Unlike Salmond, Celtic have a ‘plan b’. It’s called the rule book.

David “Futret” McKechnie, Aberdeen’s premier petty criminal

Alec Salmond has taen some flak this wik for supposedly nae hivin a ‘plan B’ on the currency. I ken foo he feels. One day, me and Cheesey McLaughlin wiz suffering fae a short-term liquidity problem, on account of having blown all wir Job-seeker’s Allowance in Ladbrokes on a three-legged nag. I suggested we resolve the problem by popping into the local corner-shop wi stockings ower wir heeds and demanding the contents of the till wi menaces. “Haud on though Futret”, says Cheesey, “Fit’ll we dae if the wifie ahin the counter dizna gie us it?” “We d’a need to worry aboot that”, says I. “No sensible corner-shop wifie wid pit up a struggle in those circumstances. It would clearly be both in her, and oor best interests for her to simply hand over the readies”. So in we goes, each teeting oot through a pair of 20 denier Pretty Pollys and screaming to the effect that if she wid kindly place the money in the bag provided, the already overworked doctors and nurses of Aberdeen Royal Infirmary’s A&E department wid enjoy a quieter evening. There wiz a pause. Time stood still. We looked at her and she looked at us. Then she clocked me and Cheesey wi a box o’ coo candy and sat on us til the Bobbies arrived. “Hoy, Futret”, says Cheesey as we wiz getting carted aff, “fit wiz a this aboot nae needing a back-up plan?” “Cheesey” I says, “there’s nae legislating for the illogical actions of ithers”.

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands’s most eligible bachelor

There’s nae a lot that Alex Salmond and I hae in common. Een of us is an imposing, charismatic figure, fa tends tae get fit he wints by sheer force of personality; the ither is Alex Salmond. So, maybe the only one thing we dae hiv in common is that neither of us hiz ony a need for a ‘Plan B’.

When it comes to chatting up the ladies in Soul Bar, Jimmy only ever needs plan A. My dashing good looks and top drawer chat is guaranteed to secure a ‘Yes’ vote in the referendum of love. And unlike big Eck, Jimmy hiz niver, iver been publicly embarrassed by a wee darling.

Tim Bee, the conscientious objector

I didn’t watch the referendum debate last week. I object to the replacement of Coronation Street with yet another instalment of pointless wittering about matters of no importance.

Instead, I watched the excellent ‘Secret Histories’ TV programme about Fittie, and, as someone with a burning passion for matters of local interest, the following day I decided to venture there myself. Hence I made my way to the bus station where I was directed to the appropriate stand and informed that the service to Fittie would be clearly marked. Well, four hours passed and no such bus departed. I must object in the strongest terms to First Bus failing to provide transportation to this area of historic importance, particularly in light of its recent appearance on The Television. But, other than the apparently incessant services to ‘Footdee’ departing every few minutes, there were none. Disgraceful.

‘Cava’ Kenny Cordiner – the sports columnist who gets a bye into the play-offs.

What a contraverbial week in football. It looked bleak for the Scottish teams in Europe with Celtic, St Johnstone and my old club, the Dons all tasting the butter taste of defeat, until Celtic got throwed a lifeboat after Legia Warsaw made a giraffe with their paperwork.

It was heartening to see Pittodrie packed to the funnels on Thursday for the second leg of the Europa Cup qualifier against Real Sociopath. “What an Atmosphere!” as Russ Abbot once famously sunged. It’s a shame the dandies got stuffed 3-2 but they certainly did not disgrace theirselves against the Spaniels. I really enjoyed the match, all apart from the wee kid behind me who had gotten hold of one of them Voulez-vous and kept parping it in my lug. I’m all for a bit of a buzz at a football ground but yon tooteroo was getting my goat. I was able to retrain myself though. I waited til his dad went to the bogs then I yanked it off the little nyaff. Kenny’s still got it.

I’m not sure about Celtic’s new gaffer Ronny Delilah, but he’ll never have a luckier week in the Parkhead hot tub. They was gubbed by Legia Warsaw but Uefa reckons the poles fielded an inelegant player and now the Hoops is reinstigated in the Champions League. Now, as regulation readers will know I’ve never not claimed to be no expert on of the rules of football, but I think that is a crock. The boy only played for 3 minutes when the tie was dead and buried, but the beaks have wielded the axe.

I’m not sure what that Polish player’s name is, and I certainly can’t pronounce it, but I have a lot of entropy for him. It’s not often you see a footballer totally ruin an important fixture for his team after spending only 3 minutes on the pitch. Not since I retired, anyway.