Aug 122018
 

On 18 July, groups up and down the country protested Donald Trump’s visit to the UK, which Theresa May had organised.  Aberdeen’s TUC protested his presence too, and here is how Kathleen Kennedy, ATUC president, remembered the day.  As told to Suzanne Kelly.

Groups up and down the UK protested Donald Trump’s visit on Friday 13th July.  Tripping up Trump had a splendid campaign seeing slogans written in the sand near the Menie Course. 

London saw tens of thousands gather at Trafalgar Square – with a giant baby Trump inflatable which angered Trump even before it was flown.

Kathleen Kennedy and scores of ATUC members took to the street to protest the visit President Donald Trump made to the UK and his golf courses.

Ms TUC president,  helped organise the demonstration, which she spoke at.  She said:

“In my speech I made two connections to Donald Trump and myself as we both presidents as I am the ATUC president and he is USA but I am the one people like!

“The other thing: we both mothers from Lewis I am ashamed to admit!”

The day was a success up and down the country, but it had a further special meeting to Kathleen over and above Trump’s poor record in treating workers.

Ms Kennedy added:

“I then spoke about how he treated a disabled reporter with Cerebral Palsy (like I have) in his campaign and this was something I was outraged about as the man was doing his job and this shouldn’t be tolerated anything.

“I then end the with Gaelic word to go away and said if he really proud of his Scottish roots he would know what I meant.”

At the time of writing, it seems unlikely there will be another state visit from the KKK-endorsed president:  he has just admitted on twitter that his son Donald Junior, his campaign manager, met with Russian operatives to try to influence the outcome of the US election which saw Hillary Clinton win the popular vote, but lose the electoral college election.

A newly-released photo of Trump junior with a woman said to be a Russian spy won’t help the Trump family, either.

Ms May was criticised for organising the visit, which had more false steps than a Gay Gordons danced at 2am at a wedding in Peterhead.

Kathleen said:

“We had well over 100 people there there was people from different groups but almost a carnival atom sphere as we unity to send the message: ‘Donald your views aren’t welcomed here.'”

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Dec 232017
 

This is an attempt at satire. Any resemblance to a person living, dead or somewhere in between; competent or wholly incompetent; greedy or otherwise is purely and yugely coincidental. By Suzanne Kelly.

It was a cold November rain that fell on the glistening, gleaming, sparkly, shiny granite stone of the Granite City.

The rain even dared to fall on the city council’s Town House and Marischal College.

Inside said Town House, a vulnerable Willie Wonky was clearing out his desk. It was late at night and unusually he felt tired and emotional.

And indeed angry – too angry even to throw out a few enlightening tweets to his many admirers – though being agitated had never stopped him before.

“It was only a fence, a wall, pathways…” Willie thought to himself; he was feeling rather hard done by.

“What about everything Dean for instance got away with?”

He had been forced from his office and his post on the City Council unceremoniously.

He felt that the science-based evidence against him was insignificant – after all, there was Pete Leonard, the man responsible for the crematorium scandal, and on a lesser note, he had formally reported that the Tullos Hill deer should be wiped out to create a forest – cost neutral no less – when he already had a letter telling him it wasn’t possible to have a forest on the hill, a former rubbish-tip.

The man was soundly hated by 99.9% of his staff – yet got months of gardening leave with full pay and a golden parachute.

“If only the public knew how much we gave Leonard.” Wonky muttered to himself.

He opened his desk and began taking out the files, deciding which to keep and which to leave behind – or destroy.

‘City Garden Project’ was by far the largest folder in his desk.

“Humpf” Wonky thought

“What a load of old cobblers. F me that was a stupid idea – ramps going up to a steep height only to descend to the other side. So much for the excuse of ‘accessibility’ being the reason to turn the gardens into a parking lot with astroturf. You’d have to be a mountain goat to get up or down those f-ing arches. So much for anyone in a wheelchair.

“Anne Begg easily accessed the gardens as they are . The idea of spending £180 million on this drivel and expecting people to fly in from all over the world to walk up and down a ramp or sit in an outdoor theatre – an outdoor theatre no less – to shop at Next and Boots; old Ian Wood must have thought we were out of our minds.”

Willie pulled this thick file out of the drawer and unceremoniously heaved it on his desk.

Rifling through the file drawer was considerably easier with the bulk of the Union Terrace Gardens out of the way.

“Oh look, the Stewart Milne Stadium plan.” Willie snorted derisively.

This huge white elephant was going to be great for everyone, especially one Stewart Milne.

File after file Wonky pulled out of his desk, from cabinets; dust was flying. Outside the rain intensified and the wind howled.

With each passing file he found – ‘Tree for Every Citizen feasibility study’ (by the man who gained £100k if it went ahead), ‘Art Gallery renovation costings’ (a work of sheer fantasy Wonky thought to himself with a sneer), ‘Donald Trump impact study – benefits for Aberdeen City, by VisitScotland’, ‘Invitation to Trump’s doctorate celebration’; ‘Benefits for Torry of having a breaking yard and incinerator’ – dozens of reports, papers, invitations and so on were piling high on Wonky’s desk now.

The wind moaned louder and the windows rattled, but Willie ploughed on.

‘Gerry Brough – curriculum vitae and list of academic credentials’; Wonky laughed aloud as he found this file; Brough was the bully who shouted down all opposition to the Garden project and stopped the public having a vote on just fixing the gardens up.

“F this wind and rain.” Willie thought as he turned on his computer – well, it was still his for a day or maybe two, as he decided to have some Netflix and chill.

The computer warmed up, and the next thing Willie heard was an old familiar voice

“Ahn tae all me friends – comrades – I should say – This is Alex Salmond, welcoming you to another instalment of McRussian TV. Have I ever told ye about the time I was doon te Balmoral and was singing with Prince –“

“F that!” shouted Wonky at his computer and closed the tab for the Alex Salmond show,

“how the f did that get on my computer?”

He opened an new tab and waited for Amazon videos to load up; he swiped haphazardly at the screen and hit the Christmas movies button.

Willie unlatched the window; as rainy and windy as it was, he had unaccountably become clammy, hot and excitable.

When he crossed the room to return to his desk, he could see there was a big box still on top of the cabinet, a yuge box.

“F that, I’d better see what the F’s in that F-ing thing.” Willie said, his anger growing.

A random Christmas movie whirred into life on his laptop; ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ had started. He could hear it play in the background.

Pushing his swivel chair close to the cabinet, Willie stepped onto its seat, reached for the huge cardboard box high on the shelf and started to pull it towards him. At that moment several things happened all at once.

The wind suddenly gusted, blowing the windows wide opened. This caused the papers in the room and on his desk to spring to sudden life and swirl through the air.

“Waa F!” Willie thought as this sudden commotion caused him to lose his footing and the chair started to wheel away. Alas, he had not lost his grip on the giant box.

The box Willie had grabbed slid off the shelf, knocking him straight between the eyes, causing him to wince and howl in pain as he fell backwards. Then to cap things off, a long-forgotten trophy ‘Aberdeen – best employer in Scotland’ made of faux granite and cheap metal clonked Wonky straight on the head. Down and out he went.

#          #          #

A voice in Wonky’s head was saying: “Congratulations! You’re the final winner of the Aberdeen Art Gallery renovation lottery Golden Ticket contest!”

“What the F?” Willie thought, then he opened his eyes. He was in a vast crowd in front of the Aberdeen Art Gallery.

Crowds cheered. There was a podium on which were about 8 of the most ridiculous-looking people Willy had ever seen. The man who congratulated him was a tall, thin man of about 70.

The man, dressed in a top hat, tails and with a big bow tie kept speaking.

“I better cut down on my order” thought Wonky as he was helped to his feet.

The oddly dressed man was addressing the crowd:

“Friends, thank you for buying the 7 million Aberdeen Art Gallery refurbishment tickets in a single afternoon! We will have the art gallery back opened in no time – say 3 to 5 years! Result!”

