Jan 212011
 

Old Susannah has been constantly on the go the past week. Here’s her travelogue…

On Friday I attended most of the public hearing on the Loirston Loch proposal at the Town House. Admittedly, I left before the full meeting ended, so missing Kate Dean’s concluding remarks, but I would have lost the will to live altogether, and I had to be at Peacock for 6pm.

Sorry I only lasted 8 hours at the hearing, but seeing as Kate was doing a great job of being impartial as convener, I left, in the knowledge that the stadium was in safe hands. See the article elsewhere in this edition of Voice.

Next day, the P&J printed an article favouring the stadium development which ignored all the practical problems and local objections, alongside a piece on Cove Rangers being allowed to move to new premises. Of course, these two developments in the Aberdeen footballing world are completely unrelated. Old Susannah must have wandered into a completely different public hearing from the one the P&J wrote about, as I missed the parts that proved how this stadium will not only make us all rich, but also make us the envy of the northern hemisphere. I came away with the subtle feeling that one or two of the residents might not be onside with putting a 21,000 seat stadium on their greenbelt.

The Peacock exhibition features Alicia Bruce’s photographic portraits of the residents facing potential eviction through compulsory purchase, so that Mr Trump can have the world’s most kitsch – sorry – most excellent, perfect, wonderful, swell, expensive golf course. A review and photos of the exhibition is elsewhere in Voice.

Finally, George Galloway and his moustache are in the news this week. He seems to be saying he will end his political career in Scotland. Has no one told him that his political career well and truly ended when he was on Big Brother pretending to be Rula Lenska’s cat?  Respect….?

..and she shares the week’s defining moments in her Dictionary, Part 21

Embezzle

(Verb) To embezzle is to appropriate goods, property or money fraudulently when in a position of power, rather like when we pay Council Tax to local government with the false promise we’ll get something of value in return. Now it looks as if a City Council employee has been taking his work home with him literally – to the tune of somewhere between £300,000 and £400,000. It is understood the person and his wife are now ‘helping police with their enquiries’.

there is no fraud to worry about really, except the odd half million pound case like this one

Yes, it’s hard to understand how our well-run, efficient, properly audited and controlled City could have allowed such a thing to happen; ‘financial impropriety’ and ‘Aberdeen City Council’ are words you’d never expect to hear in the same sentence, I know.

Stringent controls are in place to prevent, for instance, property being sold below market value, property being sold to private developers when the City thinks it is really selling property to the NHS, or building work contract values escalating out of control, and the like. In fact there are ‘Investigation Managers’ and ‘Budget Analysts’ on the City’s efficient payroll.

But relax –  there is no fraud to worry about really, except the odd half million pound case like this one, which clearly is a one-off and will never happen again.

Incandescent (Adjective) Incandescent is the ‘condition of glowing or emitting heat and light’. Indeed, it is often associated with lightbulbs but presumably less so with the new mercury-filled ones which don’t give out quite enough light for my taste. John Major famously took the word ‘incandescent’ and coupled it with his anger, coming up with the phrase, ‘not inconsiderably incandescent with rage’ to describe how he usually felt. This may have been his greatest contribution as Prime Minister, although we might want to ask Mrs Edwina Currie her opinion.

This adjective is still being used by the brightest stars in the political firmament, as no less a luminary than our own Kate Dean has told the press she is incandescent. No, not just her natural glow of warmth, charm and beauty; she is incandescent with anger.

Who’s upset Kate? The Scottish Government transport authorities have had the gall to criticise Aberdeen’s public transport management – the nerve!

outsiders might mistakenly think we have problems. I hope that an apology to Kate is on the way

As if there was anything to criticise. Kate’s main problem is that she didn’t have a chance to defend the City’s sterling record on public transport. The frequent bus services, the low prices, the potholes, the bus lanes.Apparently we’ve created one million pounds worth of bus lanes recently, part of the reason traffic moves so swiftly.

The well thought-out transport arrangements for Union Square and the bus and railway stations are greatly appreciated by people with mobility problems as well as car drivers and bus passengers, who, in rush hour or late night shopping days, can spend ages window-shopping at Union Square from the comfort of their own cars. Building the new AFC stadium is going to add 80 buses at current estimate and 1400 cars to the mix on Wellington Road, pollution levels on which can be higher than national recommended levels, but with the new bus lanes, well, it will be fine.

