Dave Watt asks Voice readers the question …..
By Bob Smith.
| The fitfa’s up in yon Union Square Aboot iss news I dinna really care Wi material wealth I’ll hae nae truck Fae me thae malls winna mak a faist buck Tho’ fowk can spend ony wye they wint Shoppies are placies I dinna like ti dally Some fowk o coorse wid bide aa day |
Fashions noo are fair aa the rage Ye maun hae the richt gear fitivver yer age Wifies in ticht troosers wi erses richt fat Some mannies ye winner fit the hell they’re at Shoptill ye drap iss aa the malls cry Shoppin it wid seem is a national obsession Aa the stuff fit ye’ve githered |
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2011
Image Credit: © Brent Wong | Dreamstime.com
Old Susannah looks back at the week that was and wonders who’s up to what and why. By Suzanne Kelly.
The leak’s leaked. Those nice people at Shell seem to have been economical with the truth about their North Sea oil spill; they say they have been completely open and honest. However, some half a dozen environmental/animal groups do not think so.
I know whom I am tempted to believe. I hope Shell can do for us what it has done for Nigeria, farmers in Northern Ireland, etc. etc. If nothing else, it is good to know Shell has gone into public relations overdrive and is pouring oil on troubled waters.
Back on dry land, it is hard to know where to start doing a round-up of this past week’s events in the ‘Deen and the wider world. The Road Sense AWPR appeal has failed. Helpfully, Kate Dean posted on a Facebook discussion thread (you see – she is down with the kids for definite) stating:
“I’m amazed that this topical community hasn’t seen fit to discuss today’s Court of Session ruling on the Aberdeen Western Peripheral Route.”
I told our Katie:
“To Ms Dean – nice to see you weighing in. I think you will find this ‘topical community’ and the Aberdeen Voice have historically dealt with both sides of the AWPR story. As the Voice is a weekly publication, no doubt some contributors will send in relevant items for next week’s issue. You would be welcome to write a piece as well”.
Alas! Kate relied:
“I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to contribute to a publication which habitually refers to me in such a derogatory and insulting fashion”
I tried to explain that my writings are ‘satire’ (well, for the most part). Of course there is not much tradition of important politicians being satirised in Great Britain – well, only since the time of King John, and more recently Hogarth, Spitting Image and Private Eye. (I would have also replied: “XXXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXXXX”, but I could not figure out how to do redacted text on FB). Perhaps I just do not know the meaning of the word ‘appropriate’ – time to see what can be learnt from Kate’s examples (see definitions).
Perhaps Kate thinks that is the end of the AWPR matter, and the necessary, environmentally-friendly, economical road will go ahead. Well, we will see. PS – my Facebook Home page tells me to suggest friends for Kate. Any ideas?
And we have another nursing scandal; this time at Woolmanhill.
A nurse has allegedly been over-drugging patients, and gave a person a salt-cellar instead of their inhaler. We are getting close to a medical scandal a week. I wonder if all the cutbacks to frontline services might be related to frontline services going down the pan.
Old Susannah’s had a senior moment; I remembered writing about the brilliant designs shortlisted for the gardens, and thought I had done so in a column. Turns out I had only done so on Facebook. While trying to find what I did write, I googled my way upon this quotation:
“The gardens have the potential to be transformed in to a popular, attractive and vibrant green space in the heart of the city. The gardens have come under increasing pressure in recent years, with various schemes put forward to raise their level and develop them as a leisure facility. Care must be taken not to over-develop the space and potentially risk losing its essential drama and historical landform”.
– 2007, AberdeenCityCouncil Report
The above was the conclusion the City came to in (yet another expensive) report in 2007. Since then a few things have changed, and commonsense has prevailed: the only thing wrong with Aberdeen is that UTG is not vibrant and dynamic. This is why we are all going broke, crime is shooting up, the independent shops are closing, and the streets are filthy: it is the gardens – they are not used enough and are in a valley!
We may or may not get a vote on the Gardens’ future – but we have lined up five designers who have form when it comes to doubling and trebling their budgets. I guess if you want something as beautiful, as functional and elegant as the Diana Memorial Fountain in Hyde Park, it’s going to cost. Then again, an inflatable Jacuzzi (on sale via ‘Groupon’) would have been as pretty and functional – and costs a few million less.
I’m sure it’s because I didn’t study architecture in great depth, but at first glance I thought the shortlist was the most predictable collection of expensive hacks to ever build boring and unsuitable creations, obviously my mistake.
