P&J Column 31.8.17

After the Great Aberdeen Run; the Great Muckle Meikle Wartle Hurple.

View from the midden – rural affairs with Jock Alexander

It has been an active wik in the village.  Like mony folk I wis amazed tae see the great turn-oot for the Great Aiberdeen Run, in which eight thoosand feel-gypes could think of nithin better to dae on a sunny Sunday morning than knacker themsels racing o’er 13 miles that wiz maistly uphill.

Weel, I must say that we in the village were affa impressed at the commitment shown by the runners, at the organisation of the event, but maistly at the opportunities for relieving a’ the mony fowk linin’ the road of their cash.

So of course, we wasted nae time in hauding oor ain inaugural Great Muckle Meikle Wartle Hurple, jist the ither day.  Noo, we hiv hid Great Runs in the village afore, usually efter something unseemly has got into the water supply but this een wiz an athegither healthier affair. Modelling the event closely on the Aiberdeen version, Feel Moira wiz on hand tae ensure we got maximum traffic disruption. The course ran roon’ the entire village, requiring a’ roads – weel, baith roads – tae be closed aff. Selecting wir route presented it’s ain challenges, as we dinna hae 13 mile of roadway within the village itsel’ and there’s only so mony times runners can ging roon Skittery Willie’s piggery afore they get giddy, and nae jist fae the fumes. So, instead we sent competitors 13.1 miles north, crossing several dungy fields, and richt across baith the A920 and the A947, fit fairly thinned doon the field a bittie, afore feenishing up wi a thrilling final sprint through the dinning ha’ of Turriff Academy. Much to the surprise of the Dinner wifies, fa coped admirably wi’ the unexpected spike in demand for chilled water and ginger sponge wi’ custard.

Noo as a prominent member of the community fa is ayewis up for a challenge, it’ll come as nae surprise that I took pert in the race mysel. I likes a Half Marathon, (though I prefers a hale Crunchie) and I am nae a stranger tae physical exertions, as you would ken if you’d ever heard the soonds I mak fan trying tae cut my toenails. However, I’m nae a fan of the credo ‘No Pain, No Gain’ and so, tae ensure I would feel no pain at a’, I took the precaution of getting completely steaming jist afore we stairted the race. Thus inured against agony, I wiz able tae mak good if rubbery-limbed progress. Regrettably though, it seems nae in the same direction as a’bdy else. So I look forward to receiving a special medal as the ‘last finisher’ of the Great Meikle Wartle Hurple, just as soon as I get back far fariver the hell I am. Cheerio!

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who isn’t wet behind the ears

Football has changed a lot since I hanged up my boots. Most of the changes has been good for the game, like the passback rule, TV money and the smoking ban, but sometimes you can’t not help but feel a bit neuralgic about things that the professional era has gotten rid of. Like the good old fashioned footballer’s hijink.

So step forward, Gary Mackay-Steven. Celebrating a 4-3 victory over the mighty Patrick Thistle at the weekend, GMS raised the bar for his fellow sportsmen with some world class timfoolery that seen him getting pulled out of in the river Kelvin and wind up in hospital with hypnotherapy. To be fair to the lad, he had spent most of the evening propping up the bar so it’s not much wonder he raised it!

My pal Davie, who would like to remain nameless, works at Pittodrie and he seen the whole thing. A couple of the other players comes up to him in the nightclub and says to him, they says “MacKay-Steven’s out of his depth!”, and he says to them, he says “give the lad a bit of time to gel with his new team mates”. Then they says “he took a dive!” but Davie says “well, so long as the ref doesn’t catch him”. Then they says “the fire brigade are fishing him out of the river!” at which point Davie realised something was up.

I heard that GMS got the hairdryer treatment from Derek McInnes when he got back to Pittodrie. But what does that say about the state of our National Health Service – surely they should have dried the poor lad’s hair in the hospital? Mental.