Part of Ms Dean’s problem is that Aberdeen wasn’t invited to the particular meeting where the criticism was levelled, so she could not defend our excellent system. Clearly a system as perfect as ours would not be able to stand on its own merits for others to marvel at – outsiders might mistakenly think we have problems. I hope that an apology to Kate is on the way.

Joined-up government.

How do things in the public sector work so well?

How do our governors manage to accomplish so much good with our tax money so efficiently?

The answer is that we have ‘joined-up government’.

The term ‘joined-up government’ is defined as ‘a method of governing wherein all departments and branches communicate efficiently with each other and act together purposefully and effectively towards well-defined objectives – but you don’t need me to tell you that’s what you’ve got in the ‘deen.

It is little wonder that international property developers want to come here when they see how ‘joined up’ we are.

It’s hard to pick out just one example pertaining to our government in terms of its ‘joined-up’ thinking, so I’ll take the most recent one. In the P&J on 19 January, there’s a story of how Scottish Enterprise and Aberdeen City Council work in harmony to our benefit.

Peacock Art Gallery, you may recall, had managed to secure a large grant from the Arts Council to build new premises. Like vultures smelling blood, the City and Scottish Enterprise moved in to offer assistance. They assisted Peacock right out of its plans for the Union Terrace Gardens arts centre it had proposed.

But what becomes of the grant from the Arts Council? It’s now probably lost forever, and we have the amusing spectacle of Aberdeen City v Scottish Enterprise. The blame game is on.  Who did what and when is being argued over in the press as these two entities try to blame each other for the loss. Strangely enough, many years back, the Arts Council had ring-fenced a few million for an arts centre in the Castlegate. This money too was lost forever. A deadline approached, and the City Council seems not to have known anything about it, despite having a Council representative attending the relevant meetings. It is little wonder that international property developers want to come here when they see how ‘joined up’ we are. They know when they see examples like the latest drama over Peacock funding unfold, that we are people to be reckoned with – smart, astute business minds working in conjunction. There is no way we will be fooled or taken advantage of when great minds are in control. Not here.

On a serious note

Spare a thought for Sandy Ingram, the 79 year-old man found severely beaten in June of last year. He will now need full-time care, and can never return to the home he knew. Apparently he had seen two men on his property before he was assaulted. Whilst the residents in his area of Newmachar are now more vigilant regarding strangers, and are reporting suspicious behaviour to police, it comes too late for the Ingram family.

Someone out there knows what happened to him which is still a mystery to the rest of us. If you don’t come forward you are as guilty as if you’d hurt this elderly man yourself. And the next time someone else gets permanently injured or worse, you’ll have to live knowing you could have prevented it.

Even if you just suspect something, make an anonymous call. Do the right thing.

Jan 212011
 

By Bob Smith.

Tak a trip oot bye Cove
It’s aneuch ti mak ye greet
Nae langer a quiet wee hamlet
Wi sma hoosies alang Main Street

Fit hiv they deen ti the village
Hooses thrown up here an there
The auld pairt still his tranquility
The rest is hard ti bear

Hae a waak up past the skweel
An ye’ll see fit I div mean
Aa the paths aroon Whitehills
Are nae langer ti be seen

The lang street fit’s Loirston Road
Wi it’s affshoot the “Hennie Raw”

His still a lot o hoosies
Fit are bonnie bricht an braw

Gyang wakkin doon the Main Street
Past the weel kent Cove Bay Hotel
The closer ye cam ti the shore
The air his aat tangy smell

Kids used ti be able ti sledge
Doon the brae an ower the brig
If they wir ti try iss nooadays
Some graves they wid hae ti dig

A bonnie freenly place wis Cove
Far ye eence stoppit for a blether
Wi muckle hoosin developments and sic
Fowk noo  at the eyn o their tether

Thoosans o hooses aa roon aboot

For fowk fa wark in Aiberdeen
Nae thocht for life’s quality
Fit aul “Covers” wid hae seen

Div the kids still play at the shore?
Div they waak on the parapets?
Div they swing on pulley ropes still?
Faar the fisher fowk hung their nets

Harry Gordon  he sang iss song
“Tak me back ti Cove”
If Harry wis here nooadays
He’d say na na by jove

Developers an planners are let loose
On villages fae Don ti the Tay
Can we stop iss mass invasion
O ither villages like Cove Bay

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010

Jan 212011
 

By George Anderson.