Still, the Diana Memorial Fountain designer is one of our fine finalists! I hope you are as excited as I am. Since I did not go into detail about the talented designers Malcolm Reading has lined up to fix our city’s problems and how much it is likely to cost and since I cannot find my writings on the matter to begin with, (but I did mention some of the references rxpell uses), here is a good article from rxpell that sums things up nicely:
http://rxpell.wordpress.com/2011/08/16/a-look-at-the-city-square-short-leet/
This article will help you decide which of our five finalists to vote for. If you get a vote. We do not know for sure, even though HoMalone’s promised us a vote, which would include leaving the gardens as they are. But this is Aberdeen, and the government’s position changes more often than the weather.
(I would love to say I have been out at nice dinners and working my way through the ever-changing Brewdog menu, but for the time being my doctors have me on lockdown, and am forced to live off rice, tofu and yoghurt drinks. Somehow this does not really suit me. Still, I will be back doing the rounds as soon as I can). But now for some definitions.
1. (adjective) fitting, proper, suitable, in accord with acceptable norms.
Am I ever embarrassed by Kate’s telling me that it ‘is not appropriate’ for her to write in the Voice, as we are derogatory about her. Shame-faced, I asked myself what can I learn from her example of what is appropriate behaviour? I came up with a few examples.
What is appropriate:
Thank you Ms Dean – I will indeed learn much from you, and will continue my studies.
And to whom but Aberdeen’s first citizen should I next turn towards to learn about appropriate behaviour: Mr Milne has it nailed. Out of the goodness of his heart, he allowed people to actually comment on his stylish plan for Triple Kirks (the Press & Journal obligingly called the area an ‘eyesore’ in an article. There goes that bothersome blurring of ‘editorial’ and ‘article’ again, which of course is not appropriate).
Those who did comment on the Triple Kirks plans marvelled at the giant glass boxes (never mind the peregrines). At least Milne said as much, claiming the majority loved his ground-breaking design.
(Hmm, if only there were some nearby, empty space that could be converted to parking, the scheme would be even easier to approve – if they could come up with some kind of a plan…). Anyway, those few who objected and left email addresses got a very appropriate follow-up email from a Milne company, which reads along the lines of:
“From: “sales@stewartmilne.com”
“Many thanks for your enquiry. We will forward details and information to you shortly. We’re here to ensure that buying your new home is easy and enjoyable, so if we can help any further, just let us know. Sell Your Home in 5 Days”
Now if I were a sceptical, cynical person, I would ask myself: is writing to people who opposed your plans and offering to get them a new home in an ‘easy and enjoyable’ manner something that could be construed as a bribe? Well, the City says everything is fine, so I guess it is all appropriate. I have dismissed the idea that offering sales help to people who were against you is at all wrong.
I hope this has cleared up what is appropriate and what is not.
2. (verb) – to take by deceit or force that which belongs to another.
See: Union Terrace Gardens, City Garden Project, ACSEF, Donald Trump, Compulsory Purchase Orders.
(noun) custom or activity rooted in the past.
People are funny about their traditions. We are being told by the City Council that painting the Lord Provost’s portrait – and celebrating the glorious event with an expensive party is OK – as it is tradition.
Foxhunting (no, not with golf clubs and tame foxes, Mr Forbes) was a United Kingdom tradition going back hundreds of years; it was deemed cruel and barbaric, and therefore has been made illegal. The Catalonia area of Spain has recently given bullfighting the coup de grace – it is hard to imagine anything more barbaric than bullfighting masquerading as a ‘sport’.
I came under criticism (on Facebook again – I really must stay away from that thing) for saying Spain should consider doing away with bullfighting. (PS – if you really think the bull has a chance, and there is no prolonged torture or pain, and it is a brave matador that fights a bull with only a cape to protect himself, then think again – PETA will put you right).
Someone said I was showing ignorance of Spanish culture and tradition. Their point was that tradition was more important than the animal issues. I say “bull”.
The city could not afford to replace broken windows in schools only a few years ago, but wants to shell out on canapés for its elected officials and the usual suspects to celebrate the fact that its Provost is an oil painting. Too right. Without these traditions, we would start moving forward. And the future is uncertain. It is best to cling to what previous generations did – it is safe (well, maybe).
