GDPR?  “… Gross Domestic Product of Rhynie?”

DAVINIA SMYTHE-BARRATT, Ordinary Mum

Like all ordinary mums, I’m getting in a bit of a panic about this whole GDPR fiasco. For those who are not up to speed with their acronyms, I am of course referring to the EU’s new General Data Protection Regulations, and not, as I must confess I originally assumed, the Gross Domestic Product of Rhynie.

It’s causing me strife on 2 fronts. Firstly, my email inbox is awash with communiques from everyone under the sun, seeking my continued permission to be part of their mailing list. Don’t get me wrong, I love receiving emails, but there are just too many of them! Yesterday I only managed to respond to 10 on my drive back home from Pilates at Kippie. Hello! Is it too much to ask for our traffic lights to stay on red a little bit longer?

Some so-called “expert” on Radio 4 suggested we just ignore these emails, as by law they will have to stop after Thursday. That’s all very well for him, but some of those marketing emails are a real lifesaver for me! So I need to read them all, ensuring I sign up to the essential ones (e.g. Quinoa Quines recipe suggestions) and remove myself from the frivolous ones I can live without. (e.g. the Service / MOT plan for the Discovery).

The other headache the GDPR presents is for our monthly family newsletter. Do I need to contact all the recipients for their continued consent to receive the Smythe-Barratt Echo? Well, because it contains fundraising links to various good causes (e.g. Mums against Fur, the Dolphin Asthma Foundation, Hamas), it turns out that some fascist Tory mouthpiece says I do! Well, I’ve never been one to bow to “the man”, so excuse me if I continue to hit ‘send to all’. You can expect my case to be up in front of the European Court of Human Rights shortly! I never thought I’d say this, but roll on Brexit!

VIEW FROM THE MIDDEN – Rural affairs with MTV (Meikle Wartle Television) presenter, JOCK ALEXANDER

Well it’s been a ceremonial wikend in the village. As you wid expect, I spent maist of Setterday amongst a mass of fowk glued tae the TV, enjoying the archaic rituals on display, the festivity, the happy crowds, the singing, the flags and the banners. Folk wiz up tae high doh wi the emotion of it all. And then the ref blew his whistle and a’ the Man U fans in the pub started greeting. Noo I’m nae a fervent fitba follower masel’, and certainly nae of the English FA Cup, but I did suddenly see the wisdom in becoming een for the day, so as tae get the hell oot of the hoose. And so it seemed did a’ the ither mannies o’ the village fa had suddenly become avid viewers, files their wives and their chums sat aboot at hame cooing o’er hats and dresses. Well, I am nae sorry tae say I missed a’ 300 minutes o’ the BBC’s Royal Wedding coverage, though I hiv noo seen highlights of guests arriving on the news. George Clooney brought a bittie o’ Hollywood glamour, Posh Spice looked like she’d swallowed a wasp, and for a minitie I wis wondering foo my Auntie Ina hid wangled an invite, until I realised it wis jist Elton John.

But onywye, watching the game wis useful research for me, as this year’s Fettercairn Show is tae include a ‘three-tractors-a-side’ fitba game, wi twa bales as the goals and a great muckle ba’ six fit across. Michty, noo at’s a fair size, even fer a show which has seen some hefty bulls in the past. Luckily, the good fowk of Fettercairn hiv made twa fatal mistakes, in publishing details of their plans, and nae haeing the game until July, fit allows us here in Meikle Wartle tae nip in and cut the feet. However, it his been tricky gathering enough material tae mak a 6 foot ball of our ain. There’s been nithing for it but tae mak it the traditional wye, oot of sharn. It is currently baking awa in the sunshine, and Skittery Wullie, tae whom we defer on such matters, reckons that by the wikend it’ll be firm enough tae stay intact fan a tractor drives intae it at high speed. I dinna think I’ll play that particular game masel’, but I am happy tae spectate, fae a safe distance. Aboot half a mile ought tae dae it. Cheerio!

See the Flying Pigs Live in ‘Now That’s What I Call Methlick at HMT Aberdeen 26th-30th June 2018