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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Jun 302016
 

Gary Shand George Sq sculpture prior to oiling 2By Duncan Harley.

Inverurie has a new and exciting piece of artwork courtesy of north east based chainsaw sculptor Gary Shand.

When Aberdeenshire Council Landscape Services Officer Ken Regan realised that he had a dead elm tree on his hands he decided to approach Gary in the hope of persuading him to transform the 25ft high stump into a piece of public art.

“I had seen carved tree stumps in the parks of Barcelona … the notion that folk could almost randomly stumble upon them appealed and when this opportunity arose it seemed appropriate to create one for Inverurie” said Ken.

Sited in parkland on George Square outside Inverurie’s St Andrew’s School, the sculpting process immediately drew comments from local residents. Carving a tree trunk with a power-saw is after all a very public process.

Says Gary,

“It was really interesting overhearing the comments. At the beginning folk were mainly asking what it was for and what did it mean. Towards the end of the week I detected a sense of ownership. Folk had literally adopted the piece as a part of their local environment.”

Gary_Shand_Sculptor_7

Chainsaw sculptor Gary Shand

The design stage involved consultation with St Andrew’s School pupils. Drawings were produced and, as Gary puts it “the ideas were put into the blender.” The image of the children with arms around each other, lifting each other up and reaching for the sky was the result and “Aspire” was born.

With a background in forestry and a lifelong interest in the creative arts, Gary was an obvious choice for the project. “In fact we were fortunate that he was able to commit to the work” said Ken Regan.

Alongside his “Stump Sculptures” Gary creates bespoke pieces, often from elm, suited to the average size home.

“Dutch Elm disease has been a mixed blessing” he says.

“it’s not quite so good for forests but is useful if you are a carver … Elm is an ideal timber for outdoor sculpture and providing you keep it moist, which is easy in Scotland, it will last forever.”

Given that the Romans utilized elm for water-pipes, Gary is not far wrong.

Samples of Gary’s work can be seen at www/garryshand.co.uk/

Images and text © Duncan Harley

First published in the June 2016 edition of Leopard Magazine

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Nov 192015
 

With thanks to Ian McLaren, PR account manager, Innes Associates

Mission Christmas launch - Michelle Ferguson, Cash for Kids, and Garreth Wood, The Wood Foundation

Michelle Ferguson, Cash for Kids charity manager, and Garreth Wood, trustee of The Wood Foundation launch the appeal.

North-east children’s charity Cash for Kids has launched its annual Mission Christmas gift appeal, which this year is being supported by The Wood Foundation, Sir Ian Wood’s philanthropic charity.

Mission Christmas, the festive campaign of Aberdeen-based charity Cash for Kids, aims to ensure that all children in the north-east will wake up with presents to open on Christmas morning.

An estimated one in six children in Aberdeen City live in poverty, and many of their parents will struggle to afford to purchase presents for them this Christmas.

The appeal was officially launched this year by local philanthropist and trustee of The Wood Foundation, Garreth Wood, who sent a giant parcel off on the first leg of an enormous pass the parcel campaign, encouraging north-east residents to buy an extra gift or make a cash donation to the appeal this Christmas.

Last year, through the generosity of the north-east public, Cash for Kids distributed more than 14,000 gifts to 4,738 underprivileged children, ensuring they got to unwrap special parcels on Christmas morning. The total value of items donated was in excess of £210,000, with many businesses choosing to support the appeal.

Cash for Kids expects to receive a similar number of applications for presents this year.  It will once again aim to ensure that every child brought to its attention – from new-borns to 18-year-olds – will receive a gift.

In order to fulfil all applications, Cash for Kids is asking members of the public to purchase an extra toy or gift for the appeal when doing their own Christmas shopping.  Vouchers for shopping centres are also encouraged, particularly for teenagers who enjoy the freedom to choose a much longed for treat for themselves.  Cash donations are also welcome, which the charity will then use to purchase items to fill any gaps.