If we always paid for a portrait, then we had better keep paying for a portrait. We might have to cut a few services, but let us stick to whatever was the more traditional course of action. It is important to bear in mind that all traditions are equal in value and all are good. Perhaps we could bring back ducking witches in the loch? Yes, to question traditions is to question culture and nationalism – and where would be without nationalism?
In my world, it is the 21st Century. The whole world is under different pressures than it was when these wonderful traditions came about. There should be more enlightenment and compassion than brutality and superstition; we have run out of excuses. But then I turn on the news, and realise that I have got it wrong again.
Old Susannah is now out to catch something for dinner, and possibly bash a few enemies over the head with my wooden club. Now where did I leave my bow and arrows?
Next week: hopefully some FOI news, more definitions, and a back-to-school special look at education.
By Bob Smith.
|
Yon Murdoch mannie’s nae happy Papers fer some mony ears The investigative journalist hack Noo fowk faa bocht his papers Lit’s nae forget oor local lot |
The P&J shud bi worried Fae Lowrenkirk ti Lerwick It’s nae eese noo girnin Ye’ll nae fin me greetin The only Murdoch a div like |
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2011
Image credit: © Christopher Hall | Dreamstime.com
Charlie Mingin, the Auchnaclatt Bugle’s ‘Weel-Chilled Chiel’ columnist, guests for Voice this week, giving the bebop lowdown for hep cats and byre tabbies, doffing his hiply-angled Panama in the direction of The Fast Show’s Louis Balfour. Fingerprints on Cattle Cake’s ‘bone believed to be those of George Anderson….
I was one of the lucky ones. The minute the ticket tumbled through my letterbox, a vibe in these old jazzman bones of mine told me that something crazy was about to go down in Daviot.
And was I right, Daddy-O?
The concert in The Byre, the north east’s premier teuchter-jazz club demonstrated that Jock Kerouac and The Beet Generation were right back on top where they belonged. On the night, their fusion of bothy ballads and sixties jazz really razzed my berries.
Yes, there were mistakes. Somewhere approaching the middle eight of the opening number, Lousin Time, and half way through his third reefer of the night, Jock realised that the double bass he thought he’d been playing for the last half hour was actually still in the tipper truck that ca’d neeps during the day and transported the band to gigs in the evening. Undaunted, he rattled off the piece’s twenty minute double bass solo on his galuses. Beat that for improvisation.
I’ve been a fan of The Beet Generation since I first saw them perform at Gamrie’s Clockin Hen nightclub in 1987. Granted, nobody asked them to play but they managed to knock off their own rewrite of a Billy Joel classic, In the Midden of the Night before the bouncers got Jock in a headlock, huckled him head first out through the fire exit and into the car park where they pinned him down until the police arrived.
The band’s line up hasn’t changed since the Gamrie gig:
Jock Kerouac on double bass
Ronnie ‘The Rooser’ Roberts on Stylophone
‘Cattle Cake’ Collins on slide trombone
‘Sheep Dip’ Danny Dawkins on trumpet, electric bongos and steam harpsichord.
The first set was an intoxicating blend of old and new material, kicking off with three of my favourites: Lousin Time; Let’s Get Yokit! and Fa Cut Yer Hair an Cried Ye Baldy?
The lads ended the set with the title track from their latest album, We’re Aa Up the Wrang Dreel Noo.
Haste ye back, Jock, we can hardly wait for your next concert.
At the risk of rekindling the trad-bebop wars of the early sixties, Sid Rawlins, music critic of the Crovie Chronicle has given Voice an alternative view.
The scene of the crime: The Byre Club, Daviot.
Time of death, 7:30 pm Formartine time (GMT minus seventy years).
Bad jazz stands out like a toonser wearing nicky tams. And make no bones about it, this was jazz at its worst. The evening was not helped by the fact that Cattle-Cake Collins stopped mid-honk during Lousin Time to spray WD40 on his trombone slide.
I sort of liked the Beet Generation’s new project, We’re Aa Up the Wrang Dreel Noo. Yet overall, a lacklustre performance by over-rated musicians.
As Ray Charles would have said had he hailed from Kemnay, ‘Hit the road Jock, and dinna come back ony mair.’
Image credits:
Trombone © Chris Johnson Dreamstime.com,
Double Bass Scroll © William Davis | Dreamstime.com
By Bob Smith.