My call, they assured me, was important to them. They were quite specific about this.

It was less important than putting a man on Mars, but more important than missing a hairdressing appointment.
Both of their service consultants, Alf and Deirdre, were experiencing hyper-normal levels of calls. Which was presumably why I was 68th in the queue and had been holding on since the milkman delivered the gold top on Monday.

Of course, your place in these queues is relative. Only 48 hours beforehand I had been 497th in the queue, so I wasn’t doing too badly and I always had the option to ‘Press 1 – if you have lost the will to live.’  Anyway, I had taken a week’s holiday to make this call, so I still had five days in hand.

On Thursday morning someone with an indefinable European accent asked me to key in the square root of my National Insurance number and while I was at it, my age, shoe size, bank details, three of my favourite passwords, a Visa card number, my postal code and my grandmother’s maiden name.

By Friday afternoon the manic rendering of the Birdy Song I had been listening to continuously since the beginning of the week – when I wasn’t listening to machines telling me how much they valued my custom that is – had infiltrated my cranium, dug in like travellers encamped on the Mounthooly roundabout and refused to leave for several weeks after I had hung up.

I was just starting to hallucinate from lack of sleep when I suddenly realised I could hear Alf’s voice saying ‘Hello, Alfred speaking. How may I help you?’  But he didn’t have an option to press for those, people like me, who had forgotten why they called in the first place; so I just hung up.

My wife said I had wasted a week’s holiday. But I reminded her of the week we had spent in sub-deluxe chalet-style accommodation at Butlins Ayr, during a rain sodden February in 1964 and she grudgingly agreed that nothing could be a bigger waste of time than that.

There was worse to come. Apparently, while I was waiting for Alfred to come free, some Albanian cyber-twister had plundered our bank accounts, leaving them emptier than Ma Hubbard’s dog.

Jan 142011
 

By Bob Smith.

Noo listen here  aa ye citizens
Chynges ye maun embrace
Tis the cry o some developers
Union Street’ll recover it’s grace

Knights ridin’ ti the rescue
O oor eence bonnie toon
Their armour’s a bittie tarnished
Their motto is “Knock it doon”

Us billies ken fit should be deen
Is fit wer aywis hearin’
Mair o the same bliddy mess
Is fit gweed fowk are fearin’

Let’s aa think aboot their crack
“Oor plans will gie ye a boost”
Bit  I’m feart it’s mair than likely
Gless an concrete will rule the roost

The toon’s already bein’ run
Bi chiels in pin strippit suit
The cooncil hisna got a clue
As the suits pick up the loot

“Ye’ll aa be better aff” they purr
If ye let us hae  oor wye
Better ti trust Auld Nick himsel’
Than some faa are richt fly

Union Street’s fair doon trodden
An lookin’ like some auld crone
Caused by the lack o foresicht
An shops fit lower the tone

Lit the developers hae their wye
They wid seen ging ower the score
Instead o lookin like some auld hag
She micht turn oot a flashy whore

Gweed citizens o Aiberdeen
The ba’s in yer ain court
Tell the numpties faar ti ging
An their stupid plans abort

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010

Jan 142011
 

Voice’s resident wordly-wise sage, Old Susannah, dines, defines and discourages the whines.

Old Susannah is having quite the week – on Tuesday it was off to the Marcliffe for a spot of lunch, courtesy of the Dirty Dancing musical which is coming to Aberdeen in March 2012.

The food was a nice mix of appetisers and the steak in ale on an Irish pancake was most memorable. The Berlin cast of the show danced beautifully, and the event closed with a rousing duet.  I particularly dislike bad musicals. I walked out of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers once – it reminded me of when my cat was poorly.