This year, around 80 donation points – more than ever before – have been set up across Aberdeen and Aberdeenshire where people can drop off a new, unwrapped gift until Friday, 18 December.  The gifts will then be distributed to those in need in time for Christmas.

The demand for items, and the subsequent overwhelming response from the public, has led to Mission Christmas outgrowing its existing headquarters.  A new larger distribution facility is this year being provided by Dunlop Oil and Maine. Local haulage firm Colin Lawson Transport will be providing the logistical support for a fifth year.  This year, the firm is providing a dedicated vehicle and driver to collect the gifts from the donation points.

Michelle Ferguson, Cash for Kids charity manager, said:

“The response every year from north-east residents to the Mission Christmas appeal is incredible.  Without their support and that of our volunteers it wouldn’t be possible to achieve what we do.  We anticipate demand for gifts to again be high this year as a result of the local economic climate, so will be doing all we can to ensure that demand is met.

“Last year we received donations through some very creative means, including one from a 12-year-old girl who had saved up 50 prizes she had won throughout the year at Codona’s and donated them to the appeal.  Some people also redeem their store card points or use three for two offers to purchase items at little or no cost.

“For those looking to raise money to support the appeal, we are running a Christmas jumper day on Friday, 11 December.  It’s a fun festive way to get involved in Mission Christmas.”

Sir Ian Wood, chairman of The Wood Foundation, said:

“To know that there are children, right now, living in the North-East of Scotland who may not experience the excitement of receiving a special gift on Christmas morning is incredibly sad. In Aberdeen City and Aberdeenshire, poverty is often not as apparent as in other parts of Scotland, with the result it often goes unrecognised and unaddressed.

By supporting the work Cash for Kids do with the Mission Christmas appeal, The Wood Foundation hopes that every child across the North-East will feel the magic of Christmas this year.”

More information on the appeal, including a full list of donation points and information on the Christmas jumper day, can be found at www.northsound1.com/missionchristmas.

Cash for Kids

Cash for Kids is Northsound Radio’s listeners’ charity.  It makes grants to individuals, families, children’s groups, organisations and projects throughout the Northsound transmission area.  All money is raised locally and spent locally to benefit local disabled and disadvantaged children and young people under 18.  More information on Cash for Kids can be found at www.northsound1.com/charity, or telephone 01224 337010.

The Wood Foundation

The Wood Foundation is a proactive venture philanthropy funder, focusing on creating economic activity to help people help themselves, providing business development and capacity support, in addition to funding. The team is located in East Africa and in Scotland.

The Wood Foundation, Scottish Registered Charity No. SCO37957, was established in March 2007 by Sir Ian Wood and his immediate family. The Wood Foundation invests into three portfolios of activity: Making Markets Work for the Poor – Sub Sahara Africa, Facilitating Economic & Education Development in Scotland, and Developing Young People in Scotland.

The Executive Chairman of The Wood Foundation is Sir Ian Wood and The Trustees are: Sir Ian Wood, Lady Helen Wood, Garreth Wood and Graham Good. For further information please visit: www.thewoodfoundation.org.uk.

 

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[Aberdeen Voice accepts and welcomes contributions from all sides/angles pertaining to any issue. Views and opinions expressed in any article are entirely those of the writer/contributor, and inclusion in our publication does not constitute support or endorsement of these by Aberdeen Voice as an organisation or any of its team members.]

Jun 112015
 
Hugh Little

Aberdeen Asset Management’s Hugh Little,

With thanks to Esther Green, Tricker PR.

One of Aberdeen’s most well-known and well-respected business figures is to retire this summer. Hugh Little, 58, Head of Acquisitions at Aberdeen Asset Management (Aberdeen), and one of the firm’s longest standing employees will step down at the end of June following a career spanning 28 years with the company.

Aberdeen, headquartered in the city of Aberdeen, is a global investment management group, managing assets for both institutional and retail clients from offices around the world.