The frenzied crowd roared with its approval.

The man fixed his top hat, adjusted his satin waistcoat, and continued:

“The art gallery lottery promised there would be six winners whose golden tickets would get them an amazing prize! More about that in a moment. We’ve raised £7 million pounds! Hooray us!”

The crowd cheered some more.

“We’re going to raise even more money through some – ah efficiencies! We’re going to stop the Youth Festival – that’ll save £100k! No more kids wandering around town in the summer! No need to thank me or your councillors!”

The crowd were delirious with joy.

“Back to the Art Gallery Golden ticket winners” said Ian Wood – for it was he,

“These lucky people are the winners who will get the once-in-a-lifetime chance to come inside Marischal College and see where all the great ideas you love are dreamed up!”

There was more cheering, as you’d expect.

“The final winner is Willie Wonky here, who won the final golden ticket when he bought his Art Gallery lottery ticket. He too has won this vibrant and dynamic look behind the scenes at Marischal.”

“The other winners are Donnie Trump from America, who loves watching television and playing with guns; He is with his lovely assistant and spokesperson Sarah Malone Bates!”

Again with the crowds cheering.

“We also have Professor Bill Ritchie, former Head of Housing Peter Leonard, and… Stewart Milne!”

The crowd was delirious by now with joy.

“And friends” continued Sir Ian, bowing and tipping his top hat,

“Before I take the lucky winners on the tour of the dream factory that is Marischal College, I just want you to know it is pure coincidence that most of the people who have won are friends of mine – but then again – who isn’t?”

The crowds cheered more furiously than ever, as the lucky winners – Donald Trump, Sarah Malone, Willie Wonky (who was still feeling groggy and confused), Professor Bill Ritchie, Peter Leonard and Stewart Milne all stepped away from the crowds and past the statue of Sir Robert The Bruce towards a revolving door which would lead into the magical Marischal College building, where the magic happens.

Willie looked at the statue. For an instant he thought the horse snorted and Sir Robert bowed his head to expose a tear, but the fancy lasted only a moment.

Here we are! All pack in now! And Sir Ian stepped into the revolving door.

The other guests did their best to cosy up to him.

“Easy Stewart, if you get any closer you’ll be behind me.” chuckled Sir Ian.

Willie didn’t see why they all had to crowd into the same section of the revolving door, but no one else complained; they just looked adoringly at Sir Ian.

“ARGH!” shouted Willie – “What the F-’”

“-No need to worry my boy, it’s just one of the Troompa Loompas who run Marischal College.” Smiled Sir Ian Wood.

“But it’s hideous! Why is its hair that colour and doesn’t it own a comb or a mirror! Why is its skin bright orange? Is it human?” said Willie, pointing

“That’s my reflection you’re pointing at pal.” Said Donnie Trump angrily

“I’ll be tweeting about this, mark my words!”

“No, that other hideous thing!” said Wonky, pointing to another orange skinned creature that looked only half human.

“Ah, that’s Valerie Watts, the old Chief Executive. She’s been stuck in this revolving door for years now, one executive appointment after another, going around in circles.” Said Sir Ian.

“Stick with me everyone, you’re on the ride of your lives!” Ian said, as the real Troompa Loompas, orange skinned minions with frizzy white hair started to make the revolving door spin faster and faster.

The revolving door was jam packed, the Troompa Loompa s made it go faster and faster.

Willie Wonky could see shapes as the revolving door spun round – there were flowers, birds, meadows of grass, gorse and birds. The elevator slowed, and out the occupants all spilled onto Tullos Hill.

A deer ambled past. A quick gunshot rang out, and the deer fell dead.

“Isn’t it beautiful?!” asked Sir Ian. Wonky looked at the dead deer, but noticed Ian was pointing at a parking lot by a new building.

“Wood House and its new parking lot!” Sir Ian sighed.

“I’d like to thank you Pete Leonard for helping me. Aside from the unfortunate crematorium debacle – which we won’t talk of .” Wonky said, noticing the obsequious yet bullying Leonard had coughed,

“if not for how you handled the Tullos situation, I might not have got that parking lot made.”

“I have to hand it to you Pete. You knew there was no chance of growing a ‘Tree for every Citizen’ forest on this hill – it’s a rubbish heap, and you were sent a letter proving it. But, on you went – and here’s the genius thing – you told everyone in a report it was – cost neutral! Brilliant!”

Everyone laughed and clapped. The deer made a further spasm. Gunshots echoed all around.

“Pete, I like your spirit. You not only got rid of these deer, the migration of which was also a stumbling block for other projects – more of that soon – but you let the land donated to the city fall into such disrepair that the private owners took it back. If there’s now coincidentally a parking lot I need for my beautiful new building, then I thank you.

“And all that money paid to the consultants – what was that guy’s name – Chris Piper? Then well done you” Sir Ian said pinching and shaking Peter’s cheek.

“I hope if any crumbs fell off that table, you swept them up Pete.”

As the group surveyed the parking lot, the now barren hill save for a few dying saplings in tiny tree guards, a group of the Troompa Loompas marched into the scene.

As the Troompa Loompas gathered the group together to go to the next destination, they broke into song.

Troompa Loompa doopity dee
If you are wise you’ll listen to me
If Ian Wood wants a new parking lot
Wildlife and habitat don’t matter a jot

Let the land he needs fall into disuse
So he can get it – use any excuse
Kill a few deer and ignore the public outcry
Peter Leonard, you’re our kind of guy

You lied to the public
You lied to the public
You can live in luxury too
Like Sir Ian and Helen doopity do.

As they were getting ready to leave the hill, Willie was sure he saw Sir Ian give Pete a bag marked ‘swag’. The deer’s tiny back leg gave its final twitch.

“And now if you’ll all pile onto this magic bus” said Sir Ian as the Troompa Loompas helped the guests get on a Number 3 Stagecoach.

All the while Willy Wonky felt something was wonky.

The next stop is Loirston Loch! Where I’ve got a surprise for my friend Stewart!

“Sir Ian,” asked Sarah Malone-Bates.

“That’s like great an’ all, like, but it will take ages in this traffic?”

She pointed to the gridlocked cars on Wellington Road.

“I have a nail appointment at 5, Botox at 8, then my colonic at….” She droned on

Willie started to ask whether the new Wood building with its full parking lot was a good idea for this already congested road (which was and still is one of Scotland’s most over-polluted Roads) but a Troompa Loompa shot him a dirty look.

“It will take us no time to get to Loirston, isn’t that right Stewart?” said Sir Ian with a wink.

The doughy, sweaty kitchen fitter Stewart Milne nodded emphatically:

“Yes, anything you say Sir Ian, you look wonderful today. Yes, that’s right. In my plan to build a new stadium on top of Loirston Loch, we told the public and the planners that you could get to Loirston Loch by bus from the centre of town when a football match was on in 15 minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes? It takes that longer than that to get to Torry as it is.” Willie thought as the last of the entourage climbed on the magic No. 3 bus which sped off and to Willie’s amazement flew through the air over the gridlocked cars.

Before the group knew it, the Troompa Loompas were helping them off the bus and out onto a construction site near a lake. Not a bird could be seen or heard amid the rising girders and hum of machinery.

“Well Stewart my dear friend” started Sir Ian

“We might not have got you that football stadium at Loirston you wanted – yet – but look at all these houses and businesses going up! More office space! Just what we need!”

Willie looked around, and noticed he was standing on a faded, splintered wooden sign that said: ‘The City of Aberdeen recognises the importance of Loirston Lake both to wildlife…. A first view of our city… agree it should never be built on…’

“But Sir Ian, er, don’t we already have a glut of office space? asked Willie Wonky, whose head was hurting and spinning now.

We can’t even fill the new Marischal Square, even though it does have a giant leopard statue in it?”

The looks of the rest of the assembly were of scorn and derision, but Sir Ian said:

“My boy, Willie – when I say ‘we’ need office space – I mean WE. The construction industry, Scottish Enterprise – we have to keep building stuff so we have work to do and can brag about new buildings.