For me the real surprise was learning that the producer for Dirty Dancing is Karl Sydow, whose list of credits in the theatre is, well, awesome.  He’s worked around the world with talent such as Sir Ian McKellen, Fiona Shaw, and Old Susannah’s favourite, Ian Hislop.  Sydow is also on the board of Out of Joint, the UK’s leading producer of new writing for the theatre.

So, what’s new in Dictionary Corner, Susannah?

Irony

Irony can be defined as per Miriam-Webster’s online dictionary “the use of words to express something other than and especially the opposite of the literal meaning”. It is also a well-known fact that Americans can’t understand irony, and it is a term often best explained by illustration. Happily, the Press & Journal has supplied one.

City ‘one of the safest in the country'” announced a P&J headline on 7 January. The story went on to quote a police spokesperson on safety in Aberdeen over the festive period. This wonderful safety which we all noticed in the streets was, by coincidence, at the very same time as an increased police presence in town.  The Council should be told – before they announce yet more police cuts. And what were the other headlines appearing in the same issue?

“Theft of equipment worth thousands over Christmas”
“Attacker who broke man’s jaw spared jail”
“Man, 22, jailed for stamping on victim – unprovoked attack in the street”
“Probation for teacher over online sex chats with pupil”
“Man admits owning dog which mauled elderly horse” (NB this was Gary Pearce, 42, of Marischal Street),
“Disabled bus passenger mugged after being followed – victim says attackers robbed him after pretending to help him off vehicle”

and..
“Nightclub owner admits vicious assault” – with a rolling pin no less.

the sufferer is usually trying to compensate for something they lack, or something they feel guilty about

It is safe to say that by comparison, these headlines make the ‘Safest in the Country’ headline look just a touch ironic.  But if the P&J says we’re the safest city, maybe we can stop locking our doors at night.  I know I’m going to.

Ozymandias Complex

Ozymandias is a poem by the great Percy Bysshe Shelley, which in a few lines sums up the futility and ego of an ancient Egyptian king, Ozymandias. Ozymandias believed in his own superiority, and sought immortality and power by erecting huge monuments to himself and his empire – which, inevitably, the sands of time literally destroyed after he himself was long forgotten and his people dead.

The Ozymandias Complex is a psychological term concerning someone who is inwardly insecure or inadequate, but is desperate to make an ostentatious – which means ‘showy’ for any City Councillors reading – display of wealth and power, in the hope of winning admiration. The person blighted by this complex wants others to fear, respect, admire or envy them and the sufferer is usually trying to compensate for something they lack, or something they feel guilty about. Of course the psychological motivation of the person suffering Ozymandias Syndrome doesn’t matter in the end, because the grateful populace get a new statue or car park or giant pink glowing stadium, and their gratitude will know no bounds.  They will sing the praises of the person who creates these monuments to their own greatness, and will, as Shelley wrote, ‘despair’.

Old Susannah was able to give an example of irony in the previous definition, but cannot think of any suitable local dignitaries with the Ozymandias Complex.  If I knew of any wealthy local tycoons tying to erect pompous monuments to themselves, I Wood let you know. For now, I’m just Milne it over. If any readers can offer examples, please get in touch.

Ozymandias

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Climate Change

Climate Change is a trendy phrase people throw around these days, but Old Susannah suspects climate change is just a lot of hot air. Granted, this is a rarely-used term and you probably won’t come across it, but as the City Council finds it important, I will try to define it.

Apparently, the use of fossil fuels might possibly be giving off C02 gases and choking our atmosphere, causing damage to the ozone layer and trapping heat, thus warming the planet over time.

we all deserve a pat on the back for saving energy and reducing the production of C02 gases

I doubt there is much to this, as there would be some kind of evidence to support so wild a claim, such as a correlation between the burning of fossil fuels and temperature change, or freakish weather in terms of droughts or floods – like in Australia for instance – or changes in the oceans.

This is the ‘greenhouse effect’. Let’s see what our City Council makes of it all….

“The Council has signed up to the 10:10 climate change campaign, pledging to cut 10% of its carbon emissions during 2010.

The UK-wide campaign encourages individuals, businesses, schools, community groups and councils to work together to achieve a 10% cut in the nation’s carbon emissions by 2010.