Hugh plans to spend time on some non-executive roles, and was recently appointed to the Board of the newly listed property fund, Drum Income Plus REIT PLC. He will also remain as a Governor and visiting professor at Robert Gordon University.

Hugh joined Aberdeen from the corporate finance division of Ernst and Young in 1987 as the firm’s ninth employee, working alongside Chief Executive Martin Gilbert on mergers and acquisitions. At this time, Aberdeen had less than £100 million assets under management (AuM). Today that figure stands at £330 billion.

In 1990 he moved into the private equity division at Aberdeen and he led this sector of the business for the next 16 years. Some of the private companies to which Aberdeen provided early stage funding during this period included First Group and Wood Group, both of which went on, like Aberdeen itself, to become FTSE 100 companies.

In 2006 Hugh reverted back to his original role as Head of Acquisitions and since then has project-managed the group’s prolific mergers and acquisition activity which has included the acquisition of Scottish Widows Investment Partnership (SWIP) in 2014 which added over £130 billion AuM and strengthened the firms’ fixed, income, property and solutions capabilities and created a strategic alliance with Lloyds Bank.

He also led the 2013 acquisition of Artio Global Investors (additional $14.3 billion AuM), the 2010 acquisition of the Royal Bank of Scotland’s Alternatives fund management business (additional £17bn of AuM), the 2009 acquisition of certain asset management business from Credit Suisse (adding £36 billion AuM) and the 2008 strategic and capital alliance with Mitsubishi UFJ Trust and Banking Corporation which brought Aberdeen distribution access to Japan – one of the world’s largest pension markets.

In 2014 Hugh picked up the prestigious Deal Of The Year and Acquisition of the Year awards on behalf of Aberdeen at the Scottish Business Insider Deal and Dealmaker’s awards in recognition of the £550m acquisition of SWIP from Lloyds. Judges commented that the deal wasn’t just an acquisition for a big cheque, and that it was a really creative deal with longevity in mind.

Hugh was for twelve years a director of Aberdeen Football Club. He was previously a Director of Grampian Enterprise and has also been a member of the North East Board for the Scottish Council for Development and Industry. Glasgow-born David Boyle will replace Hugh as Head of Acquisitions.

David joined Aberdeen in 2003 as an Investment Manager on the Pan European Equity Team where he was part of the successful team managing UK and Continental Europe equity portfolios. More recently he has been a member of Aberdeen’s alternatives team focusing on private equity. Prior to joining Aberdeen, David worked at Deloitte and Andersen Business Consulting. He graduated with an MEng and MA from Magdalene College, University of Cambridge.

Chief Executive Martin Gilbert says of Hugh Little:

“Hugh has played a significant role in Aberdeen’s growth and success. Without his management skills, commitment and focus, many of the acquisitions which have helped us to grow would not have happened and Aberdeen would not be the financially strong diversified, global asset management company we are today. Hugh will be greatly missed and he leaves with our best wishes. We are fortunate though to have someone of David’s calibre to step into the role.”

Hugh Little comments:

“I’ve been lucky enough to have worked with some incredibly talented people at Aberdeen over these 28 years, not least of whom Martin himself, and I have been very fortunate to have had the opportunity to have been part of its fantastic growth story. Whilst I look forward to spending some time on the golf course and more immediately to my daughter Jenni’s wedding in July, I hope also to share some of my experience with other businesses in a non-executive capacity.

“My years with Aberdeen have given me extensive exposure to global markets and to businesses large and small, and I would hope that I can continue to contribute to the development of Scottish companies who may feel that I could be of benefit.”

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Dec 242013
 

ChristmasTwas the night before Christmas and all through the Deen
Nae een were stirrin, ye ken fit Ah mean?