“Then there’s all the – ah – associated benefits – consulting work, subcontracting… We definitely need this building. Who’s going to let a few threatened species of birds stand in our way?”

Everyone laughed and Willie smiled weakly.

Stewart Milne toddled forward, and hugged Sir Ian – although this amounted to hugging him by the waist given the height differential.

“I’ve got a wee something for you in your Swiss account Stewart, see you at the next ACSEF meeting after this tour’s over.” Said Sir Ian winking again

“You mean the next First meeting don’t you, Sir Ian; we changed the name and the logo – remember?” asked Stewart Milne?

“Whatever.” Said Sir Ian.

And the Troompa Loompas again broke out into song, which was beginning to wear thin thought Willie.

Troompa Loompa doopity doo
I have another conundrum for you
What good’s a loch and a birdie or two
When there’s money to be made for you-know-who?

If a bird can’t earn enough to feather its nest
Making it clear off is definitely best
More office space is what we all really need
A ‘Smart successful Scotland’ well, and maybe some greed

You can live in luxury too
Like Sir Ian and Helen doopity do.

The group were ushered awa from the lock, and Sarah humpfed as her 6” Jimmy Blahnik dolphin-hide heels sank into the grass.

A helicopter was waiting for them marked Scottish Enterprise

“All aboard, and I’ll show you places where Aberdeen city and Shire have made several dreams come true!” said a jubilant Sir Ian Wood

“Who’s the pilot?” asked Sarah, who looked a little green with envy at the tall blond woman.

“Everyone, this is Jennifer Claw.” Said Sir Ian with a wink to the pilot.

“She’s got a degree in nutrition and the cutest little dimples when she – ah – smiles. So, as she had a degree in nutrition or something, so I made her the head of Scottish Enterprise Grampian and put her on the board of my Wood Family Trust – is it holding £25 million now? I forget.”

“Jennifer’s also on the Robert Gordon University board – no need to thank me just now Jennie darling – and– look you can see it down there as we fly over!” said Sir Ian, distracting everyone away from Jennifer who had blown him a kiss by pointing out the sprawling campus

“And that’s the Sir Ian Wood building” he said as all the assembled marvelled and clapped.

Except for Willie. Willie was beginning to sense a link to all these Aberdeen City Council projects, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“So, where’s Lady Helen today Sir Ian?” Willie asked. You could have heard a pin drop.

“Ah, she’s off playing tennis; her ball control’s improved, and her strokes are decidedly better.” Sir Ian said as he mopped his brow with a hugely oversized hanky.

“We’re not going to stop in, but look over to your right as we fly up the Aberdeen Coast – that’s Torry and Nigg, near where we were at Tullos – isn’t it beautiful?”

Sir Ian gesticulated towards the coast south of the city centre which the copter was now flying over.

All Willy saw was a plume of smoke, lots of lorries, barbed wire and a huge construction project on the bay of Nigg.

“The people there are so lucky Aberdeen City and its Harbour Board helped come up with these huge improvements” said Sir Ian – “well, with a little help from Scottish Enterprise and ACSEF.”

Again all those aboard laughed and clapped.

“Hey, isn’t this the same helicopter youse guys paid me to fly in to the Menie Estate in when I came over looking for a place for a golf course?” asked Donnie Trump.

“The very same.” Sir Ian replied.

“The wonderful, important golf course at Menie, the wonderful, important cruise line for Torry – does everyone know who we have to thank for these developments?”

Professor Bill Ritchie gave his head a jaunty tilt and a little shake of false modesty.

“Oh, I’m just happy to help my friends Donnie and of course you Sir Ian.” The professor started,

“I was once on the board of the East Grampian Coastal partnership. I used to think we needed a public marina, wildlife habitat, and a place to educate young people for maritime careers. But (he said looking at Sir Ian) I changed my way of thinking.

“I was proud to be helpful to you too Donnie when you wanted your golf course. I said it was easy to build 900 homes, a hotel, 2 golf courses and a country club – as well as living quarters for the lackeys – without harming the environment or the protected sites. I’m so happy to have been proven right.”

Professor Ritchie’s chest puffed out, he was filled with self-satisfied pride and almost everyone on the chopper applauded him.

“F me not another F-ing song” thought Willie as those Troompy looking hobbits geared up for another verse.

Troompa Loompa doopity da
If you’ve no scruples you’re sure to go fa
What does an expert get whose opinions for hire?
Consultancy cash from SE, ACSEF and Aspire

Using his titles to feather his nest
Swearing to everyone that he knows best
Just don’t talk to reporters
Don’t talk to reporters

You can live in luxury too
Like Sir Ian and Helen doopity do.

Willie Wonky was starting to get fed up with his golden ticket tour of all the magical things Aberdeen City was making happen. And that bloody singing.

Willie asked:

“Professor, weren’t you supposed to lead an environmental monitoring group with Sarah to protect wildlife, and isn’t it true that since the monitoring fell apart you won’t answer any questions from the press about your role?”

He immediately sensed he had overstepped the mark with this question; for a moment a shadow passed Sir Ian’s face and Sarah wrinkled her expensive nose. The professor scurried away and didn’t say a word for the rest of the trip. Donnie was turning blue in the face.

Sarah spoke.

“Oh, we did that, but it was too cold for me to go outside in my Prada, and besides, it’s the world’s greatest golf course on the world’s largest sand dunes.”

At her words Donnie Trump calmed down a bit, his face returning to its orange hue.

“Sarah’s right” started Sir Ian;

“She’s smart as a whip. Why everything’s fine and just how we want it. Sarah’s so smart I had one of my little groups invite her to give a talk, isn’t that right honey?” he asked her.

“Sure, it was fun too,” Sarah Malone-Bates said, “I got to give a talk called “’The Bigger the Vision, the Bigger the Opposition,” and the event – held at the Sir Ian Wood building of course at RGU where Woody – I mean Sir Ian – runs things. I must thank whoever wrote that speech for me sometime.”

Sarah continued to list her accomplishments, how she was whisked out of the Gordon Highlanders Museum to be Trump’s first ever Scottish Executive Vice President, how good she was at moisturising and accessorising, and how much her husband, coincidentally who used to edit the local newspaper, loved her [surely some mistake? – editor].

Willie audibly groaned as the Troompa Loompas circled Sarah Malone, whose shoulder pads were a marvel to behold, as he knew another song was coming; he felt he was going to be sick.

Troompa Loompa doopity de
I have another puzzle for ye
What’s more important than designer clothes,
Having the right hair and a beautiful nose?

Attracting the right man, obviously
Especially if that man has lots of money
She’s the Face of Aberdeen
She’s the Face of Aberdeen

What do you get when you tell lots of lies
If you are Sarah then you get a pay rise
Trading your looks in for cash is her solution
So what if other people think it’s prostitution?

(Sarah’s a Vice President)

You can live in luxury too
Like Sir Ian and Helen doopity do.

Willie Wonky’s brain was putting together all the puzzle pieces from the day, and was starting not to like the picture they were forming.

But on the copter flew, and just before they started to land on a helipad with a giant letter T, Donnie Trump exclaimed:

“There they are, the world’s largest sand dunes! I even made a plaque, didn’t we Sarah Malone honey, to say so! Biggest! Bestest! Yugest!”

A tumbleweed blew past as the rotor blades slowed, and out the lucky Aberdeen Art Gallery golden ticket winners scrambled into the freezing air.

“Anyone for 18 holes?” bellowed Donnie in the freezing winds as the rest of the group ran for the shelter of the clubhouse.

Once inside this building on an empty parking lot, Sarah snapped her fingers, and waiters and waitresses appeared with bottles of whisky and glasses.

“Trump whisky – £50 a glass or £500 for a bottle. £250 a bottle if signed by Donnie.” She hawked.

“Later Sarah Dear” said Sir Ian, adjusting his top hat and billowy bow tie.