Trumpie’s spies hiv bin lit loose
Nae doot aa lookin shifty
Diggin fer proof Obama wis born
In the USA state number fifty
Donald’s nae sure far Obama is fae
Disna think it’s in Hawaii
Noo his goons are doon checkin
Presidential birth rules div comply
Some allege Obama’s a Kenyan
An his nae richt ti be in the post
Bit the President’s mither’s American
So Donald jist awa an git lost
Noo dis Donald nae claim his mither
Born in Tong syne USA she did gyang
Maybe iss shud as weel be contested
Jist in case the mannie is wrang
Donald please gie us the proof
Yer mither cam fae the isles in the west
Let aabody see yer certificate o birth
An pit yer claims noo ti the test
Fox News are “trumpetin” Donald
Ti run for presidency of the US of A
Wi backin fae iss richt wing lot
Americans shud start ti pray
Wis Mary Anne born in Tong?
Wis Donald in Queens, New York?
Micht there be a bit o confusion
If it wis a bliddy useless stork
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2011
Aberdeen Voice is proud to present the following comic strip originally created by local artists Dave Smith and Graham Murdoch. The cartoon strip first appeared in an issue of the sorely missed Keltik Komix in the late 1980s. However, readers will find the subject matter not only topical, but uncannily familiar. It is very likely that the particular issue of Keltix Komix in question was funded by Aberdeen City Council – for which we are extremely grateful.
It’s not every day that a community is fortunate enough to have a leading international businessman and multi millionaire as one of its native born citizens and it’s even rarer for a city to benefit from the overwhelming generosity of such a person.
So Aberbonkle is, indeed, privileged to be able to count Sir Nicky Tam, who has pledged part of his personal fortune to the city, as one of its sons.
As is so often the case with amazing people of the calibre of Sir Nicky, he wants very little in return for the money he has promised other than to see his vision fulfilled. So when I was approached with the suggestion that I meet with the great man to find out a bit more about the project, I was overjoyed.
And so it was that I, a humble hack, found myself in the great man’s office listening to his wise words about the city’s future and his vision of a metropolis that would have people from all over the globe descending on Aberbonkle to marvel at its beauty and foresight.
Sir Nicky, however, is clearly a pragmatist and does not try to ignore the fact that some sections of the public have criticised his dream. He accurately, in my opinion, puts this opposition down to envy and the fact that many of his critics lack the facility to embrace change.
“Change is good’, he says, “but there are too many folk out there who are frightened of it.
“I didn’t get where I am today” he continues, “without being able to change things to the way I want them. To the way that I know they should be”.
I ask him how his detractors can be brought onside and he laughs.
“Well, that’s not really my problem”, he rightly says, “it’s down to the Council to sort that one out. I’ve told young Sean Duart that I have a vision and that I’m prepared to put some of my money into funding it. Convincing the Council and the people of Aberbonkle that I’m right is up to him”.
And what, I ask him, is his vision.
no-one has yet managed to convince him that anything he has ever done was not for the best
“My vision,” he says, “is to have an iconoclastic city centre for Aberbonkle. One that will attract people from all over the world to come and marvel”.
Somewhat churlishly, perhaps, I ask him what exactly his vision is
“I think I’ve outlined that”, he says, “an iconoclastic city centre that will attract people from all over the world. The actual nature of it will develop over time and may mean destroying parts of the city to which some of our citizens have cultivated a ridiculous attachment. But these doubting Thomases need to sharpen up their thinking and realise that change is inevitable. Change is coming! Change is good!”
I ask him how he answers the claim made by some of the anti lobby that change is only acceptable where it results in an improvement in what is already there.
“Change,” he says, “is always good. How do you think I managed to build up my business empire into what it is today? Change, that’s how! Changing little minds to my way of thinking in order to move forward and prosper!”
And what happens, I ask, if it turns out that the change he envisages is not as beneficial as he anticipates.
Sir Nicky ponders this for a moment then, fixing me in the eye while a gentle smile plays at the edges of his mouth, states that he has always been a man of compromise and will happily accept any criticism that may be levelled at him. But, he adds, no-one has yet managed to convince him that anything he has ever done was not for the best.
“I am somewhat cursed”, he continues, “by the ability to never be wrong. Everything I do is always right although, regrettably, there are some less fortunate people who are unable to see that I am always right.
“Thankfully, the people who count can see that I’m right and, even if they do not have a full understanding of my ideas, they have the good sense to back them”.
