P&J Column for 12/11/12

The new reality show that’s just for Nadine Dorries: ‘I Lack Credibility; Get Me Out of Here!’


It has been a trying week here at Metcalfe Towers, we’re all very disappointed at the result of the U.S. Presidential election where the conservative candidate took a right thrashing. I speak, of course, of Mumsie’s attempt to depose the incumbent head of the Udny Station WRVS. Regrettably, Mumsicle’s traditional Victoria Sponge was trounced by Rosie Worthington-Worthington’s more liberal Tarte aux Pommes. Meanwhile, over in America, things didn’t go too swimmingly for Mitt Romney either. The expectations of the electorate have been raised to impossible heights by Barrack Obama. Here the same effect has been created by Mary Berry. I have a lot in common with Mitt, though, so I know how he feels. What people don’t understand is that politics is a tough business, and it’s hard for a privately educated chap with a massive personal fortune and the backing of obscenely wealthy special interest groups to get a break.

That aside, as MSP for Aberdeenshire North and Surrounding Nether Regions I find that I must, yet again, apologise unreservedly for an ill-considered posting on Twitter. My tweet was provoked by tuning into ITV on Sunday night. I had been hoping to catch the X-factor for a shuftie at the latest arrangement of clingfilm and cobwebs being very nearly worn  by Nicole Sherzingrer; but instead of that I was confronted by Tory MP Nadine Dorries in safari shorts. Incredibly, she has entered “I’m a Celebrity Get Me out of Here”. Can this be true? Is this what UK politics has descended to?  Why did I not think of this first? Accordingly, caught off guard and the wrong side of a better-than-decent Château Le Boscq, I tweeted as follows:

“I’m a Celebrity? I’m a Nonentity more like! Should she have the whip withdrawn? Not until it’s been firmly applied, preferably to her bahuky”.

I’m so sorry. I know that’s not how you spell bahoochie, but in my defence, I only had six characters left. The Squeak has already run several articles, and there have been numerous contributions to their “My Letters” page. I’ve even had Norman Harper on the phone (a lot) telling me off. What a pest he is.

But Westminster’s answer to Fatima Whitbread wont prove to the electorate that she’s different from the ‘arrogant posh boys’ by doing jungle trials on prime time TV. If anything, these so-called challenges – eating creepy crawlies and kangaroo nads and such-like – sound like exactly like the sort of whizzo pranks Super Dave and BoJo got up to at the Bullingdon Club. And I’ll never forget that sunny afternoon in 1983 when Siegfried Holton-Marr of the Upper Fifth – a particularly strapping Gordonstoun prefect – force-fed me foggy bummers on Lossie-Green.

Happy days.


“CAVA” KENNY CORDINER – the football pundit who kicks back!

Football often brings grown men to tears – ask anyone whoever stood in a defensive wall and took one of my direct free-kicks square in the drappers – but watching Celtic last Wednesday fair had me choked with emulsion.  They was taking on Barcelona, the artistic crafts of European football, down at Parkhead.  There was no one what gave Celtic a snowfall’s chance in hell, but they done them Catamarans up like a kipper!  The Spaniards was all over Celtic like a rash, but like anyone who played the game knows all about, the only statistical that counts is goals.  If you get more goals than the opposition, you won’t lose too many matches. I saw Rod Stewart in the crowd blubbing at full time.  Everyone on the telly was saying how sweet it was.  I was greeting just like Rod, but the lovely Melody says to me, she says ‘man up’.  If only she knew I had a hundred notes on 2-0 Celtic at 50-1!  She’d have grat too when Messy scored that late goal, by way of constellation. I have also savouried the sweet smell of defeating a more fancied opponent, just like what Celtic done. I’ll never forget when Inverurie Locos took on the giants of Huntly in the Aberdeenshire shield final in 1982. No one gave the Locos a ghoster, but against the odds we squeaked a 1-0. What was most impressive was we done it with 10 men for 89 minutes. The boy was asking for it though. And I still got my winners medal.

One of our Olympus heroes had a total shocker last week.  You could say he come crashing down to earth.  I didn’t hear about the story until Melody was talking about it the other day.  She kept saying “Bradley Wiggins” this and “Bradley Wiggins” that.  I says to her, I says “it’s Arjo Wiggins, Melody!” But she was not talking about the paper mill at Stoneywood, she was meaning the famous bicyclist .  Poor Wiggo clattered into some wifie in a van and suffered minor injuries.  I think he broke his rib and sprained one of his sideburns.  Fancy that, someone like Bradley – what managed to went all round the whole of France on his bike without a wobble – comes a cropper at the end of his road!  The ironing is delicious.