“No one’s here, aren’t there supposed to be golfers – what’s going on?” asked Willie; everyone smiled at him.

The room started to spin as he sipped one of those whiskies.

“We don’t want anyone here.” said Sir Ian quietly, the others faces started to look mean and contorted.

Willie Wonky stumbled and fell into a chair – a chair with a big Donald Trump crest on it. The other winners, the Troompa Loompas leaned in closer.

Willie felt quite ill now, as these ghastly, grotesque faces sneered at him and laughed. Sir Ian spoke.

“We don’t want anyone here; never did. Another few years of tax write offs in the USA for Trump – if he doesn’t get impeached or jailed yet – no offence Donnie, but you’re not quite as subtle as you should be sometimes – and then it’ll be sold off. Donnie – we’ll talk about that international charity US tax break later.

“It will go to housing – we’ll all see to that. And what housing developer is favoured in this neck of the woods? That would be my good friend Stewart Milne.

“And what organisation would get involved with such a huge or if you will ‘yuge’ undertaking? Why Scottish Enterprise of course. I may have retired, but after decades as head of the thing, don’t you think I still have my claws still in it one way or the other?

“Think of the construction jobs, the consultancies, the money to be made. And Willie, the granite web is making a comeback; do you think I give up that easily? And when the idea was being promoted so hard, ask yourself two questions – who stood to benefit is one.

“Stewart owned the adjacent Triple Kirks, and he needed parking; we could have got that for him, but it’s not all over yet. The other thing to ask yourself – what did the public miss while we were distracting them with a design consultation vote when we already knew what design we wanted – the ludicrous web design.  And they fell for it.

“We have Donald Trump in charge of the USA; over here he will be allowed to do as he pleases.

And while tens – hundreds of millions are moving through Scottish Enterprise, land deals – like when the city sold that land to you Stewart for a peppercorn, and while public land is snapped up – we’ll get people to focus on other things.

“Either we’ll threaten to take away what little arts provision they and their children get, or the more mean-spirited ones will be convinced that people from abroad are taking their land, money and jobs – not you Donnie though” Ian winked, any previous trace of gentility gone from his features.

“While we’re at it, there’s one more item on the agenda for your tour Willie Wonky – we’re going to look at the City of Culture Bid.

“All aboard the helicopter for gigs on oil rigs! How much public money and time did that nonsense soak up? Well, here’s Rita Stephen to tell you all about it!

“Remember Willie – whether it’s a football stadium, a parking lot, a breaking yard, Trump’s golf course – and his honorary degree from the University I own that has a building with my name on it – you now know who’s behind everything in this town. Nothing, I mean nothing goes on in this town without my say so.

“I said as much to people before, and I’m telling you now.”

Oor Willie whined as, while his eyes fluttered open and closed, the Troompa Loompas broke into one last verse of their song:

Troompa Loompa doopity do
I have final question for you
Who in Aberdeen is behind everything
That is environmentally damaging?

ACSEF, First, RGU and SE.
As the saying goes, ‘follow the money’
Sir Ian is behind it
Sir Ian is behind it

You can live in luxury to
Just do what Sir Ian Wood –

tells

you

to!

#          #          #

Willie’s eyes had glazed over; the other golden ticket winners’ laughs had turned to a huge roar of noise, and he fluttered his eyes.

As if he hadn’t been through enough, standing over him was… Rita Stephen

“NOOO!” shouted Willie,

“Anything but the City of Culture bid! – Anything!”

“Willie, are ye alright mon?” She said.

“I was just going to re-write the symphony for orchestra, ship’s horns and horses that was part of me great City of Culture bid tonight, when I saw yer door open.

“I’d seen you passed oot and thought it was the usual, but I noted the gash on yer heid.”

His eyes focused and leaning over him was Rita Stephen, the woman behind among other things the City of Culture bid that made Aberdeen the laughing stock of the western hemisphere – again.

“AIEEEEE” Willie screamed, and sprinted out of the office, leaving all of his paperwork behind.

He didn’t stop running until he was safely locked in his house and under his covers.

The sun was shining. Willie woke up as the phone rang.

He remembered with a sudden start his horrible nightmare. He shook his head violently from side to side and answered the phone.

“Hi Willie, well, you’ve been gone long enough; what’s it been, a few days now? Fancy being deputy Lord Provost?”

Willie thought of all the corruption he knew about; he thought of all the pieces that had fallen so neatly into place in his fevered dream. He took a deep breath.

“Sounds great Barney; I’ll be over in a few hours. I’ll want a bigger office with a view mind.”

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Apr 142016
 

donprespicBy Suzanne Kelly.

Master Bates had just parked the Maserati in his space and was making his way through the hallowed hall of the Press & Churnal.

The receptionists seemed even smilier than usual; the secretaries he walked past smiled and said “Good morning sir”, and seemed to be gigglish.

From further down the corridor, he could hear voices and laughter.

“Well, they say it even looks like him – big head of strawlike grey hair.”

“Well, Bates might as well give Drumpf a column; Drumpf’s given his wife a column and all.”

“Wonder if it’ll have her looks?!

“What if it has her brains and Donald’s looks?”

Bates didn’t quite hear all of that however; he had a searing headache. The reporters got sight of him and scarpered, scattering to all quarters of the newspaper’s offices.

Bates hadn’t slept well. He knew things were going to be different – life was going to be different now. But he hadn’t bargained on all that constant bawling. The whinging, the crying, the temper tantrums at the slightest provocation. That wrinkled face going beet read. The screaming. Yes, life with Donald Drumpf was trying – very trying. Thank goodness he could escape now and then to look after the newborn Malone-Bates baby, Donadina.

He pressed his fingers to his temples and massaged them as he got into his big leather chair at his big leather covered desk and sighed.

Giving Donald Drumpf his own column. He had little choice. He remembered well, how it unfolded. One day his wife came back from the Drumpf clubhouse and had told him:

“Darling, Donald wants to give you a present”

He thought at the time ‘Christ, not another damned Chinese t-shirt with the Drumpf logo or another cheesy Mexican baseball cap with the Drumpf name in giant letters’.

“Precious – how are you? How’s Donald? Happy to help of course.”

“It’s just a teeny weeny favour he’s going to do you”

‘Hope to hell it’s more advertising revenue’ he thought, ‘after we printed that weekend supplement about the MacDonald hotel with its garish orange duvets dyed to match The Donald’s skin makeup colour.’

That actually took a bit of pride-swallowing to print.

“it’s Fabulous! Donald’s going to give you a column to put in your newpaper! You’re always saying you need to fill up the space between advertisements with something or other. Well, he’s going to write you an exclusive column – that mean he’s not going to have it printed anywhere else.”

Damian remembered the little remaining colour running out of his face – something that never seemed to happen to his apparent new columnist.

“Darling, sweetheart, mother of my daughter – I’d er, love that almost as much as I love you. But angel, we’ve just spent a packet hiring Alex Salmond.”

“Yes, that was a mistake, it’s a good thing I talked Donald around about that – that was me using my great skills. I had to blink my eyelashes at him all afternoon about that, but he forgave you. Now he wants that column. Tell Alex he’s to make room for his old pal Donald. Donald says they are getting along now, so that must be true.”

“Sarah, darling – isn’t Donald going to be a bit busy running for president to actually write a column?”

“Silly boy – he’ll not actually write it – he’s far too important to do any actual writing. I thought I might write it myself; he says I’m very good with words. Why I can memorise what they write for me to tell the press in just a matter of hours now that I’ve been practicing.”

Damian was white now.

“Er darling, you’ll be too busy too, running the golf course and looking after little Donalda.”

Sarah wrinkled her pretty nose.

“I’m going to be too busy to look after her that much; the nanny will have to work more hours. And of course, when Donald Drumpf becomes president, you know what that will mean, don’t you?”

Puzzled, Bates couldn’t quite find the words.