Aberdeen City Council was the first Scottish local authority to sign up to the campaign and was followed by Edinburgh City Council.  The UK-wide campaign encourages individuals, businesses, schools, community groups and councils to work together to achieve a 10% cut in the nation’s carbon emissions by 2010″.

According to the Council’s website, we all deserve a pat on the back for saving energy and reducing the production of C02 gases, which contribute to the greenhouse effect.  We have changed street lighting and we’ve got people off the roads into our efficient public transport system.

Our far-sighted councillors have also said that “The City Council also now measures all its policies, plans and purchases against their potential environmental impact”.

This is why Union Terrace Gardens will be turned into a car park, and why we will take green fields supporting wildlife and build a stadium, miles from the town centre, so 21000 people can come to the 1400-space car park and marvel at the local teams and the glowing red light. Maybe we can all turn off our household lights and just see at night by the new glowing stadium, which will be lit in a lovely shade of red? I will try to find out if that’s how the stadium meets the environmental impact statement.

Coming next week: a few definitions, and feedback from this Friday’s open hearing on the Loirston Stadium development.

PS: I am dismayed to hear that some City Council employees are openly complaining about losing 5% of their salaries. Can these people please refrain from discussing the matter at work? You might cause some dissatisfaction with your co-workers, and that is something the Council has so far completely managed to avoid.

Remember – be happy and cheerful! After all, Lib Dem councillors have agreed to take the cut, so you should gladly do the same. Making funny remarks is not helpful either. I understand that your line managers have acted swiftly to stop these outbreaks of complaining – and rightly so – with a sympathetic, kindly, fatherly, gentle word to those few involved.  Thank you.

Jan 072011
 

First of all, on behalf of AV, Fred Wilkinson would like to wish a Happy New Year to all our readers and contributors… and everyone else as well.

Whatever it is you have found to celebrate of late, whether the glittering blanket of snow some are glad to see the back of, a significant birth, time off work, turkey and trimmings, drinking to the seasonally normalised abnormal levels, the giving and recieving of gifts, the kids faces when they saw the decorations, the wrappings come off a coveted item, the effort of removing all the sellotape before said paperage could be recycled, we hope you had a good combination of joy, madness, and involuntary downtime.

Anyway, underneath all that razzamatazz, that highly anticipated and revered date, the 25th of December, marked exactly 6 months since publication of the first issue of Aberdeen Voice.

Determined and dedicated though our team may be, I doubt if any of us would have dared 6 months ago to predict we would be publishing regularly into a new year – otherwise we would all have ran off and done something less daft – like nude underwater indoor bowling, or low impact breathing, or …
The truth is, we didn’t know what lay ahead – only that there was an appetite for an alternative, and it would appear that appetite is still there and growing.

Today, by contrast, I doubt if any of the Aberdeen Voice team would bet against us providing a regular service beyond next Xmas and into 2012. However, the coming year poses a different set of challenges.

Our readership has grown steadily to the point where we have all but outgrown our present hosting arrangements. We are already experiencing dips in performance at peak periods, and current projections would indicate that a major upgrade is required within weeks if we are to satisfy the growing, global as well as local demand.

The fact that we have managed to run AV for 6 months on a budget of a few coins atop £40 never fails to raise a chuckle, and a proud chuckle at that – if there ever was such a thing.
However, whether we like it or not, due to you pesky readers multiplying like bloody vermin, we have no choice, other than to kill you all, but move to a more professional package. And so we now face an annual budget of around £500 to maintain progress at the rate that you, yes YOU, the readers demand!

We do not accept payment for adverts or in exchange for publishing any kind of material as we believe that this compromises our status as an independent organisation – and an independent organisation we wish to remain.

However, that’s not to say we will refuse a beer in exchange for a quiet mouth and an open ear – as long as we can buy you one back in exchange for your silence and attention while we feedback our assessment of your story, your angle, your character and your parentage.

But seriously folks, we do feel the time has come to seek assistance with future running costs.

We will of course be putting our hands in our respective collective pooches as we believe the value of AV is greater than the aforementioned cost, and in view of feedback to date, we know many of you agree.