ACSEF members were nestled all smug in their beds
Visions of brown envelopes danced in their heids
Lady Helen in her kerchief, and Sir Ian in his cap
Had just settled their brains for a long winter’s nap

When out on their lawn there arose such a clatter
Ian sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.
Away to his window, he flew like a flash
Hoping no one would try robbing his cash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of granite to objects below
When what to Sir Ian’s beady eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer:

“There’s no right of access to land near my home
“I’ve got lots of money so you’ve no right to roam!”

Twas a little old man with a red suit and beard
“Could this be a communist?” Ian Wood feared.
Santa approached, getting out of his sled
Turning to Ian, this is what he said:-
Christmas

“Perhaps greed and age have made you grow thick
“For as any fool knows I am St Nick.
“I’ve come to the Deen to reward the good
“On second thoughts I could skip you, Ian Wood.”

“The thing is, with the greedy things that you do
“I just don’t think that I can believe in you.”

At this Ian faltered – he so wanted presents:
“Hold on now Santa, I’m not one of the peasants.
“Let’s talk for a moment so I can explain
“How you can maximise your capital gain.”

“Pay your elves’ wages from an offshore tax haven
“Hoots Santa – think of the dosh you’d be savin’.
“Perhaps you should start a ‘Claus Family Trust,
“And there’s ‘Venture Philanthropy’ – yes, that’s a must.”

“No taxes to pay and you’ll save lots of money
“Stop giving away gifts for free – it’s not funny,”
“Just because poor people put up a tree
“Doesn’t mean you should give gifties for free.”

Santa sighed, saying “Thank you indeed Ian Wood
Christmas“I think though that you just might be up to no good.
“If you paid your taxes, if you weren’t so greedy
“I dare say that others might not be so needy.”

“I’ll bid you good night; I’ll say no more.”
“But do say hello to your close friend, Mrs Craw.”

Donner, the lead deer, was slightly perplexed
“Well Santa, which house will we fly to next?”
“Let’s go to the Milne house since we are quite near.”
And off flew St Nick, the elves and the deer.

“Santa, this heated driveway is quite nice,
“It’s totally clear of all snow and all ice.”
Stewart Milne’s ‘eco’ house had some curious features
This driveway was welcome to Santa’s cold creatures.

“Just one gift for Stew, here, do have a wee look”
St Nick was clutching a nice brand new book
“What is it called?” asked a curious elf
“Football for beginners” – Santa laughed to himself.

“I don’t know that Stewart kens much o the game
“He cares more for money, still all the same
“In the spirit of Christmas and the spirit of Yule
Christmas“This book may help him ken the offside rule.”

Away the deer flew with the sled full of gifts
“Hey,” Comet said, “D’ye ken Milne wears lifts?”
All the deer laughed until it was clear
That towards Aileen Malone’s house they were drawing near.

“Don’t be afraid of that witch” Santa said
“Who as we know had your comrades shot dead
“Deer, if anyone needed the loo,
“We’re over Malone’s house. Yes I think this will do.”

Over Malone’s roof they arrived in a twinkling,
And soon every reindeer and elf started tinkling.
“There are those politicians who will tell you, by heck
“that really it’s raining as they pee down your neck.”

“So do your business – relieve yourselves here.
“In memory of 36 Tullos Hill deer.”

The deer did their business and some of them tittered
“With only 5 LibDems she must be embittered.
“At the election her side got quite trounced.
“Change course for the Bates’!” St Nick announced.”

ChristmasAnd soon Santa stood on the Malone-Bates roof
“No wonder that these newlyweds were so aloof
“No news in the press of their marriage was blurted
“To ensure their financial interests weren’t hurted.”

Perfect gifts for these lovebirds Santa had found;
Down their chimney Santa jumped with a bound.

But just as our Santa started to speak
He was scared by a monster which started to shriek.

Santa stared at the thing which wore a night gown
Could this be some kind of a beast or a clown?
Its hair was in rollers, its eyes were cucumbers
Its face was green mud: “You interrupted my slumbers!”

