The latest topical insights from Aberdeen musical sketch comedy team, The Flying Pigs, written by Andrew Brebner and Greg Gordon.
View From The Midden, with Jock Alexander
It’s been an astronautical wik in the village.
I wiz fascinated tae read that NASA is looking for folk tae spend a year living on Mars. At’s the planet, nae the chocolate. Which is a peety.
Haldie Winton thought he wiz in wi’ a shout, seeing as he his a’ready spent mony years living on little else. Sadly, howiver, he disnae hae the qualifications, or ony teeth.
The reed planet Mars has long been a draw for ooter space fans fa wint tae ging there, despite the fact that it disnae hae ony canals, tripods, the Mekon or ony o’ the exciting things that fowk associate wi’ it. It disnae even hae Matt Damon growing tatties in his ain mineer.
But ‘at’s nae important, because it’s nae the real Mars fit is on offer, but a verra realistic pretend een, fit NASA is creating using a 3D printer at their Space Cinter in Houston.
The idea is tae test the survival skills, resilience and psychological suitability o’ the astronauts afore they send them oot tae the real een. So naeb’dy tries tae open the emergency exit on the space ship files they’re half wye there.
I hiv tae say, printing oot an exact recreation o’ the planet’s surface complete wi’ buildings for the astronauts tae live in is affa impressive. I canna even get my printer tae dae the word “Mars” wi’ oot changing the ink, shoogling the paper tray and re-booting the hale jingle bang.
I thocht aboot applying masel – especially fan I read it pays 60 thoosand dollars for the year.
And there’s mony ither perks tae the job an a’. Ye get a base tae live in on the pretend Mars fit is 1,700 square fit. At is mony times bigger than the available living space in my hoose, even if I wiz able tae move a’ the coos oot ‘o it.
So I’m a’ for it. Though it’ll be gye tricky tae pass the selection. For a start ye hiv tae be nae aulder than 55, and files I’m nae that aul, I hiv looked it since puberty.
They also wint ye tae hiv deen a thoosan hours piloting an aircraft. Nae sure I can get awa wi that een, although, I hiv held up traffic on the A920 in my Massey Ferguson for at least that long.
NASA wint fowk fa can cope wi “resource limitations, equipment failures, communication delays and other environmental stressors”.
Obviously, in that regard, ab’dy oot here is a bittie overqualified. Eking a living fae the frozen surface o’ Mars wid be nithin compared tae surviving on neeps howked oot o’ the grun ahind my byre.
So instead o’ applying I am suggesting that instead o’ wasting a’ their siller on building their fake Mars in Houston, NASA pit their prospective candidates through a real test o ‘ foo they cope wi’ environmental stressors – an Aiberdeenshire winter.
Cheerio!
Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit who goes in for a reducer early doors
Pep Gladiola well and truly let the cat out of the bag of pigeons this week when he turned around and says to a journalist, he say, “I have a better life than you.”
All your sociable medias have been buzzing, with folks saying Pep was being disrespectful to the poor journo. I personally couldnt see what all the fuss was about.
It’s hardly in the same league as Jim McLean landing an uppercut on the boy from the telly who kept asking him nippy questions. But having been both a manager and a punnet, it did set me thinking, which is best?
I loved my time as a manager. Getting paid to stand on the touch-line, chew chuddy aggressively and shout cheek right into the lino’s lug is what, as a boy, I had dreamed of since boyhood.
At least, when I wasn’t not dreaming about the lasses from Abba. And of course you get to see all sorts of things that other folks don’t – the boot room, the training ground and the inside of the boardroom. Although in my case, that was usually only when I was getting my P45.
But being a punnet has its own benefits. It’s definitely less stressful – both for me and the refs. Being able to remain actively involved in the game is a real treat – and so too are the complementary pies at Killie.
Just the other week I turned around and I says to my pal Dunter Duncan, I says to him, I says, “Dunter, I’m a lucky man. I can hardly believe that I get paid week after week to give my opinions on the football.” Dunter just looked at me and says to me “Kenny, neither can I.”
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