Almost as if she could sense his bewilderment she answered:

“Silly – I’m the Vice President – remember? He made me Vice President a few years ago! I’ll have to go to Washington, and go to all those fancy State Dinners and Balls and meet the Queen and everything.”

The rest of that conversation seemed a blur. Bates only remembered that he gave Sarah a few thousand for a pair of rhinestone Jimmy Choos and he gave Drumpf a weekly column.

Bates had been outnumbered and outgunned. Donald’s ghost writer and advertising team sent over their full page, full colour ad – although there wasn’t going to be any advertising revenue! The pain of that increased Bates’ now permanent headache. The ad was monstrous – Drumpf in full open mouth basking shark mode, against the drapery of the US Flag. The Scottish public would undoubtedly find this a bridge too far.

But the contents of the column. How Drumpf had won over the Scottish people. ‘Me, Sarah, Woody – well, that’s three of us won over anyway’ thought the gloomy Bates. ‘How will I ever show my face after this and damn – what’s going to happen at my next RGU journalism lecture?’

His mobile phone bleeped at him. It was a text from Sarah.

“Hello darling; Donald just loves his column now he’s had a chance to read it. He says don’t worry – he’ll have a new column for you to print once a week at least. And he’s here now – will send you a photo in a sec. Love you. PS – can you get a courier to bring me your Barclaycard Platinum? Mine seems not to be working; must be the strip thingy on the back, and what’s ‘exceeded your credit limit’ mean again?”

His head throbbed worse than ever. He put the phone down. Looking out the window of his office he could see the Maserati in the parking lot.

Was that Magritte, the new student intern who was looking at the car so admiringly? For one split second he started to wonder. Then the phone blipped at him. Picking it up, he opened the JPEG message from Sarah. Donald stood next to Sarah; he was holding the baby. His little daughter had a crop of unruly blonde hair, and she was wearing a tiny Drumpf-embroidered baseball cap.

“Donald holding little Donalda MacLeod Sarah Damiana Malone Bates.” read the caption.

Bates put the phone down. He reached inside his desk for the extra strength anadin, and shook his head.

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May 242013
 

Voice’s Old Susannah takes a look over the past week’s events in the ‘Deen and beyond. By Suzanne Kelly.

Another busy week flies past in our future Capital of Culture: this weekend sees some great artistic talent on show.  The Aberdeen Artists’ Society exhibition is a great, enjoyable, eclectic collection of contemporary art, currently running at the Art Gallery.

There were some interesting interactive works (bring your smart phone), a few very striking works (one by Mr Florence particularly caught my eye), and some intricate glass etching.

Keith Byres was one of the exhibitors, and I will be stopping by at Under The Hammer on Saturday to see some of his other new work.

The River Don Project is a collection of photographic images reflecting the River Don area. The opening for this show is on Saturday 1st June from 5pm to 7 pm in St Machar’s Cathedral, and all are welcome.

Local photographers spent time with Alicia Bruce documenting the river. In particular there are some amazing wildlife images which caught my eye, of birds, seals and beautiful plants along the river. We have a great many artist-led cultural initiatives; please do show your support by visiting some if not all their shows.

The creative arts are assuredly flourishing, but perhaps it is in creative writing that our area truly excels. Never mind the likes of authors John Aberdein, Fiona-Jane Brown, Graeme Milne and Stuart MacBride; it’s the civil servants, planning officials, newspaper execs and ATOS which have provided some amazing prose this week.

People have sent me replies that they’ve had from ATOS and the Press & Journal. I think you’ll enjoy these. I’ve read the recent report by Anne Ramsay of Aberdeenshire Planning Office, recommending a green light for Trump, despite deviation from the approved plan. He got his way, which is of course a huge surprise.

He couldn’t have done it without Ms Ramsay’s report-writing skills. With a few strokes of the pen, a giant, unapproved bund of earth plonked in front of Susan Munro’s cottage, which brought many problems has been transformed into a landscape feature. The pen is mightier than the sword, or indeed than the truth in this case.

In fact, the pieces of writing I’m referring to are amazingly convincing, so much so that I want to share them.

You too will realise that the Trump course is the greatest spot on the planet, that the P&J is the champion of truth and accuracy, that ATOS really cares deeply about everyone it deals with, and that there are no drawbacks whatsoever to building an industrial marina in Nigg Bay.

It is time for some truth-related definitions and more importantly, some of the greatest examples of creative writing you’re likely to come across outside of a Jeffrey Archer novel. Diogenes was a figure in Greek mythology who searched high and low for an honest man. He clearly should have stopped into our Shire council offices and newspaper’s newsrooms.

Universalism: (noun) A school of thought in which truths are unchanging black-and-white facts acknowledged and recognised.

A Universalist believes that some truths are fixed and unchanging. ‘A Site of Special Scientific Interest’ means a legally-binding designation which protects areas from damage or development.  This would once have been an example of Universalism. In this school of thought, facts are respected and held to be true unless proved otherwise.

This school of thought has no business in the city or shire today. We are happy to compromise on inconvenient facts and truths concerning planning law, environmental protection, anything really, just to prove that we are ‘open for business’. What we need for the ‘smart successful Scotland’ we’ve been promised is a little less Universalism and a whole lot more Particularism.

Particularism: (noun) A school of thought in which ‘truth’ is subject to change, depending on circumstances, depending on relationships between people and groups, and other factors.

‘A Site of Special Scientific Interest’ means a flexible designation which may or may not matter depending on who wants the designation removed. This is an example of Particularism. And we certainly do have our own Particular brand of truth in the Deen.

Let me share some examples of this convenient form of truth to illustrate the point.

Letter from ATOS

You may remember a recent Aberdeen Voice article on the experiences of David Brazendale with ATOS. He was ordered out of his post-op bed to go and get a work assessment.

Arriving at the Aberdeen ATOS centre, he was told he’d have a two hour minimum wait. Any other person who’d just been under the knife would have been happy to sit on a hard chair in an empty waiting room for two hours or more.

I guess David was just being difficult, but for some reason, he wasn’t happy. To be fair to ATOS, there was a crowd of one other person in the waiting room. David really shouldn’t have bothered the terribly busy receptionist, but he asked if he could come back in two hours rather than hanging around. Obviously, this was not possible.

For some reason or other, David wasn’t satisfied with this state of affairs.

The written ATOS policy statement says people will be telephoned if there are cancellations or delays. Of course, people have no excuse, surgery included, for missing an ATOS appointment, and rescheduling is not an option given to the ‘clients’, as ATOS chooses to call people.

Mr Brazendale wrote a letter of complaint, and got a wonderful, warm, helpful reply:-

“I have obtained comments from the Service Delivery Manager responsible for Atos Healthcare in Edinburgh… I was very sorry to read of the upset and inconvenience caused by the waiting times….On this occasion the reason for Atos Healthcare not being able to conduct an assessment was because more customers attended appointments than anticipated and the assessments took longer than anticipated to complete, which caused a delay and in some cases, customers had to be sent home unseen …the receptionist did not call you beforehand to advise you of this, as she had no indication of how many customers would arrive for their appointment or how long each assessment would take.   I do sincerely apologise for the upset and inconvenience you have experienced…”

Some people might think the above is just a bunch of meaningless drivel with little application to the actual truth of the matter. But we know better, poor ATOS.

Not only do they seem to have no manager in Aberdeen, they have absolutely no way of telling who will come to an appointment or how long an appointment will last. Amazing. I pity the poor receptionist who has no idea who’s coming or how long they might be. Perhaps they are using crystal balls and tarot cards?

The way my medical practice operates is this. They have this thing called a ‘schedule’. They know how many doctors will be in each day, and they make these things called ‘appointments’ for patients.

They limit the number of ‘appointments’ and ‘patients’ so that there aren’t any long waits. If for instance a morning appointment was running very, very late, they would actually use a ‘telephone’ and call the next ‘appointment’ to let them know about the lateness. It is complicated, but I think ATOS should be told.

