Jan 162014

maggies_dundee_centre_kitchen_table_groupWith thanks to Chris Ramsay, Forviemedia.

A number of Collieston residents are raising money for Maggies Centre, by wearing a onesie all day on Tuesday 21st January 2014.
So far half a dozen of us are participating. Money received or pledged is currently heading towards a three-figure sum.

If you’d like to take part or wish to donate, please contact John Carter; by email to r.carter961@btinternet.com or phone on 01358-751376.

Obviously if you have a job interview or a hot date, you cannot wear a onesie all day!

When we send the final sum raised to Maggies, we’ll let folk know and some photos of participants wearing their onesies for this good cause may be


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Sep 012011

By Bob Smith.

Fin walkin doon the fairway
T’wis jist a fyow days syne
A gowfin freen he did declare
Decorum’s noo in decline

Decency an gweed mainners
Are less aften ti be seen
Be it in oor aingranite city
Or awa doon in Gretna Green

Nae decorum in oor dress sense
Some fowk they look like tramps
Faa hiv bin draggit backwyse
Throwe the funns ower in the Gramps

Young chiels in torn troosers
Some quines dressed like tarts
Ample bosoms are on show
Even eens  o some auld farts

A lot o skyrie heids ye see
In orange, mauve or pink
Some fowk  try their best ti be
A maist orra bliddy tink

TV soaps they dinna help
Fowk aye bawlin an yellin
Faa’s shackin up wi faa
Ye’ve  gey difficulty in tellin

Young bairns ye aften hear
Lit oot an oath or twa
Div they learn iss in the nursery
Or fae their ma or da

Car drivers hiv nae mainners
As they drive aroon oor roads
Wi road rage aa aboot ye
O twa fingers ye see load

At  maist fitba matches nooadays
Fae the stands they hurl abuse
Fin a player he maks a bad pass
Fans dinna tolerate ony excuse

Am nae sayin things war perfect
Fin ma freens an I war loons
Bit we didna ging aroon actin
Like a bunch o bliddy goons

So let’s hae some mair decorum
As we gyang aboot oor chores
Even jist sayin a thank ye
Fin a bodie huds open doors

Listen ti anithers pint o view
Withoot aye snarlin “yer wrang”
Decorum ye see costs nithing
We need decency afore ower lang

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2011
Image Credit: © Paul Prescott | Dreamstime.com

Jun 242011

The first-ever graduates are emerging from Gray’s School of Art Fashion programme (Fash@G); their collections debuted at Aberdeen’s Academy on 2nd June of this year.  Second Year fashion student Ruby Coyne assesses the show for us.   Images by Ashley Duncan.

The long-awaited summer sun toasted he pavements of Belmont Street as a stream of folk filtered into the Academy, the venue of Fash@G’s (Gray’s School of Art Fashion) very first Graduate Fashion Show – this is the first class to graduate from the new course led by the reputable Kim Eason.

Now I have to say, I had no idea what to expect, and was sort of nervous as this in some senses, is what I have to live up to- I am currently fresh fashion meat having completed my first year of the Fashion course.

But moreover, I wanted them to rock it as its our reputation on the line. And boy did they deliver!

The Venue was a pristine white space, and rather eerily chilly compared to the sun-soaked beer garden outside. I was sat front row as I am a ‘blogger’. I awaited the first tread of bambi legs on the catwalk as I sipped my mini Prosecco.

Now I shall not do a whole run through of all the collections, because let’s face it some were better than others. So here’s my top three that got the flash bulb on my FUJI fluttering…

First up was Kayleigh Archibald.

Like the girl herself, this was a little cutesy kooky collection.

Inspired by her worldly travels to Tokyo, it captured elements of sweet quirky prints and exaggerated bows and frills, yet a contrast with some neat and nifty tailoring.

However, the galactic print she used, reminded me of Christopher Kane’s iconic S/S11 collection.

Intense blues, fixating purples and darting flashes of stellar component in quick flashes.

I think this collection charts the imaginative world of this young designer.

( click on pics to enlarge )

Next up, Heather Grant’s creature collection.

As the bright lights shone on the first model, to my delight, animal ears perched perfectly on their tussled tresses.

