Did you hear about the sportsman who wrote his own autobiography? He didn’t have a ghoster!

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who still has a book in him.

Sport has always had more than it’s fair share of colourful characters, but it’s amazing how some of them can still hit the headlights long after they have hanged up their boots. Former Man United hardman Roy Keane and England croquet star Kevin Pietersen are both raffling a few feathers at the moment because of them having done a book where they take a pop at some of their former teammates and gaffers.

These days, when any sportsman does his autobiology, it’s not so much about how he scored on the pitch, but more about what scores he can settle off of it. (The lovely Melody told me I should put that bit in, so I done it. Though I am not sure what it means.) What matters most is the revelations. Selling books is all about spilling the cats out of the bag. And the more cats the better. Especially if they is really big cats.

That’s why Keano has been all over the papers in his tramp’s beard saying he’ll never forgive Fergie for whatever it is Fergie done and K.P. even got onto Graham Norton on Friday, sitting next to Taylor Swift. She looked dead impressed by his stories about how sad he got winning the Ashes. So that got me thinking it might be about time old Kenny put paper to pen hiself.

As my regulation readers know, I has attracted more than my fair share of conservatory in my career, and I’ve got so many stories and antidotes that could go into my memoirs you could write a book about it. I’ve had a few longstanding bones to grind, too, but I’m not sure I would want to be sneaky like Roy and Kevin was. I always liked to bare my grievances with players I never got on with face to face. Although to be honest it was usually studs to shin rather than face to face, unless I bit someone. Which I never done.

There are still a few folk what I never got the chance to get my own back on though. Like that wee nyaff John Duncan who skinned me more times than you could skin a cat in my last game. Or the boy who chaired that disco-plenary hearing where I got banned for 2 months for snapping Turriff United’s new striker. While he was warming up. So I suppose I could half them, metaphysically speaking, in my book. Mind you, those things was a long time ago, and you know what they say, it’s better to let bygones under the bridge.

The Reverend Edmund Everend, Minister for Holburn North North East

As regular readers will know, I am no longer content to preach from the pulpit alone, and have been engaged on a mission to bring debate on major religious, ethical and societal issues of the day to the public spaces of Aberdeen.  There have been a number of setbacks along the way, including a banning order from one prominent local dance-hall and several trips to our splendid A&E facilities at Forresterhill, where staff shortages have meant that I have had ample time to canvass the views of fellow patients. And though I am sorely tested I look to the example of Job, so the mission continues.

Recently, I was in a number of pubs in the Belmont Street area of Aberdeen, discussing the implications of the election of Douglas Carswell as UKIP’s first MP.  A politician formerly on the right wing of the Conservative party now stands under a different flag. In one sense, his views and policies have barely changed, so this change of allegiance does not matter. This, I think, was the view of one reveler with whom I addressed this issue.  But it is one with which I profoundly disagree. The rise of a new party, one that has as it’s core an ethos of difference and isolation, is a challenge to us all. In difficult times it is love, not distrust, to which we must turn. Only love can bring unity, and only through unity can we prosper.

The gentlemen gave my views careful consideration before responding by calling me a “saft-heided auld goat”, and sticking the nut upon me. As I fell, I saw the blood on my shirt and raised my hands to staunch its flow. But the blood was not mine. My assailant had burst open his own eyebrow, and was reeling back, crying out in pain.

I could have gone on to develop a discourse about how the use of force invariably rebounds upon wielder, but by this point the bouncers had me in an arm lock. As they manhandled us both from the premises it did not seem to be either the time or place for ruminations on Galatians 6:7. So I merely observed, “Not so soft-headed after all, eh mate?” That seemed to give him pause for thought, although I do accept that it may actually have been a mild concussion.

Peace be with you.