With the planned introduction of a ‘donate’ button, and a fundraising event coming up soon, we are confident that we will not only continue to encourage grassroots citizen journalism and regularly publish items of relevance to the people of Aberdeen and the Northeast, but we will have access to features which will facilitate the creation of a better and more flexible product.

Whether or not you will find yourselves able to ease our financial burden, we hope that you will continue to support Aberdeen Voice by contributing articles and information, reading regularly and spreading the word.

One way or another we, will continue in our role of supporting freedom of expression and democracy within the widest acceptable bounds in the known journalistic universe … and wider if you toss the odd coin into our fountain of genuine fresh fairy tears – of joy I hasten to add.

We are the vehicle – you are the voice….. and that voice is getting louder… so, mind ye dinna scare the bairns noo!

Wishing you all the biggest and best in 2011 – AV

Jan 072011
 

By Bob Smith.

I switched on my computer
Ae cauld December day
Fit I found on ma screen
Fair filled me wi dismay

“Yer affa low on disk space”
The bubble it me did tell
I sat an scratched ma heid
An some obscenities did yell

I tried ma best ti recover space
By deletin’ some o ma files
It didna mak muckle odds
I wis losin space in style

Gweed fowk gied me suggestions
An them I aa then used
By the time I wis feenished
I wis gettin’ mair confused

Doon an doon the GB’s wint
Till I wis near despair
I punched in iss, I punched in aat
An tuggit oot tufts o hair

The laptop it his nearly been
Fair chukkit in the bin
Bit fegs I’m an Aiberdonian
Throwin’ siller awa is a sin

So ma freens I’m noo affline
Cos I canna doonload at speed
The computer’s in for an MOT
So disk space can be freed

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010

Dec 312010
 

BAD KING DONALD By Bob Smith.

(Ti be sung ti the tune o Good King Wenceslas)

Bad King Donald lookit oot
Ower his course at Menie
Fog an haar wis aa aboot
Fowk widna spend a penny
Tho’ brichtly shone the harbour lichts
Ye couldna see them twinkle
Syne a puir chiel hove in sicht
On dunes wis haein a tinkle

Hither Dod an stan by me
Disobey me at yer peril
Ging an see fit he  micht wint
He maybe could be feral
Sire he bides jist doon the wye
Thon fishermannie fae Menie
Faa widna sell his hoose ti ye
An refused’ti tak a penny

Ging an see fit he dis wint
I dinna like trespassin
Fit a peety the cooncil says
The stocks are oot o fashion
Donald an Dod they strode oot
Haun an haun tigither
Peerin throwe the fog an haar
Causin them great bither

Dod he says noo tak yer time
An note faar ye are gyaan
Watch faar ye div pit yer feet
In case ye micht be faain
Dod ye are a fearty gowk
I ken fit I am deein
Tho’ it micht be foggy kine
An afen we’re nae seein’

Dod in maister’s steps he trod
Tho’ he thocht it crazy
Nivver a wird he did spik
Aathin’it wis hazy
Syne they saw an ootline shape
Near the salty brine so
Fin they got a bittie close
It was jist  a wind turbine  tho’

Sire,the mannie we hiv missed
In the haar he’s hidden
He’ll be back in his hame
The een ye ca a midden
Dammit Dod I’m fair pit oot
In fact I’m bliddy hissin
The mannie his nae richt ye see
On my dunes ti be pissin

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010

Dec 312010
 

Voice’s Old Susannah tackles more tricky terms with a locally topical taste.

Aberdeen is such a cool city.  Make that frozen.  For those of you with snowshoes, ice skates or skis who have been able to make it out of your homes, you may have noticed a few minor problems.  There may have been one or two late-running buses during rush hour.

A few flights and trains couldn’t run.  Nearly two and a half thousand of us have had frozen pipes in our homes, including Old Susannah, who couldn’t find a plumber who wasn’t fully booked up.

Therefore a “thank you very much” to the brains at ‘Wayne’s Drains’ for giving such great help over the telephone; with their guidance I was able to avoid a burst pipe.