“You’ve got ash on my carpet! Turn around and get out!”
The hideous thing did shriek and did shout.
Santa twigged who it was, she normally looked fairer
It was ‘The Face of the Deen’, the lovely bride Sarah:

“In order for my great beauty to keep
“I need many hours of deep beauty sleep.”
“Oh Sorry,” said Santa, “my fair beauty queen
“I ken now why you are the Face of the Deen.”
Christmas

“From me you will not hear any further peep
“Clearly you’re behind on your beauty sleep
“I’ve just some small gifts for you two then I’ll go
“Back to my sleigh outside in the snow.”

“I’m amazed at the way you two work close together
“Let’s hope that there won’t be any stormy weather
“Like when the course fell into the North Sea last year
“And the cold’s perhaps wrinkled your sweet face my dear.”

Sarah said, “I’ve got an old man and he gives me  presents,
“My beautiful face put me above other peasants
“He pays me to run the world’s greatest course”
(Mrs Bates showed  not even a sign of remorse).

“Well then Sarah, I’ve two little gifties for you
“A gallon of wrinkle cream, och aye the noo,
“And a book you should read , it’s called ‘Golf can be fun”
(For she hadn’t a clue when all said and done).

“No need to thank me, I’m just here to serve
“And I do think you have got the gifts you deserve.”
As the sleigh left, its bells made a sweet tinkle
Sarah ran to the mirror to check on her wrinkle.
Christmas

“All these liars and cheats, they do make me cross
“But let’s pay a visit to Sarah  Bates’ boss”
The elves were astounded- “Santa don’t be a chump”
Santa answered “I do have one giftie for Trump.”

Donald was home, counting his money
And planning a trip to somewhere quite sunny:
“Where can I go next to get a good thrill
“With lions and tigers and bears I can kill?”

The Donald thought people loved him – the great hunter
But everyone thought: ‘what a horrible c*nt’ – (Er,
sorry ‘bout the language but thinking of him
Makes my blood pressure rise and me head start to spin).

The Don said “I built this course for my auld Scottish Nanny”
St Nick replied “Now just you listen here, mannie
“I’ve got a list of who’s nice and who’s naughty
“Or arrogant, scheming deceptive and haughty.
“No gift for you – no ifs, ands or buts
“But please take a voucher –it’s for ‘Supercuts’.”

Izon Security arrived on the spot
They’d been spying on locals – they do that a lot:
Christmas“Get out of that sleigh and let’s see your ID!”
Santa replied: “Are you talking to me?”

“Get stuffed you great b*stards” Santa said with a hiss
“Has the right to roam been reduced to this?
“You’ve no right to spy or to hassle good folk
“And this golf course is really one heck of a joke.”

With a jingle of bells St Nick and his team
Flew over the Great Dunes of North Aberdeen
“Come on deer and elves, there are good folk in need
“The ones who are victims of all this crass greed.

“The ones who are teachers and nurses and such
“They get paid very little yet do very much
“The children who don’t have enough food to eat
“Aberdeen may be rich, but some live on the street.”

“There are people who help the sick and the poor
“Some help animals too, and of this I am sure
“Those who help others with no thought of themselves
“They are the real saints, the real Santas and elves.”

Santa and his team spent the rest of their night
Giving out presents to good folks’ delight.
ChristmasAsk yourselves this “Am I naughty or nice?”
If you’re a bad one, take some advice.

Flaunting your wealth, and harming others
Ruins the chance that we have to be brothers
If you can help, then you should get stuck in
Greed, don’t you know is a terrible sin.

It’s never too late to fight the good fight
Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night!

– Suzanne Kelly

– . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . – . –

Picture – Christmas Tree Baubles

Credit: Ian Britton. Freefoto.com
http://www.freefoto.com/download/90-04-66/Christmas-Tree-Baubles

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Nov 142013
 

By Bob Smith.

