The Flying Pigs: I’d pay good money tae see Sande trying tae perform Next Tae Me next tae Guitar Wifie

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View From the Midden – rural affairs with Jock Alexander

It’s been a mellifluous week in the village. There’s been much excitement in the north-east lately thanks tae the appearance of chart-topping pop star Emeli Sande, fa wiz in Aiberdeen in search of buskers tae jine her on stage for an upcoming TV show. Noo, it’s certainly the case that Aiberdeen his a rich and diverse pool o’ street musicians for Emeli tae choose fae.

There’s the beardy een with the amplifier that provides a constant background serenade tae ab’dy in the Sainsbury’s at Schoolhill. There’s the mair erratically tuned een fa shouts Bob Dylan lyrics ootside Markies. There’s the mannie wi’ the keyboard in the cowboy hat and raincoat combo at the Clydesdale bunk. And of course, rising above them a’ like a colossus, there is the inimitable Guitar Wifie. I canna be the only een fa wid pay good money tae see Emeli trying tae perform her global smash hit “Next Tae Me” next tae her.

Onywye, Emeli is also visiting various ither Scottish locations in her search, and has been photographed soaking up the atmosphere at the tea rooms in her hame toon of Alford. Wi’ an expression on her face fit gi’es a pretty good indication as tae fit wye she left in the first place.

Of course, those of us here in the village that ken fa Emeli Sande is (and dinna get her mixed up wi’ Sandra Emslie fae the Mart) like tae claim Meikle Wartle is in fact her hame toon. This is based on twa incontrovertible facts. One; “Ach, we’re only 20 minutes awa fae Alford, so fa’s worried?” And two; it lets us flog unofficial merchandise tae tourists fa dinna ken the difference. So the chance tae get her here to be photographed at the Toon’s Ha’, or cowking doon by the sewage works, wis too good tae miss.

And that is fit wye Feel Moira has moved the road signs at Tillyfourie tae divert Emeli and her BBC crew up here. For Meikle Wartle can boast its ain distinctive street performers, maistly roon aboot midnight jist after the pub’s closed. Emeli says her show is ga’an tae be a celebration o’ the beauty and diversity o’ music in all its forms. “It’s got to be real,” she says.

Weel, if it’s real she’s winting, it disnae get ony mair real than Skittery Wullie wi’ his finger in his lug skirling awa at “McFarlan O” the Sprotts’. Maist folk pronounce themselves fully satisfied wi’ its authenticity efter jist een o’ the 15 verses. So she may as weel call aff the cross-country trachle, save herself a good deal o’ BBC Scotland’s nae-doot ticht budget, and jist get Wullie in the van. Jist as soon as possible, please. Cheerio!

Struan Metcalfe, MP for Turriff and East Speyside

Boo hoo. Blubbety blub. Voice cracking as you say “I love my country”. Sad face. Our hearts go out to brave, bruised, battered Theresa. Who could ever fill those strong, stable, kitten-heeled shoes? We shall never see her like again. Only joking! So long, loser! The race is on. It. Is. On!

This is why I got into politics in the first place. The chance to serve and improve our society? Pah! Give me a bitter power struggle any day. My blood is pumping and my heart is racing. I cannot wait to see which of my Tory chums gets absolutely pummelled.

The usual suspects have raised their heads above the parapet and just like in Game Of Thrones there are a lot of naked exhibitionists and some peripheral characters who are going to get killed off early doors (Rory, Raab, Irritable Bowel Syndrome).

Many, many people have asked me to run. And I understand their anger and frustration at the old guard. But I am far too modest and humble a person to put my self forward for this great honour.

Not bad, eh? I’ve really been practising “false modesty” with Jacinda, my media consultant. I reckon I could give Gove a proper run for his money. I too have Scotch credentials and know a few farmers, so could keep the union together. AND… I even attend the Turriff Show (yawn, but great PR and I can get properly squiffy on free Champers on the ticket of those local accountants who always sponsor the booze tent). I have approached Geri Halliwell and suggested she accompanies me on the hustings in her Union Jack dress. Oof! Given the radio silence from her people, she is clearly thinking about it. Cold shower please!

Back at Westminster, the early betting was, of course, on Boris until he got hauled before the beak because of stuff he said during the Brexit campaign.

I mean, call me spherical and paddle my bottom while screaming “Whiff” and “Whaff” on every stroke, how unfair can you get? So an MP knows the truth, had previously demonstrated that he knew the truth on camera, but proceeded to tell the proles a porky-pie when it was what they wanted to hear. So what? Is that a crime?

Yes. It turns out it is. Cripes.

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