom of expression; and after I tried it out on Tony, neither is he.

But for me, the big showbiz news is Zayn Malik deciding that he didn’t like the direction One Direction was going in. He just wants to be a normal 22 year old; watching TV in his onesie, eating pizza, and rush-recording his debut solo single with a superstar producer. Poor Zayn hasn’t had a lot of sympathy, but people don’t know how hard it is do your growing up in public.  I got a taste of it when I was Miss Fetteresso, 1983.  The pressure was massive.  There was hardly a week went by without a photocall for the Leopard or the Scots Magazine. I’m not ashamed to say I had my own showbiz meltdown. They found me round the back of Robertson’s the bakers, sobbing “If I have to open another branch of Michie’s, I’ll scream!”  Fortunately I had the support of my family, and I was back on page 5 of the Deeside Piper within the week, cutting the ribbon to open a new silage pit at Drumtochty. But from then on I knew what it was to stare into the abyss. It was some size of a silage pit.

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands most eligible bachelor

See me? I loves the Spring. I loves it fan the clocks ging forward, the daffies bloom and I can swap oot my Winter claes for bermuda shorts, espadrilles and a pastel singlet (think Miami Vice crossed with the Club Tropicanna video). But I canna be dae’n wi’ April Fools Day. Ever since the time my sister switched the milk in the breakfast jug for water and ruined my Frosties, I hiv hid little patience wi’ practical jokes. But for some reason the lads at the Mastrick Sorting Office like tae tak a loan o’ Jimmy, and this year wiz nae different. Efter a tough round a postie can get a bittie pecht oot, and, I’m nae going tae lie, even someone as cool as Jimmy dis, occasionally, perspire. So efter work, I likes a generous all-ower scoosh o’ B.O. basher. That wye, as I stroll hame in my spring wardrobe, I’m a treat for baith the een and the nostrils o’ the ladies of Printfield and Woodside. Aye, except yesterday, fan my Lynx Temptation wis replaced wi’ a can o’ fluorescent green spray paint. Thanks lads!  Ken ‘is? they get me like that ivery year!

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who always plays behind closed doors.  

This week domestos football took a back seat to the international matches, so I settled down in front of the 50′ plasma and had a feel day!   Scotland got two good results, and my old pal Gordon Strachan has obviously been a real insulation to the squad.  Of course, in his day he was a rare player his-self; ball control is very important in the game, and that wee Ginger Nut’s was the best controlled balls I ever seen. Saying that, the Northern Ireland match was a bit of a damp squid.  There was not much action to speak of until the late goal and I’m not sure the ref was even paying attention.  I counted 12 substitutes coming on which is almost double the 3 you is usually allowed.  Scotland’s other opponents, the Gibraltos, looked a poor side.  Melody says to me, she says “6-1? Their defence must have been pretty rocky! Ha ha. You should put that in your column” I never had no idea what she meant, but I done it anyway.   Now Scotland are well placed to qualify for Euro 2016, so say what you like about Gordon – but you’ve got to hand it to him.  Especially if it is on a high shelf.