The worst part is that because of David’s selfish complaint, the poor, overworked ATOS manager had to look into the situation all the way from Edinburgh and issue a sincere apology. The ATOS manager is now probably very very upset and worried about causing someone an inconvenience, as they’ve never done this before.

David should be ashamed, and the manager should take some time off work to recuperate from stress, much like ATOS lets others recover from stress and illness.

Fabrication: (noun) An invention or creation; an untruth.

While I was trying to think of examples of fabrication, I coincidentally came across the web page for Trip Advisor.

I had been looking for reviews of the Trump course and clubhouse following a harsh Press & Journal review of the clubhouse restaurant. They’d only given it 27 out of 30 points, which just goes to show how fair and impartial the P&J is. While trying to find other reviews for this excellent restaurant, I wound up on Trip Advisor. Well, I was not sure whether I was on Trip Advisor or Confused.com…

Having read the superlative review by a Press & Journal writer of the Press & Journal Editor’s wife’s company restaurant, I expected that others would also adore the course and the food. From the polarised reviews of the course and the food, I felt sure there must be two Trump International premises in Scotland. To some reviewers one seems to be the best golf course ever invented.

To others, the Trump complex is an expensive waste of time and money. I suspect there is some fabrication going on.

Apparently there are people who actually place fake reviews on Trip Advisor! These people fabricate reviews to endorse or condemn hotels and resorts.

Clearly, it is a wonderful course with great food, all affordably priced and perfect.

Worse, these people often hide behind pseudonyms and/or don’t disclose whether they have a connection to the place they’re reviewing. I can hardly believe someone would conceal an interest in a place while writing about it, it’s enough to make a bride blush.

How can you tell which are genuine reviews and which are fake? Perhaps a clue can be found in how long the reviewer has been with Trip Advisor and how many other reviews they have submitted, I thought. You might for instance be suspicious of reviewers who have only reviewed one or two venues and who are brand new to Trip Advisor.

However, my theory didn’t stand up to the test, for many if not most of the pro-Trump reviews are from those who have only been to one other place and/or are brand new to Trip Advisor. Clearly, it is a wonderful course with great food, all affordably priced and perfect.

I suspect the people who said they didn’t like it are guilty of fabricating negative publicity, and the people who say it is great must be the honest ones with no possible self-interest. Here are some of the comments:-

Trip Advisor pro-Trump comments:  Obviously Genuine:

Tony M (1 review) “If you have one course to play in your lifetime, make it this one… facilities and staff are superb… (Trump) has done a fantastic job… only problem I can see in the future is if they stick this wind farm up….”

GolferKnowledge (1 review) “…the course is to-date in very good condition… extremely playable… not a course to miss if your [sic] serious about your golf.”

PHFJones (1 review) “(Trump) has created a wonderful addition to the top 20 courses in the world… if you like links golf, this is one that must be on your list…”

James B (2 reviews)  ”… if it is not listed as not just the best course in Scotland but the best course in the world in the next 5 years… then it is an absolute crime”.

It’s almost as if these people were reading from the same hymn sheet. Since they all agree, they have to be right. Now to the less favourable comments from people who think the greens are greener elsewhere.

Trip Advisor anti-Trump comments:  Obviously Fabrications:

Jack G (2 reviews)  “overpriced … must be to buy more grass seed as there is missing grass on the fairways, many more traditional links nearby for half the fee.”

StuckinAberdeen (5 reviews) “Half of the fairways looked like Roger Moore’s hairweave, acres of sandy soil crisscrossed by interlocking thin green lines of freshly planted grass that had failed to grow this season…. We were given no warning how poor the fairways were…The course should not be opened until it is in a playable condition.”

GeraintE (3 reviews) “the condition of this course is worse than any other I have played in Scotland. Staff are blaming the weather, but the fact is they have the wrong type of grass on the fairways!”

Poor Mr Trump! Poor Malone Bates! How anyone can complain about the marvellous course is unclear. I hope Trump will start issuing some more lawsuits to see off the fake reviewers, and that Trip Advisor will likewise have a look at the reviews on its website to see if there are any patterns indicating that fabrication is going on.

Disingenuous: (adjective) To knowingly feign ignorance or innocence; to distort the truth deliberately.

As you know, the happy union of Sarah Malone (VP Trump International, Face of Aberdeen) and Damian Bates (Press & Journal) is a fact – or Universal Truth, to use a previous definition. There is a marriage license.

Seeking more information on our favourite power couple, someone wrote to ask why the P&J didn’t make more of this happy event, which mysteriously got no press cover in Bates’ paper. I wonder why that could be. The letter writer asked why Malone, so often quoted in the P&J, Evening Express and more on behalf of Trump, and Bates getting married wasn’t front page news.

I am grateful to have been copied in on the wonderful response the P&J sent.  Here is what the P&J have to say on the matter:-

“Beware of using Private Eye as the sole basis for your assumptions about the Press and Journal! I would say their tone on this particular subject has been skewed in a certain mischievous direction. As a result, you have duff info, I fear: the Trump employee to whom you refer is not his “chief spin doctor” and neither has Press and Journal coverage been biased. Sorry to spoil the story!

“The integrity and fairness of the Press and Journal has always been one of our core strengths and remains so today. We actually check the accuracy of stories before publication, would you believe! If you were a regular reader, you would know this already. Perhaps I could interest you in taking a subscription!”

It may be tricky, but I suspect some Voice readers may spot one or two disingenuous sentiments in the above. And mischief making is going on as well! Never mind that the newlyweds have such mutually entwined interests, which no doubt adds to their marital bliss, the information is ‘duff’.

Sarah Malone, VP at Trump, might be the person in Scotland who makes the statements to the press, but clearly Private Eye’s description of her as ‘chief spin doctor’ is wildly inaccurate, and throws the whole story into disrepute. Alas! The story is spoiled, according to the email’s sender, David ‘whata’ Knight.

As to the Knight’s tale: the integrity and fairness of the P&J, and the accuracy of its stories, checked before publication, well, words fail me. I am certain Private Eye will now print a complete retraction and apology as soon as they are aware of Knight’s email.

Obviously our trusted officials, newspaper supremos, planning officers and ATOS managers  wouldn’t put pen to paper to say something which wasn’t true. The point is that truth is no longer straightforward.  I’m certainly not going to call any of the writers I’m talking about blatantly dishonest, self-serving, disingenuous liars, although I can see why some people might.

Next week:  Hopefully a reply from MEMAG:  they were asked questions about environmental protection at Menie as this is their remit.  I’ve been waiting since January, no doubt a detailed response to allay environmental concerns can’t be far off now.

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Dec 212011
 

It was an emotional day in Pittodrie’s Richard Donald Stand on December 17 when the AFC Heritage Trust and the club’s Former Players’ Association unveiled their memorial to Eddie Turnbull, Dons manager from 1965-1971. It was a bitingly cold morning, but Voice reporter Faye Keith was there to capture the warmth.

Before inviting Eddie Turnbull’s daughter Valerie Low and his granddaughter Carolyn to unveil the permanent memorial, Heritage Trust Deputy Chairman David Innes described Turnbull as “among the greatest Dons’ heroes of all” and read tributes to their mentor from former goalkeeper Bobby Clark and 1960s skipper Ally Shewan.

Clark’s own admiration for the man he followed from Queens Park to Pittodrie in 1965 is summed up by his admission that the training sessions he runs in the US, nearly fifty years after he and Turnbull first worked together, are still based on techniques that he learned under the man they still call ‘boss’.

Valerie spoke unplanned and off-the-cuff in the most emotional tribute of the day when she praised the kindness of the Dons and “Eddie’s boys” to the man himself and to the Turnbull family. Some of these boys wiped away a tear as she told them:

“You respected, feared and loved him, but he adored you”.

The final words of the day came from Martin Buchan who read a message sent by the Dons’ legendary defender Henning Boel. Ian Taylor interactively contributed his version of Turnbull’s own unique method for dealing with Henning and the Scots/Danish language barrier before the 1970 Scottish Cup final.