For a few days I had no running water which was a great adventure.  I do apologise for turning in such a short ‘Dictionary Corner’ this week but I have three days’ worth of washing, cleaning and mopping up awaiting me.  Sorry!  It was messy and no fun at all clearing the pipes, and if I never see a U-bend or a tub of ‘Plumber’s Mait’ putty again it will be too soon. Still, I was much better off than an acquaintance who had a frozen toilet.  He wound up in quite a mess.  Speaking of messes…

Local Development  Plan: The Local Development Plan, or ‘LDP’ to its friends, sets out the realistic, wonderful future for Aberdeen.  There are goals such as doubling the City’s population, building thousands of new homes, and making a ‘community stadium’ on Loirston Loch (NB – Old Susannah cannot as yet find a definition of what a ‘community stadium’ is).  Part of this ingenious plan is to always have land available to developers for creating industrial estates – again,

I always thought land was a finite commodity, and that we still had such a thing as ‘greenbelt land’.  Apparently the ‘Planners’ don’t happen to agree.  As a voter in Aberdeen, you were presumably made aware that your elected representatives would create this plan, only I can’t seem to find anything to back that up as yet.

You could also be forgiven for thinking that the local, elected Community Councils get asked what they’d like to see  – or not see – in the plans from the earliest stages.  Apparently there is a ‘statutory duty’ for Community Councils to be consulted for matters in their areas.  The truth is that the developers (hmm – can we think of any influential local developers?) and the planning chiefs sit down and invent the whole thing without bothering the elected Community Councils – the rationale for this seems to be that the Community Councils get a chance to object later on.

Where would the needy ‘All Energy Aberdeen’ have been had we not spent over £9K on a wine, beer and juice reception

This is a bit like the farmer objecting to the gate after the horse has bolted.  Therefore the ‘community stadium’ planners had a budget of our money capped at approximately £250,000 to spend to investigate the pros and cons of the deal.  Had they asked the local councils first, they might well have been told to scrap the idea.

But remember, consultants have to make a living, too.  It’s quite funny how the pros (like a big, shiny, new, red-glowing building where Aberdeen Football Club can astound 22,000 people with previously unsuspected footballing skills) are made to be realistic and important, and the cons – such as loss of wildlife habitat, urban sprawl, traffic and expense don’t seem nearly as important.

Of course, the community councils get to comment later in the ‘consultation’ process, during which their opinions are given the consideration that they are worth.  For Loirston Loch’s destruction, they get a maximum input at the public hearing of 30 minutes per council.  I hope they can talk fast.  (Old Susannah will be getting up to have her say about the ‘community stadium’ at this public hearing, which is on 14 January at the Town House City Council offices on Broad Street at 09:30.  If you’ve nothing better to do than see Old Susannah talking to a brick wall, do come along).

Hospitality: Dictionary definitions for the noun ‘hospitality’ describe it as meaning “… hospitable treatment, reception, or disposition .”  Do not let anyone tell you there is any truth in the stereotype that the Scots are not generous and hospitable; Aberdeen City has definitely dispelled that myth.  It might have done so using your tax money, but it’s money well spent.  It shows the rest of the world how prosperous we are.  Secondly, as previously established, our Lord Provost is worried about being embarrassed or looking foolish – which is why he and his wife need a generous clothing allowance and why he wants us to take Sir Ian Wood’s £50 million for the Union Terrace car park.

Let’s look at some of the hospitality we dished out last year.  On the one hand, we only spent £129,472.5 pence according to the City.  On the other hand, one wonders if it was all necessary.  We threw events for councillors and a whole host of special interest groups.  Where would the needy ‘All Energy Aberdeen’ have been had we not spent over £9K on a wine, beer and juice reception for it at the AECC?  You and I gladly paid for the ‘Aberdeen Sports Person of the Year Awards’ at the Beach Ballroom where some 275 luminati had dinner and drinks for £9,774.25.

Lest we forget, the City just recently had to stump up an extra £64K or so for the international football programme’s going over budget.  I can’t really complain, we attracted an amazing array of footballing talent, including Birmingham City.  We still don’t have enough money to keep our schools or have children continue with music lessons.  We might have to close our parks (or turn them into something profitable).  I have no doubt that our elected officials who dutifully attend these drinkfests stick to water and soft drinks; they might wind up  useless,  sozzled and brain-addled otherwise; thankfully this hasn’t happened as yet.

However, let’s raise a glass to the forty plus drinks events we held last year.  Cheers!