As the girls strutted round in a collection of murky mustards, picnic rug ponchos and some serious distressed edges, I felt all inquisitive, like Mr Fox himself. But as my eye focused on the print, I was amazed.
This girl took animal print to a whole new level. ‘Leopard print’ I hear you ask? Not a chance! Within the vintage floral prints were tiny appliqued kitten motifs!

Too cute. I think it is safe to say this was where the wild things were.

( click on pics to enlarge )

Finally, my favourite collection that nearly had me reaching out to grasp a piece for myself, Golem precious style. This was the very talented Sarah Struthers Collection.

Picture yourself pressed up against a Parisian patisserie, captivated by cupcakes and decadent candies. Got it? Yeah, well that’s how I felt.
The girls strutted out to a cute beat as the full silhouettes bounced and swung so sweetly.The colour pallet and print combination was basically a mix match of sorbet candies with various vintage dogtooth mixes.

The garments were heavily adorned with billions of buttons and frayed floral motifs.

( click on pics to enlarge )

My favourite piece?

Golly that’s a tough one, so I’m going to pick two. Firstly, the accessorising. Geek chic glasses entwined with faux flowers and headdresses to make Florence Welch melt. And finally, the oversized jacket and pencil trouser combo.

I will beg, steal and borrow to get this look this summer.

Jun 182011

By George Anderson.

We can never predict when a sudden insight into the workings of our innermost selves will light up our consciousness like an 11 Watt low-energy bulb.
We imagine that such events occur in mysterious places such as Ayres Rock or the luminous bowling alley at the Codonas funfair in Aberdeen.

But in my experience, the location of your average flashbulb moment will be as ordinary as chapped tatties. A place like the freezer cabinet of my village shop last Thursday.

I was leaning over the rim of the cabinet contemplating what life must have been like in the days before we could blast freeze our garden peas within ten seconds of hauling them out of their pods. I was considering whether to go for the leading brand (‘satisfaction guaranteed or your money back’) or the Value Pack (‘please see rear of packaging for list of disclaimers.’).

The Value Pack was a pound cheaper but the contents even when defrosted had the density of buckshot. I reached for my choice. And that’s when it happened.

I first became aware that something wasn’t quite right with the world – well, with my trousers actually. I looked down to discover that in my haste to get to the shop before suppertime I had pulled on the wife’s tracksuit bottoms instead of my own (why, oh why are pastel shades so unbecoming to a man in his late fifties?).

The realisation that shunted into the rear of that first thought was that not only were the leggings incongruous, they were outside in!

This would never do. I live in the heart of a rural community. It is a place where a man is a man and is expected to behave – and dress – like one. Let me explain.

Imagine this: A farm worker with a dodgy watch relaxes behind a hay stack during a lunch break. He sucks on a chut (singular of chutney) from his ploughman’s sandwich. Suddenly he realises that his watch has stopped; that he should have been back in harness twenty minutes ago. He leaps to his feet and bolts off spitting Cheddar. He is thrashed to the ground by the mercilessly flailing blades of a combine harvester which breaks both his arms like cheese straws.

Now, in an episode of Casualty, an air ambulance and a battalion of parachuting para-medics would descend fom the sky and the lad with the two broken arms would be whisked off to the heli-pad at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. But you would be hard pushed to find anyone within a thirty mile radius of my village shop who would not expect that lad to get on his bike with a wobble-free lip and pedal to the ARI using the ‘Look-Ma-Nae-Hands’ technique.

How, I thought, could such people ever look favourably on a middle-aged man wearing his wife’s jogging bottoms inside out in close proximity to their rural community’s only freezer cabinet?

And that’s when the 11 Watt low-energy bulb came on. And I released that, actually, I didn’t care what they thought.

I was flying without wings – despite having a bag of Albanian peas under each oxter. I strode flamboyantly to the checkout  with pastel pantaloons ablaze. I was free, free, free at last!

Next week I plan to push the envelope of my new found freedom by nipping down to the village shop for a copy of the Turriff Advertiser wearing my wife’s bra around my head in the semblance of a Spitfire Pilot’s headgear.

That’ll separate the men from the boys!