As well as Buchan, Shewan and Taylor, Dons of the Turnbull era including Harry Melrose, Paddy Wilson, Alistair Sandison, Jimmy Wilson, Joe Harper, Jim Whyte, Tommy Wilson, Ron Keenan, Tam McMillan and Ian Cumming attended, testimony to their shared respect and admiration for a true Aberdeen legend. One fan, learning that Ernie McGarr was in attendance, said that this was no surprise, as it was an icy morning and there was a gritter parked outside.

Eddie himself would have laughed loudly at that. So would Ernie. It was that sort of day.

The obvious affection these men still have for each other is proof that Turnbull was a team builder of a rare and very special kind and the memorial is a simple and dignified tribute to a great football man.

The memorial is on public display in the Richard Donald Stand concourse and will be given a deserved place of prominence in the new stadium.

Dec 152011
 

By Bob Smith.

Listen ti the havers fae Trumpie MK 2
Oot o his mou iss wirdies did spew
Treated richt badly  an wi contempt says he
Disrespect an dishonour? Seems aat ti

Noo the windfairm folkies widna be cowed
Fin Trump an his cohorts shouted oot loud
So young Donnie he fair squeals an bawls
Seems nae aabody wints ti be their pals

Contempt, dishonour, he shud ken aboot iss
A think the young chiel is takin the piss
The fowk ower in Menie’ll be haen a cheer
Nae sympathy vote fae them ye’ll hear

Contempt an dishonour they’ve hid fae his faither
As ti oor local press the big mannie dis blether
Disrespect ti the faimilies auld Trumpie his shown
Fin he disna like the wye thingies are goin

Potty an kettle, iss wirds spring ti myn
As Donald Mk2 his teeth he dis grind
Ye haun it oot so man ye canna complain
If it cums back ti haunt ye noo an again

So greet in yer porritch Donnie ma loon
An jist dinna bither ti kick up a soon’
Fin contempt an sic like cums in bye
Jist myn o the fowk ye’ve treated iss wye

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2011
© Mark Rasmussen | Dreamstime.com …. 3 windmills

Nov 172011
 

Remembrance Day was observed at Pittodrie for the third time since 2009’s unveiling of the memorial to Dons players and staff who gave their lives in both World Wars, writes David Innes.

The memorial has a permanent home in the Richard Donald Stand, and as Aberdeen Football Club Heritage Trust Chairman Allan McKimmie declared in his welcome address, the memorial has become a popular and informative attraction for those who take a tour of the Dons’ home, and for fans who take a keen interest in the club’s history.

Around 100 gathered to pay tribute in a short and respectful ceremony organised by the Trust, with a new memorial unveiled, dedicated to Keith loon and Dons player from 1937-1939, Jack Campbell. Jack went missing, never to be found, in an ill-fated far Eastern air reconnaissance mission in August 1943.

The unveiling was carried out by Duncan Davidson, Chairman of the Club’s Former Players’ Association. Duncan later laid a wreath from the FPA, and there were other tributes laid by the club, the Trust, the Royal British Legion, Gordon Highlanders and by representatives of other groups who paid dutiful and solemn respect.

WO2 (retired) Birkaji Gurung and several comrades from the Gurkha Rifles who have taken up residence in and around the city attended.

Birkaji read a special Armistice Tribute in his native Nepalese. Birkaji, a staff member at Pittodrie, was very keen to attend the ceremony and pay tribute to the fallen on behalf of the Gurkha Rifles whose commitment, courage and loyalty in conflicts is legendary. The Trust and attendees were delighted and honoured by the Gurkha contribution.

Aberdeen Football Club Heritage Trust is grateful to everyone who supported and attended the ceremony; especially Matt Fyfe of the Royal British Legion, Prestige Scotland, historians Derek Giles and Colin Johnston, and AJ Reid of the SSAFA.

The Trust is also grateful to everyone who donated hard cash to the bucket collection before the match against Rangers recently. Over £700 was raised for Trust activities, the biggest of which remains its aim of raising enough money to kit out to a high standard a museum at the Dons’ proposed new Loirston home.

Oct 102011
 

With thanks to Gordon Maloney.

On the 18th of October, university campuses across the country will be showing ‘Just Do It’, a truly inspiring film chronicling a year with direct-action environmental activists.

As one of the activists in the film says “”It doesn’t matter if it’s dodgy, if it’s big or small, you’ve just gotta do it” and while this is perhaps less elegant (or, arguably, more so) than the Suffragettes’ “deeds not words”, this message is just as pressing now as ever before.

After years of disillusionment over, at best stalled, at worst useless, “official processes” on climate change – as well as almost everything else from poverty to tax havens and employment – activists have learned that if they don’t take matters into their own hands, big business will.

What this film is about, more than anything else, is showing that direct action can change the world and that anyone can do it.

It is exciting, it’s fun and it’s a way to affect change now – and there’s nothing to be scared of. Would the fate of Woolworth’s have been different if, instead of leaving quietly, sacked workers had occupied their shops up and down the country? Precedent suggests that it may well have been.

What stopped them? Fear? Apathy? Maybe, but far more likely is the concerted campaign run by every organ of capitalism that tells us from birth that we can change nothing. This alienation is the greatest danger our society faces, because it disempowers us more than poverty and discrimination ever could.

Here at the University of Aberdeen, where one of the screenings is taking place, we have seen clearly the dangers of relying on politicians and the good-will of business.

Donald Trump’s golf development, on the unique and beautiful Balmedie beach, is a classic example of big money riding rough-shod over local democracy, advice from every reputable environmental organisation that’s looked at it and even the local people.

Less well known is Ian Woods’ plan to destroy the beautiful, historic Victorian sunken gardens in the centre of Aberdeen City. Again, here, the concerns of local people have been ignored – even though a consultation organised by Woods’ backers showed massive opposition to the plan – and we see, once more, the privatisation of public space in the name of profit for the few.

It is becoming clearer every day that asking politely simply doesn’t work, and this message is beginning to reverberate in the popular conscious. Mubarak was brought down by massive popular mobilisations and industrial actions, and those occupying Wall Street know that the banks won’t be reigned in by a petition.

The right to strike wasn’t won at the ballot box, it was won by striking – and people now understand that meaningful action on climate change isn’t going to come from nowhere, and it certainly isn’t going to come from business. It’s going to come from us.

Just Do It will be showing at the University of Aberdeen, MacRobert Building at 6pm in room MR051 on Tuesday the 18th. This is a free showing and students and non-students are more than welcome.

Sep 232011
 

Old Susannah looks back at the week that was. By Suzanne Kelly.

Old Susannah is enjoying a glass of ‘Hello… my name is Ingrid’ (a beautiful brew made with cloudberry) at Brewdog, and is reflecting on another busy week in the Deen.
There was the Periurban conference for one thing. This was announced last minute on the City’s website.
It was an international conference on how cities deal with land on the fringes of the urban areas. I guess people from around the world came to see how wonderfully Aberdeen treats Union Terrace Gardens, Tullos Hill, green space at Westhill and Cove, and Loirston Loch.

The two-day conference was opened by the pioneering champion of all things green: Kate Dean.

I sent in an application, and then found myself invited to the second day’s events. For some reason it seemed they didn’t want me on the first day. I heard lots of important speakers, most of whom said urban sprawl is a problem, and we must all use less resources and re-use what we can. Someone even said ‘planting trees is not a solution’ – Cllr HoMalone please take note.

We heard about city centres emptying out if there is too much urban sprawl, with shops closing and crime and social deprivation becoming a problem. I was just surprised no one from Aberdeen explained how our ‘improving’ Union Terrace Gardens into a car park, ‘cosmopolitan cafe’, the hoped-for monorail and building in the greenbelt were going to save the day. I would have loved to have heard it. 

One City Council official kept turning around in their seat to look at me; for some reason they almost looked worried I was there. Could it have been the ‘Save the Tullos Deer’ t-shirt I wore under my suit jacket?