Dec 232010
 

“We will protect and enhance the city’s wildlife and biodiversity and preserve the land we manage.”

By Ahayma Dootz.

I had almost lost count of the days we had spent struggling through the overgrown wilderness of Allenvale in search of my ancestor’s tomb when D’oad returned from a scouting trip with alarming news. It seemed that this land was indeed inhabited. A few miles ahead he had spotted signs of a small village or ‘clachan’ nestled in a clearing by a small river which he assumed to be a tributary of the mighty D’ee – possibly the Holb’urn.

“The fowk seem tae be peaceful,” he said. “Ah believe they’re the people ye thocht ye saw back at Sk’inner’s gravestone. Ah heard music.”

We decided to approach cautiously, offering trade goods  – ‘tees’, baseball caps, t-shirts from Trumpistan and the like – in exchange for information and fresh supplies. Little did I suspect that this encounter would completely change the nature of my quest!

It was several days later that D’oad and I sat with the headman discussing our plans. It seemed that cousin Walter had also encountered these people. Five years earlier, a man answering Walter’s description had wandered into the village babbling about ‘lost treasures’, a ‘hidden garden’ and a ‘red spire’.

He had been well-equipped but exhausted, and half starved. While he recovered his strength he had told of how, long ago, his own people had once lived in these lands and that while searching for his ‘roots’ he had come across information concerning his family’s lost ‘birthright’. Some fabulous treasure which had mysteriously disappeared causing the time of turmoil that local legends call the ‘Hard Times’.

The headman, G’illie, shook his head.

“Oor aul’ fowk kent a bittie oboot this.”  he explained while D’oad translated ( these people were riddled with the ‘doric’.). “Afore oor fowk turnt their backs on a’ they mad gods – K’ooncil, D’ean, Ah’ksef   an’ the ithers – we kent fine that the tribute gaithered ower the years had disappeared – aye, that the treasury wis toom!”

He explained that there had always been rumours of how this wealth had somehow been hidden in a secret valley called the ‘Gairdens’ guarded by a tall tower –the ‘red spire’. It appeared that after finding Mary McWalter’s tomb, cousin Walter – always prone to obsession –  had gone off in search of these lost riches and that after his arrival here he had pressed on, heading north towards ‘T’oonhoos’.

Despite the corrosion I could make out a shield flanked by two blurred upright figures

I considered my position.  Returning home empty-handed had never been an option for me – Walter and I were family after all – but I knew the native bearers would not venture further no matter how many ‘gowfba’s’ I offered. I was delighted, however, when D’oad offered to accompany me.

G’illie allowed us to study old maps and consult with his storytellers then, supplied with fresh provisions and information,  D’oad and I prepared to follow the Holb’urn north. As we packed, I asked him why he had decided to continue this uncertain journey. Beckoning me to follow, he walked over to an ancient bench which stood outside G’illie’s hut. Looking closely, I realised that although the seat was made of wood, the frame was cast-iron! D’oad pointed to what seemed to be a coat of arms on the backrest. Despite the corrosion I could make out a shield flanked by two blurred upright figures.

“That is the auld symbol of the ‘Deen,” he said, “Div ye see thae twa craturs either side o’ the shield? They were the ancient guardians o’ the ‘Deen – some wid say they’re only myth, ithers that long, long ago, such things walked this land. There is a legend amongst my people that if ever they are seen again, then the lands o‘ Deen shall be healed –  united once again – and returned to their former glory! Noo, ah’ve heard rumours of sightings tae the north. Jist rumours, mind, but if there’s ony hope at a’ then….” , he tailed off.

“But what on earth are they?” I asked.

He told me.

“Aaaaarrrgh!!!” I screeched, “That’s disgusting!” I recoiled from the bench. ”Surely not! Not even here in this benighted land! I mean, medical science…I mean…” words failed me.

D’oad frowned, looking puzzled for a moment; then his face cleared.

“Na, na, na, ya deef gype.” He exclaimed.” Nae lepers, ya bluidy eedjit! Leopards, min, leopards! Muckle big spotty cats, ye ken?” he began to laugh uncontrollably. “Lepers!”

Sheepishly at first, I began to giggle.