The latest topical insights from Aberdeen musical sketch comedy team, The Flying Pigs, written by Andrew Brebner, Simon Fogiel and Greg Gordon.
J Fergus Lamont, arts correspondent and author of Rhodes to Ruin: From Colossus to Colossal Fire
It is not only in the real world that artistic excellence thrives. This week, driven out of the real world by the sight of Nigel Farage glorying in having momentarily again become relevant, I have sought refuge online, and there within the computing realm I have glimpsed the future.
You will not be aware of him, for he has received very little, if any, publicity, but elusive billionaire art terrorist Elon Musk – an enfant terrible of the digital realm with a surname and presumably a scent to match – has purchased the social media website formerly known as “Twitter”, and is now tinkering with it with the enthusiasm of an eccentric uncle trying to strip down and rebuild a sickly lawnmower in a shed.
After removing most of the site’s workers, functionality and charm, he has now unveiled his latest Damien Hirst-like act of artistic provocation by renaming it “X”, without telling any shareholders in advance or asking anyone else first.
It is truly awe-inspiring to see a man with enough money to end world hunger instead frittering his time away on the internet, inventing silly names for things. Though, I must concede, this latest renaming doesn’t quite measure up to when he called his own child X Æ A-12, an act which truly showed what he was capable of.
How thrillingly provocative to replace a world-famous brand name synonymous with the gentle chirruping of birdsong with the brutalist impact of the single letter X – a name rendered meaningless by its very ubiquity, yet still powerfully redolent of mid-1990s video game consoles, anonymity and adult websites.
The pièce de résistance of all this was an abortive attempt to chisel the old name off the side of the Twitter HQ in San Francisco – another splendid piece of performance art, stopped by police for being illegal after only five letters were removed. This left the powerfully apt word “er” on the wall.
I can confidently state that the new name is surely prophetic of this particular social media site’s future – as an X-platform!
I, and many millions of formerly happy Twitter users, wept.
Davinia Smythe-Barratt, ordinary mum
Like all ordinary mums, I like to treat myself once in a blue moon. Whether it’s a pumpkin, flaxseed and kale smoothie, a triple-soy-no-foam latte, or an organic elderberry G&T, nothing quite beats an indulgent treat to make one feel special!
Last weekend, me and my fellow members of KBMAC (that’s the Kingswells and Bieldside Mums Against Capitalism – we’re anti-capitalism but pro-prosecco!) decided we had all earned it, and we are definitely worth it, so we set off to Perthshire for a few days of R&R in a delightful spa resort you may have heard of.
It was marvellous. So exclusive and so decadent – and, because it’s a Scottish hotel, we knew we were doing our bit for the local economy. But it wasn’t all saunas, steam rooms and hot stone massages! We had some exciting activities planned, too. Which was where the problems started.
Saskia, the most gung-ho of our number, insisted that we take a trip to Loch Tay for a stand-up paddleboarding session with Sandy, a dishy instructor she had met in the whisky bar. So, we set off in the Discovery, excited at our date with the great outdoors. Except, it really wasn’t that great, if you ask me!
First off, the wetsuits. Talk about unflattering! I don’t do 45 minutes a day on the Stairmaster at Kippie to look like some frumpy half-woman, half-seal! Would it kill these companies to hire in a wetsuit designer that helps accentuate a woman’s figure?
Next, we had to self inflate our own paddleboards with a foot pump. Hello? Have we not heard of electric pumps out in the sticks? “We’re off grid,” we were told. Off your chump, more like!
All that foot-pumping had me sweating profusely, which led to a quite uncomfortable situation underneath my ghastly wetsuit. It felt like I was back in the steam room, but without a glass of ginger and lemongrass cordial in my hand.
Come on, Scotland – let’s heat up our lochs so us ordinary mums can enjoy these outdoor pursuits
Then, to cap it all off, we entered the water. Oh my goodness! I was cold in places I’ve never felt cold before!
Scotland needs to get its act together. I’ve been swimming with sharks off the coast of Aruba, and the water was so much warmer!
Come on, Scotland – let’s heat up our lochs so us ordinary mums can enjoy these outdoor pursuits without freezing our shapely butts off. Yes, it’ll cost a pound or two and might have a teensy bit of an impact upon the ecosystem and carbon footprint. But surely it’s worth it for some basic comfort?
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I fell in and a brown trout’s tail slapped me in the face. The indignity of it. Brown! So last season!
Let’s sort it out, Scotland. Even the fish are off-trend!
