The tragic tale of the Torry Coo

J Fergus Lamont, Arts critic and author of ‘Lord of the Chat: A post-Brechtian analysis of the Art Sutter Show’

This week, an impromptu tragedy was played out in the natural amphitheatre of Aberdeen Harbour.  Quite by chance, I was in the area, having had been sent by this august journal to review a quaint and bijou bistro in Aberdeen’s glittering Merchant Quarter.  (It is called “Sizzlers”; you may not have heard of it – 4 stars, refreshingly unpretentious and the ‘Hawaiian’ burger is an unexpectedly fruity delight.) There was I, exchanging pleasantries with the Maître D’ when I heard the shout which brought me hotfoot and pell-mell to witness a happening to rival anything that occurred in Haight-Ashbury during the Summer of Love.

The story of the Turra Coo, which recently celebrated its centenary, is one of victory for the common man over a domineering government.  The story of the Torry Coo would have no such happy ending.

One cow, a bovine Che Guevara, refusing to be subjugated by authority, escaped whilst being herded onto a ferry, and leapt into the harbour.  How many of us, this holiday season, will not contemplate doing the same?  As events unfolded, it became plain to me that his cow had had a moment of transcendental understanding. She had realised that, while she might be revered by the Hindu culture; here, she is nothing more than a conveniently mobile source of milk and meat.  In a flash, like the Beatles in ‘67, she had decided to reject our Western ways, and resolved to swim to enlightenment in an ashram in the East.

As this epiphany struck, I Seized ahold of the harbour railing, and cried, “A yogi!  She seeks a yogi!”

“We hinna got a yoghurt”, came the rather tetchy reply.

And then they shot her.

Apparently, she had become distressed.  AS SHOULD WE ALL, when we contemplate the paucity of man’s stewardship of the natural world.

I finished my ‘Sizzlers’ burger and milkshake, and wept.

Jimmy Hollywood, Sandilands Most Eligible Bachelor

So, there I wiz, walking doon Clifton Road, delivering the post as per usual for a Friday morning, listening tae Martin Ingram on Original 106, fan he says that the 4^th of July wiz Independence Day! I thocht the Referendum wiznae ‘til September. So, eager nae tae miss the chunce tae fill my democratic boots, I runs the rest of my round and gets mysel doon tae the polling station, my auld primary, Kittybrewster School. I wiz shocked by fit I seen.

I ken Salmond reduced the voting age but this wiz ridiculous. There wis kids there less than ten year auld.

Fan I got tae the door I wiz challenged by a bonny wee teacher asking fit I wis needing, and fit een of the wee darlings wiz my kid. As if!!! We hid a right giggle – and nae just because she minded me that I hid eence pulled her in Babylon then niver phoned her efter, but also because I hid made an Epic Fail. Turns oot the 4^th o’ July wiz actually Independence Day for the USA.  I felt even dafter for nae kenning the USA wiz seeking tae become independent themselves. But weel daen tae the Yanks. High time!

‘Cava’ Kenny Cordiner, the sports columnist who has no comment to make in relation to match-fixing allegations.

I was at Pittodrie last Thursday to catch my old club the Dons sticking some Latvian outfit in the Europa League.  The Dandies played them other boys off the park on the way to a 5-0 win; they was hopeless and talk about dirty tictacs!  As you know, in my playing days I was never a shrinking violin when it come to the rough stuff, but some of the challenges even made my teeth curl. Because of unusual betting pattrens, there has been a suggestion that the game might have been fixed. It’s not alleged that anyone in Aberdeen was involved though. And quite right, nobody who follows Aberdeen Football Club would ever put a bet on the Dons to win 5-0.

I could not believe my ears on Saturday when I seen that the Tour de France started in Yorkshire.  Are they allowed to do that?  Next they’ll be playing the British Open golf in Ireland! Last time I checked Yorkshire wasn’t nowhere near France, but I was never any great shakes at Geometry.  The finish in the bicycling was end of the seat stuff.  It looked like Mark Cavendish was going to lace up the win until he fell off and dislocated his shoulder.  My loon Zander loves his bike, but he used to fall off heaps until I found a sure fire way to prevent it. I put his stabilisers back on.

I was gutted to see Andy Murray get knocked out of Wimbledon.  He tried his best to defend the title but came up short against a young whappersnipper from Bulgaria.  It’s hard as a sportsman when some wee nyaff shows you up.  It used to happen to me a lot towards the end of my football career but I don’t think Andy could use the same strategy to deal with his disappointment as what I done. You can’t really get away with halfing someone on a tennis court.