Union Bridge & Terrace 1900 flat

In een o Scotia’s bonniest cities
Live fowk fae fair git on yer titties
Wintin the toon tae chynge it’s wyes
Wi ugly biggins tae be the prize
.
Leuk at oor glorious granite face
Fou o character an fou o grace
Fin the sun shines on the steen
Ye ken yer bidin in Aiberdeen
.
Union Street biggins they jist micht
Be in great need o a gweed dicht
Tae reveal the silvery granite glint
Aat generations o fowk hiv kent
.
Bonnie parks an gairdens are aa aroon
There’s een in the cinter o the toon
Bit a local mannie fa his lots o cash
Wid Union Terrace Gairdens like tae trash
The toon it staans twixt Don an Dee
Twa rivers fa flow tae the sea
Throwe kwintraside they pass first
Syne feed the grey north sea’s thirst
.
A toon full o majestic spires
A city aat his some deniers
An wint the toon mair tae be
Like Houston or New York maybe
.
Bit Aiberdeen needs tae be Aiberdeen
Wi the couthiest fowk ye’ve ivver seen
Faa in their toonie tak great pride
An winna be takken fer a ride
.
So Widdie, Muse an Stewartie Milne
Tho’ fowk micht nae wish ye ill
Jist bugger aff an leave things be
In the bonnie toon twixt Don an Dee

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013

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Nov 012013
 

Old Susannah, Suzanne Kelly, gets to grips with Grangemouth, Granite Webs and Gardens. The revolution may or may not be televised, but almost everything else is being privatised.

DictionaryTally Ho! Well, it’s been a colourful week in the Granite City; plans for the city centre are being  drawn up, and that’s something you don’t see every day (unless you get the P&J). Apparently all our problems are solved if we let one Sir Ian Wood give us £50 million, and let him raise (or is that ‘raze’) Union Terrace Gardens.

If only we’d have known that before!  All we’ll have to do is hand control of Union Terrace Gardens over to a few committees, stocked with powerful people, Wood’s friends, special friends and relatives, and ignore the fact you and I own this land under common law.

Oh, and we are thinking about trams. No reason to think trams aren’t a good idea; I’m sure the successful tram programme in Edinburgh can be reproduced in the ‘Deen.

I’m sure whatever Ian wants for UTG is just what Robert the Bruce would have wanted when he bequeathed the gardens to you and to me. Bruce famously sat in a cave, feeling defeated when he spied a spider weaving a web. The spider’s perseverance and determination had a profound effect on the heroic Bruce.

He watched that spider, and decided that a web – made of granite – was what we would eventually have the ambition to build over the gardens.

For some reason architects Halliday Fraser Munro continue to make, free of charge, imaginative Escher-esque drawings of the city centre. These can’t actually be built, but they are pretty. Questions like ‘What will happen to the businesses on Belmont Street, which currently have pleasant vistas overlooking the gardens’?, and ‘How will the centre of town suddenly be pedestrianized’? are just minor details we can iron out once we agree to the plans.

Dame Anne Begg opened an exhibition on the history of witchcraft in our city over the centuries at the Tollbooth Museum.

I could have nominated some better candidates for the witchcraft lecture. Aileen Malone (known for sacrificing animals i.e. deer, in the hope of getting £££) and Kate Dean (famous for making vital support services vanish) each seem to have a fair amount of free time on their hands these days, and their undoubted personal knowledge of the dark arts and witchcraft would have been illuminating.

he must be out of touch with the average person, unlike our elected and unelected rulers

Speaking of witches, I saw some graffiti recently which I can’t quite understand. I was in London this past weekend. As my train made its way into the city, very large graffiti on a building caught my eye: “The Witch is Dead, but the Spell Remains”. I wonder who this referred to?  No doubt I’ll soon Iron out which Lady the words were about.

People are talking about a recent edition of Newsnight this week.

“[We] shouldn’t destroy the planet, shouldn’t create massive economic disparity, shouldn’t ignore the people” said comedian Russell Brand, “the [political] system ..  just administers for large corporations.”

