The latest topical insights from Aberdeen musical sketch comedy team, The Flying Pigs, written by Moray Barber, Andrew Brebner and Simon Fogiel.
Kevin Cash, money-saving expert and king of the grips
Interest rates are rising yet again, and the cost o’ living crisis is getting worse, but relief may soon be at hand, fit wi’ a new influx of cruise ships coming tae Aberdeen’s spleet new Sooth Harbour. So new, in fact, that they’ve nae quite finished the roads and the car park yet.
Twenty-five boats is booked in this year, fit means 12 thoosand folk disembarking, each expected tae spend an average o’ £134. That is manna fae heaven or, mair accurately, Hamburg, for fowk like me, fa ken foo tae extract maximum value fae baffled tourists.
The largest cruise ship iver seen in Aiberdeen – 202 metres long and a dolphin-displacing 40 thoosan tons in weight – appeared last wik, and I made sure I wiz there for its arrival. Happily, the tourists did look suitably stunned as they stumbled aff the boat, probably because of the distinctive aroma emanating fae the watter treatment works at Nigg.
So, I wiz at the front o’ the queue o’ volunteer helpers there tae meet folk and guide them tae my ain customised rickshaw, fit I have made by gaffer-taping a gairden swing seat rescued fae the tip at Hazleheid tae an ebike nicked fae ootside Cornhill Hospital.
Being a proud Aiberdonian, I ignore their cliched requests tae ging tae Drum Castle and local distilleries, and instead I’m daein my bit by taking ’em on a tour o’ the real Aiberdeen. I dinna wint tae depress them by heading for Union Street, obviously, so we ging roond the cobbled bitties o’ the harbour, far I point oot historical landmarks like the sites o’ the Neptune Bar and Peep Peeps.
Efter bouncing aboot for an hour, they are only too glad tae pey oot as I deposit them back at the quayside. By this point, of course, a’ the tour buses hiv a’ready left, but niver fear! My pal Mick The Pill is there tae taxi them tae Balmoral, taking the scenic route via Manor Avenue, Peterheed, and Wick.
Struan Metcalfe, MP for Aberdeenshire North and surrounding Nether Regions
One gets few opportunities in life to reflect on what is truly magnificent about our great nation, but last weekend was such an occasion. Many years from now, we will be able to say that we witnessed it, perhaps not in person, but in complete, unadulterated glory on our TV screens.
Who will ever forget where they were during that once-in-a-lifetime moment when Penny Phwoardaunt strode through Westminster Abbey, her digits wrapped around the Sword of State?
Oh, Penny! You goddess. You emblem of contemporary womanhood, invoking Princess Leia and The Handmaid’s Tale.
It’s been a whole week since that moment and you looked so powerful and swoonsome that I remain convinced you are going to be our next prime minister. No one’s talking about Pippa Middleton’s bottom anymore – oh, no, it’s all about Penny Phwordaunt’s forearms.
Oh, Penny! Strong, beautiful, heavily-armed Penny. How we adore you! You are the extremely posh totty we were too meek to speak to at uni, rendered even more tantalisingly unapproachable by the addition of medieval weaponry.
At last, something we can really be grateful to Swotty Sunak for. If Liz Truss was still PM, Jacob Rees-Mogg would have got that gig. Can you imagine?
I mean, no offence to Walter the Softy, but there’s no way he’d have been able to hold it up, straight and true, like you, Penny. He’d have had some archbishop’s eye out, and nobody wants that! With the possible exception of Cruella Braverman.
Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who goes in hard early doors
The 40th anniversary of the Dandy Dons’ unforgettable triumph in Gothenburg has seed the north-east steeped in neuralgia. Old Kenny will never forget the buzz, and I was busting with pride to be down at Pittodrie on Friday for the Freedom of the City celebration.
Even though I’d moved on to postures new before the famous cup run, I think I helped craft that winning mentality in my time at AFC – because Fergie always says that the rest of the team had to work twice as hard when I was playing.
But May 11, 1983 is a memorable date in the Cordiner household for more reasons than one. Whilst the Reds was winning in Gothenburg, I was round at my pal Dunter Duncan’s house to watch the final, and his blonde Sandra brought her mate, the lovely Melody, and we hut it off like a horse on fire.
Melody would be the first to admit that, back then, she wasn’t a big football fan. When the teams come out onto the pitch, she says: “Which team are we supporting?” Dunter says to her, he says: “See the bronzed Adonises dressed all in white? Nae them. We’re the peely-wally shower of gap-toothed gingers in reed.”
But Melody got right into the game, and when Johnny Hewitt leapt like a gammon to meet Dingus McGhee’s cross, she got overcome with emulsion and grabbed me for a cheeky snog. The rest, as they say, is hysteria.
So, happy Gothenburg day, Aberdeen! And happy anniversary, Melody!
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