P&J Column for 27.1.14

The Canadians think there might be something unhealthy in Irn Bru. Fair enough, we did used to make it fae girders.

DODDIE ESSLEMONT, Radical Independence Campaigner

So Canada has banned the import of Irn Bru on the basis that one of its additives, Ponceau 4R, is potentially harmful to children.  What nonsense.  I was weaned onto  Irn Bru when I came off my mother’s milk, and it didn’t do me any harm.  Canada’s action is no more than an outrageous slur on the good name of an iconic Scottish product.  The People’s Democratic Republic of 39G Seaton Drive’s manufacturing base is relatively slim – I make new bars of soap by pressing together the little remnants of old ones that have collected in the plug-holes of showers in public swimming pools, and sell the aggregate that collects behind my toe-nails as parmesan cheese shavings.  Scotland, as my nearest neighbour, is a major trading partner, and our relationship with Barrs is perhaps second only to that with the Tunnocks corporation.  As such, I confirm that we of 39G Seaton Drive will stand shoulder to shoulder with our Scottish cousins on this matter.  I hereby announce an immediate import ban on Maple Syrup, Canada Dry Ginger Ale, and Justin Bieber.  Although going by recent reports, I don’t think that he’s going to be in much of a position to visit for some time, anyway.

VIEW FROM THE MIDDEN – Rural affairs with MTV (Meikle Wartle Television) presenter, JOCK ALEXANDER

Fit like?  And a guid New Year tae ab’dy!  Ye may be wondering fit wye it is ye hinna heard fae me for a pucklie months. Well the fact of the matter is that I’ve jist emerged fae my traditional festive hibernation. Fan it gets o’er caul here the only thing tae dae is tae mak a nest oot o’ dry leaves and tattie peelings, draw the curtains and knock back a bucket o’ nettle and neep. Then we waken up with a great big bappit grin in late January. But michty, despite the sub-zero temperatures, it’s been a het wik in the village! I hid tae smile fan I heard that Aiberdeen’s Police and Fire control rooms are set tae close, and the North-East is gan tae end up wi’ emergency services operated fae Dundee, or even Glasgow.

Michty, I laughed for a good five minties fan I heard that een. “They winna like that in Finzean and Foggieloan”, I thocht tae masel.  But on the off-chunce it’s nae a joke, I can reassure ye that it’s nae cause tae worry. Here in Meikle Wartle we hinna had wir ain police or fire control cinter fer donkeys years, and it hisnae daen us ony hairm. We tend tae deal wi’ ony reports of crime here via wir ain vigilante

justice force. Or, as she’s otherwise kent, Feel Moira, efter twelve pints. Michty, she’s ragin’ fan ye call her oot of the pub, fit maks her a very effective crime deterrent.  Fires are nae an issue here either. Nae fan the hale village has burned doon as often as oors has. I wid certainly recommend that ony concerned citizens of onywye north o’ Dundee jist dae fit we dae; let the conflagration get on wi’ it, and gather roond the flames. Efter a’, It’ll be the only heat ye get till that one fine day July we cry ‘Summer’.   Cheerio!

CAVA KENNY CORDINER, The Green Final’s Sports Personality of the Year – 1984

I was listening to the radio in the Jag the other day and I got a right shock when I was hearing that Aberdeen had signed Rooney!  What a signing he would be for the Dons!  It turns out that it wasn’t Manchester United megastore Wayne, but former Inverness player Adam that had become a Dandy.  He scored on his first game too.  I remember my first game at Longside – I scored early in the second half but got sent off for my celebration.  I took out the corner flag and pretended it was a javelin. Everybody was laughing until it incidentally impaled the ref.  The rest, as they say, is geography.

There’s been a whole host of funny on-goings in the world of sport this week and as usual I’ve been keeping my finger on the plus.  Talking of fingers, I was watching Rafael Nadal in the Australian Open playing with terrible blisters all over his hands.  They was weeping all pus and blood all over the place.  It was not bonny, in fact I nearly spat out my Fruit and Fibre.  Of course, as a top-flight footballer in the 1980s I am no strangler to the pain of blisters. New boots was always a nightmare. I remember the time I got my first pair of Copa Mundials – my heels was in a right mess.  The lovely Melody eventually lent me the special blister plasters which she weared when she was breaking in a new pair of stilettos.  Sadly for me I put them on backwards. I couldn’t get my socks off for a week.