Poor Mr Brand. Clearly he can’t appreciate how lucky we are; he must be out of touch with the average person, unlike our elected and unelected rulers. We’ve never had it so good, or so we’re being told. The Newsnight interview can be found here http://www.treehugger.com/culture/russell-brand-interview-revolution-planet-is-being-destroyed-video.html .

For Brand’s benefit, and to remind us all of our recent economic successes, Old Susannah offers a few timely definitions. So, as you snuggle up in your perfectly heated home, eating your lobster dinner, and lighting your Cuban cigars with 20 Euro notes, directing the maid to clean the second bathroom again, here are this week’s definitions.

Privatisation: (noun) to dispose of a state or publicly-owned institution by sale of shares.

Remember what a huge success the sell-off of British Gas was? Lots of people got to make money on shares when the government sold off British Gas, and that was great. For some reason, we seem to be paying higher prices for gas, but I’m sure there is no connection between this and the privatisation.

The recent sale of the Royal Mail is making us all wealthy beyond our wildest dreams. Result!

So what if the future for postal employees is a bit shaky; they’ve all been given a few shares in the sell-off. I’m sure that in 3 years, when they are allowed to sell their shares, it will more than make up for any job losses or pension devaluations. I’m sure we won’t see any cost increases, layoffs, or change in the quality of service.

The selloff must have been a success, because it was oversubscribed.

This of course helps stimulate the economy, as well as rewarding the long-suffering banking sector

The experts in the banking world who arranged the flotation may have made a teeny error in pricing the shares up, but since this hasn’t cost the taxpayer more than about £750 million in lost potential share sale revenues, it’s no big deal. Shockingly, shares were not sold to anyone who wanted more than £10,000 worth.

This sounds like discrimination against the rich to me. Thankfully, the many banks which were part of the consultation process got lots of money (about £17 million according to the Guardian) for arranging the sale. This of course helps stimulate the economy, as well as rewarding the long-suffering banking sector. Also, the many banks which had put in for shares largely seem to have been successful, to the tune of about £29 million.

This is quite a happy outcome for the banking sector, even if it seems like quite a coincidence they managed to get so many shares and so many individual investors were frozen out.

We’ve sold British Gas, we’ve sold our Royal Mail; we’ve sold off most of our water.  These have been huge success stories financially.

Operationally, there are one or two minor issues that crop up after privatisations, but I wouldn’t worry about that kind of thing.

Thames Water for instance, had a few minor teething problems after its sell-off.  There are pipelines leaking millions of gallons of water which go unrepaired. The new management choose to pay dividends to shareholders rather than worry about fusty, boring water infrastructure. They may have to pay the odd fine for polluting the UK’s streams and lakes, but this is just an operating expense.

Thames Water has only had a few fines for pumping raw sewage into the environment, with one fine coming in at £204,000. Thames water also cut its workforce; but on the bright side, the chairman’s salary went up by several hundred thousand pounds per year, no doubt he was doing extra work, what with fewer workers on the payroll.

The best part? Thames Water doesn’t pay corporation tax, which is great news for shareholders (if not the Treasury). http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2339282/Thames-Water-pays-corporation-tax-550m-profits

One such successful entrepreneur is the owner of Scotland’s Grangemouth, Jim Ratcliffe

But don’t worry – none of this is gives any reason to think the Royal Mail sell-off will have any negative consequences. A few job losses, a few thousand people out of work and/or with less valuable pensions, a few banks making tens of millions – that’s what keeps this nation great and competitive. There is no reason to fear the new owners of UK Plc. won’t decide to cut the water or gas.

Just keep the candles handy, stock up on fire wood, and get a rain barrel – we’ll be fine.

Union: (noun) A collective of workers organised and empowered to protect workers’ rights, health and benefits from employers who would seek to maximise profit margins at the expense of the workforce.

