The Grand Old Duke of York, he had Ten Thousand men. Unfortunately, none of them could recognize him, even in his mum’s garden.

 

PC Bobby Constable, (retired). Former Community Policeman

 

 

I see Prince Andrew was upset at being challenged by the police in the gardens of Buckingham Palace. He didna appreciate being made to put his hands up while he identified himself.  Getting suspects to identify themselves is never easy.  When I was on the beat, I used to present them with a wee mirror and get them to say, “Yes, it’s definitely me”.  Onywye, His Highness is lucky the incident didna happen up at Balmoral. It wid hiv been a mair hands-on experience altogether if he’d been stopped by a Police Scotland officer trained by Sergeant “Dunter” Duncan.

 

 

Dunter wiz a great big muckle slab o a man fae Inverurie, far his folks hid a cattle farm.  A childhood spent wrangling Aberdeen Angus bulls meant that Dunter made Doug Rougvie look a  bittie weedy. He hid the brow of a caveman, but none of the social graces.  But he wiz a very effective policeman. All Dunter had to do was come into the interview room and remove his jacket, and the suspect wid be confessing to stuff that hadn’t even happened yet.  Even back in the less enlightened days of the 70s and 80s, Dunter wiz totally non-discriminatory.  Regardless of race, creed, colour or social standing, if Dunter took it into his heid ye’d looked at him funny, you were going to the jile.

 

 

There are times in life when you see a human being achieve something akin to a state of grace.   Chris Hoy wiz pit on this earth to ride bikes. Stephen Hawking wiz put on this earth to dae sums. And Seeing Dunter wade into a dust-up outside Cupids wiz to see a man that had been put on this earth to wield a truncheon. Of course, in modern conditions, attitudes have changed, and the police must change wi them, and those changes spelled the end of Dunter’s Police service. Sadly, fan the uniform changed, Dunter hid tae pack it in. They couldna find a stab-vest big enough, and in the new lycra top he jist looked like a beef olive.

 

 

 

 Tim Bee, the very conscientious objector

 

 

Much has been made of late about the lamentable condition of Aberdeen’s city centre, and the latest half-baked proposal for regeneration is the ’development’ of the Triple Kirks site into an office block.

 

“Develop” – verb – to grow, progress, unfold or evolve”.

 

Not – “verb –  to turn historic church spire into a glass sweat shop for overpaid chancers.”

 

I have written to this journal on previous occasions objecting to the disgraceful neglect of the Triple Kirk’s site resulting in its current shocking state of disrepair. However, whilst I object to that, what is even more objectionable is that the object of my objection is now the object of these plans. That was not the object of my objection. I object to that even more strongly than I thought it possible to object about an object. Objectively speaking. But what I object to even more are the people who say  “Thanks for clarifying that, Tim Bee. Do you have any positive helpful suggestions of your own?”.

 

Because I don’t.

 

 

 

View from the Midden. Rural affairs with Jock Alexander

 

 

It hiz been an awe-inspiring wik in the village- I was amazed tae read the other day that NASA’s Voyager 1 probe has become the first man-made object to leave the solar system. I had reason tae ponder this as I lay on my back in Tam Broon’s field looking up at the stars. This wis at aboot twa in the morning on Setterday. I’d hid a wee  heiter coming hame fae the pub and slipped on a loose doddy o’ sharn. As I lay there, I began tae think aboot at wee spacecraft oot there, in the inky blackness. So far fae civilisation that it’s oot o reach of a’ communication. Roaming aboot, wi nae real idea far it will end up. Freezing caul’, the sun just a distant memory. Michty, I thocht, that sounds like me on a Summer’s day in Meikle Wartle!

 

 

‘Cava’ Kenny Cordiner, The football pundit who’s on a caution

 

 

There is three things I love about football.  First of all, I loves the passion.  When you pull on your club’s jersey on a Saturday there is nothing can put you down.  Apart from taking a free-kick in the goolies. But the other thing I love is when football gives you a right good jelly laugh.

 

 

Last week I seen a video of this Braziliantine physio what ran on the pitch to stop his team conceding a goal.  What a hoot!  He was standing by the post and when he seen the keeper get stranded in nomad’s land he stuck his leg out to clear the ball off the line.  And then he done it again! The other team was spitting Fedderers though and they chased him into the crowd.  He run off, still carrying his little medicine bag.  I don’t know if they catched him, but if they did he would of needed more than his magic sponge!

 

 

Nearing the skylight of my career I played at some pitches where the crowd was right up close and Persil. I remember once playing for Locos against Mechanics up in Forres when I found myself flying up the right wing.  Talk about a nosebleed!  And I mean that laterally.  Some wifie in the crowd clocked me with her handbag! 

 

 

See the Flying Pigs Live in ‘Finzean in the Rain’ at HMT Aberdeen 7^th-16^th November