Someone was there from a local green charity, and somehow I brought up the deer cull situation (my t-shirt might have helped). The person had no idea why the Scottish SPCA was against the cull and what the other issues were. I happily explained.

Elsewhere in the Deen, someone has decided to leave a cat in a wheelie bin. Perhaps they want as much media attention as the woman from Coventry got? You may remember Mary Bale who cruelly left a cat in a bin for hours on end and was caught out. Let’s see if we can’t find the Aberdeen copycat cat botherer and do for them what the press did for Bale.

It would likewise be a shame if shamed Banff Brothers David and Colin Reid of 22 Boyndie Street West, Banff, got any bad press for their dogfighting activity conviction and jail sentences.

This is the Scottish SPCA’s first major dogfighting conviction in Aberdeenshire (where officials denied there was a problem, you may recall), and it is cause for celebration.  The Reids must know something about other dog fighters – let’s hope they roll over.  Thankfully, some of the dogs they were abusing have been rescued.

But anyway, here I am in Brewdog wondering what to write about this week.

I am looking at a recent Press & Journal headline which screams in giant letters: ‘IS THIS THE MOST HATED MAN IN SCOTLAND?‘ As I am always happy to follow where the P&J leads, so let’s skip definitions this week and take a look at the most hated man in Scotland instead. 

Imagine one man using the legal system to the maximum for his own self-interested ends. Imagine him standing alone, unwilling to listen to the thousands of people who want him to abandon the battle.

Imagine for a minute how much taxpayer money and court time he is willing to use up.

Yes, Mr Milne may well be the most hated man in Scotland. For openers there is the legal battle which he’s taking all the way to the highest court in the UK. For those who don’t know, Milne bought land from the City Council – 11 acres in Westhill – for some £335,000. (By the way, who do the rest of us have to know to get deals like that? Jane – can you help?). The land is worth millions.

Apparently Milne agreed with the City to pay a portion of any sale/rental profit to the City. In a really sharp, not at all transparent move, the land was sold from one arm of the vast Milne empire to another Milne company. As you’d expect, such a deal cost over £500,000 to do. Or so Milne claims when his companies say there was no profit left after the sale.  Seems pretty clear to me.

Yes, Milne is appealing (but not to most of us).

You’d have thought that our very generous Council wouldn’t go bothering Stew for a mere 1.7 million pounds (goodness knows the City can waste that much with ease), but it seems the City will be trying to claw back the money.

The courts found in the City’s favour – but Milne would rather drag us on through the legal system and cost the taxpayer more money than shell out.

Yes, Milne is appealing (but not to most of us). Of course if you weigh this against all the associated costs, then there probably won’t be much financial gain. Here’s a clever idea: let’s stop selling our assets at less money than they are worth. Who knows?  We might wind up less than the £50 million in debt we currently are.  But back to Milne.

We come to the subject of the once-beautiful game. Someone’s decided it’s much better to do land deals than try and win matches.

Milne will develop Pittodrie (which could have been rennovated – this has been done elsewhere in the UK) and build in the greenbelt well out of town.  Loirston Loch will be greatly improved by the new stadium. What the remaining wildlife will make of the lack of land, the cars, the additional pollution and inevitable trash is another matter.

I wonder what it’s like to be less popular than the Donald? Will the Dons become the Donalds?

The bottom line is the stadium will glow in the dark (!) and we can have Elton John and Rod Stewart concerts!. (Who cares that two BBC stories this week prove another link between ill health and car exhaust fumes, and Scotland’s wildlife continues to diminish?)

You would have thought that AFC fans would be jumping for joy at the chance to drive/bus/walk to Loirston. Instead, many of them want Milne to jump ship. Things are so desperate that some fans are actively inviting Donald Trump to invest in the club.  Ouch.

I wonder what it’s like to be less popular than the Donald? Will the Dons become the Donalds? Mr Milne might want to stay away from Facebook or AFC fan sites for a wee while, where there is just a hint of dissatisfaction. Such ingratitude – and after all he’s done to us. Sorry – I mean ‘for us’.

Stew’s not very popular in the city centre either. In his proposal for Triple Kirks, he’s promised us more office buildings. Result!

So who’d have thought that putting two glass box buildings next to the Triple Kirk spire (and probably chasing those pesky peregrine falcons away in the process) could make you unpopular? There will be office space – and who wants anything more than more office space?

I’m afraid to say Mr Milne is now as popular with golfers as fox-batterer Forbes would be at an animal rights meeting.

The only problem is parking (not that that is hindering him developing Pittodrie or in creating the stadium – neither has adequate parking in their plans). Where on earth will Stew find any parking solutions close to Triple Kirks? If only there was some empty, under-used space nearby – maybe something that ‘only has grass’ in it. He could have car parking, the offices would go ahead without a hitch, he’d rake in some money.

People would be amazingly grateful: we would get parking, shopping and ‘cosmopolitan cafes’ – where we can sit and drink coffee year round and be, er, cosmopolitan. If only Stew or his pal Ian could think of some solution to the problem, it would mean more money for Milne. There are some people who think the consultation should have been handled by the city with a lengthy consultation, and that the listed status of Triple Kirks carried a bit of weight.  These people were of course wrong.

And let’s face it: Milne could be low on cash.  Am I alone in thinking he’s short?  He’s chasing a mere 1.7 million through the courts (when he’s supposedly worth about 60 million). He’s about to lay off workers up and down Scotland – he says he can’t afford them.

Perhaps he expanded a bit too quickly? Perhaps he thought new building would continue for ever? Well – with our City Council it just might.

It seems a little ironic that the City is giving Milne contracts (some recent ones total over ten million) while he is both dragging the city through the courts and firing Aberdonians in the building trade. But the people who are in charge know best. 

For reasons of space, I’ll limit this to just one more aspect of the man’s popularity. I’m afraid to say Mr Milne is now as popular with golfers as fox-batterer Forbes would be at an animal rights meeting. It seems that the Portlethen community council and those who use Portlethen Golf Club are up in arms over Milne’s plans to build 153 houses so close to the course that there may be a few problems. Safe to say, people are teed off.

There you have it. The Press & Journal had their own front-page suggestion for ‘the most hated man in Scotland.’ Some of us have a different candidate for that title.

Last word: City Council employees: stop criticising your wonderful employers and managers on the Intranet. First: they don’t like it and are drafting all kinds of means to stop your free speech. Second: that’s my job. I understand they may participate in a 24-hour ‘tweeting’ session to say what excellent services they’ve got going. You are cordially uninvited to tweet back.

May 122011
 

By Bob Smith.

I hiv a dream
Said yon Martin Luther King
I ti hiv a dream
Some happiness for ti bring

I hiv a dream
The toon centre’s free o cars
I hiv a dream
Acsef are sent ti Mars

I hiv a dream
Ti banish aa poverty
I hiv a dream
Fae “money men” we’re aa free

I hiv a dream
We’ve nae bond wi drugs an booze
I hiv a dream
Rangers an Celtic aywis lose

I hiv a dream
Oor toon’s clean an bricht
I hiv a dream
The granite’s gien a dicht

I hiv a dream
Stop worshipin at the “money”altar
I hiv a dream
Multi Nationals start ti falter

I hiv a dream
Dinna listen ti Donald’s bling
I hiv a dream

Menie faimilies start ti sing

I hiv a dream
UTG’s left aleen as weel
I hiv a dream
Oor cooncil is less feel

I hiv a dream
Fowk see sense unfurled
I hiv a dream
We aa bide in a better warld

I hiv a dream
P&J’s nae langer the Trump Gazette
I hiv a dream
An impartial view ye’ll get

I hiv a dream
The sma shoppie it survives
I hiv a dream
Supermarkets nae langer thrive

I hiv a dream
Dons win a European Cup
I hiv iss dream
Syne I waaken up

I hiv a dream
We aa live in peace
I hiv a dream
Iss wid be some eese

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010