But how, I ask him, does he answer those critics who say that his vision for Aberbonkle is misplaced and will be detrimental to its historic city centre.
“I think I answered that already”, he replies betraying a slight irritation, “when I said that those people who count know that my vision for Aberbonkle is the right one”.
“So those who disagree don’t count?” I ask.
He pauses before favouring me again with his beguiling smile. “If that’s the conclusion you wish to draw”, he says “that’s entirely up to you”.
I thank him for his time and his frankness, we shake hands and I feel a thrill run through the whole of my being as I realise that I have just experienced the privilege of spending time with one of the great men of our age.
By Dave Watt.
Agricola’s invasion of Scotland and the North of England in 83AD was accompanied by an extensive supply fleet which moved up the east coast of the country landing in rivers, inlets and bays. Being Romans and consequently, like conquerors everywhere, regarding themselves as being far more civilised than the hapless natives, they were inspired to name geographical features according to their own notions.
Moving north into Scotland the modern Firth of Forth was referred to as the ‘Firth of Silence’ probably generating the ongoing Glaswegian calumny that there’s more life in a Glasgow funeral than at an Edinburgh wedding. Pausing only to build a mega-fort at Inchtuthil near Dundee the combined fleet and the 9th Legion moved further north into the land of the Taexali eventually arriving at an area separated by two rivers. The larger southernmost river the Romans called the Deva meaning ‘The Goddess’ and the nearby settlement at the estuary of the river was called Devana or ‘Mouth of The Goddess’.
Other Roman writings refer to it as variously Verniconam, Abredonia and Aberdonium at various points
This became a large supply port for the Roman army as they advanced up the coast and into the Grampian Highlands and was no doubt looked upon a beacon of civilisation to overawe the backward, selfish, and treacherous Philistines that inhabited the region.
In this it was largely successful for nearly two millenia until the Philistines had their revenge by building Norco House and have since tried to dump a million tons of concrete into Union Terrace Gardens.
Devana seems to have remained its name for several centuries – Ptolemy in 146 AD referring to the town as being the capital of the land of the Taexali whose tribal area which stretched from the Tay across the region and up towards the Keith/Banff area where the next tribe (the Vacomagi) lived. However, other Roman writings refer to it as variously Verniconam, Abredonia and Aberdonium at various points.
The next mention of the place is in a saga about a Viking jarl called Einar Skulason who’s longboats sacked and pillaged the place in 1153 where it is referred to in Old Norse as ‘Apardion’. The Vikings being men of action and very few words ‘Apardion’ actually means ‘The place where we rowed to for three bloody days into the teeth of a North Sea gale and came away with a lump of very hard stone, a gourd of some greasy black stuff that tastes like shit and a big fish’*
Acta est fabula, Io Saturnalia
*Not really.
Karl Marx and the Tay Bridge Disaster – A Dundee Myth? Voice’s Dave Watt Investigates.
On the evening of Sunday the 28th of December 1878 the Edinburgh train, approaching Dundee on Sir Thomas Bouch’s new bridge was plunged into the icy waters of the River Tay when the whole section of the bridge nearest the city collapsed in the high winds.
Seventy five passengers and rail crew drowned in the resultant crash which shocked the entire nation and raised some extremely cogent questions about the design, engineering and fabrication of the bridge. Sir Thomas Bouch, who at the time of the disaster was, rather worryingly, designing another bridge, to cross the River Forth, came very badly out of the subsequent enquiry and died shortly afterwards, a broken man.
Obviously, disasters of these magnitude generate a certain amount of urban myths and an ongoing one in Dundee was that Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels had tickets for the doomed train but for some reason didn’t go. It is a possibility as Marx (convalescing after an illness) and his daughter Eleanor were believed to have spent at least part of the year in Scotland around this time.
So, if this isn’t just an urban myth from Bonnie Dundee then why did Karl and Fred not get the train?
Possible suggestions :
Oh! ill-fated Communist, dead in the Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your principles of collectivism and the abolition of private ownership would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side by the lumpenproletariat,
At least many sensible men say that:
For the stronger we our politics do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
by Danvers Carew (with apologies to William Topaz McGonagall – Poet and Tragedian)
PS For any hapless souls out there thinking of travelling to Easter Road or Tynie by rail in future to watch Our Brave Boys getting bent over the kitchen table and given a hearty dry rogering, I would remind you that many of the girders from the old bridge were used in the construction of the present one. Still fancy it?