There is one fly in the ointment for those benefactors who kindly seek to own key British industries and companies – the Unions.

I’m delighted that private companies, often coming down to foreign governments, one family or even just one man, own crucial parts of the country’s essential utilities, resources and infrastructure. To the uneducated, this may just seem like either Imperialism or in the latter case like Feudalism, but remember how much better off we are. One such successful entrepreneur is the owner of Scotland’s Grangemouth, Jim Ratcliffe.

It may not seem like it, but Mr Ratcliffe’s had to make many financial sacrifices to keep Grangemouth and its employees going these past few years.  He’s not making as much money as he used to – there are rumours he’s down to only one super yacht, the 257 foot Hampshire II. Ratcliffe was shopping one day, had a spare £9 million to play about with, and bought Grangemouth from BP.

Since then he’s become kind of a father figure to those who work there. Rather than gratitude, these workers want to have pay increases and to keep their final salary pension schemes. Jim can’t afford this. According to the Daily Record, Jim’s not very rich at all anymore, and hardly rates:-

“Manchester-born Ratcliffe owns two-thirds of the company’s shares, giving him a personal fortune of around £3.5billion in 2008, when he was named the 25th richest man in Britain.”

With no choice, Jim announced he’d simply shut the facility, which is fair enough. Putting 800 workers, their families, the area businesses that depend on the custom of those workers in a bit of jeopardy probably just taught them a good lesson.

Such vital services I thought should be run without a thought to making money from them

Ratcliffe showed the unions he was boss. And by the way, we don’t really know how badly off Ratcliffe is, because the owner of arguably Scotland’s most important refinery keeps his businesses largely in Switzerland. If I hear of anyone starting a collection for him, I’ll let you know how to contribute.

Before Old Susannah was old, I naively thought we needed governments to tax us so they could protect our rights, help us when we were too ill to work, and provide services such as schools, hospitals, clean water and energy. Such vital services I thought should be run without a thought to making money from them, and were so vital they should be protected from any form of outside or private control, for the benefit of the taxpayer.

How I laugh now to think on this foolish ideology.

Pay your tax, work hard, and good luck. Where you can afford to live and what you earn will directly impact how your children are schooled, what drugs you’ll be allowed to have if you are seriously ill, and how your granny will be treated in a nursing home. Work for a public sector employer such as Royal Mail or oil refineries at your own risk.

Make sure you buy shares in whatever’s being sold next, and try not to think about the pollution caused by cost-cutting measures designed to improve profits, your spiralling energy costs, and the stealthy privatisation of the NHS.

Forget the train crash victims who died at Hatfield; cutting corners on safety for profit was seen by the privatised management as a ‘cost of doing business’. Forget your library closures, school closures and hospital ER closures.  If something starts to nag at you, then Old Susannah suggests getting drunk, getting wasted, or getting some engaging virtual world computer games to while away the hours.

Don’t wonder why you are paying more taxes when you no longer have to support these vital services once privatised, and don’t ask why the uber rich are paying no taxes. I’m sure everything will be just fine.

There we leave it for this week; but if you can suggest any other services that could be sold off, do get in touch. For some reason, I’m thinking of that bit of graffiti I saw again.

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Oct 242013
 

UTG long - Credit: Mike ShepherdBy Bob Smith.

Widdie’s noo back,wi mair bliddy cack
The fifty million is back on the table
Bit only ye see, if wi him ye agree
Aat there’s only ae horse in the stable

John Halliday’s plan, seems nae aneuch gran
The gairdens they still wull be sunken
Is it his fear, aat fowk they drink beer
In the airches wi an attitude drunken?

The plans need transformin, afore the mannie is warmin
Tae ony ideas the chiel wid see fit
If it’s nae tae street livel, t’is the wark o the devil
Onything else Sir Ian sees as shit

The P&J it dis cry, compromise wi shud try
Nae chunce o ess cumin tae pass
Sir Ian his a goal, tae fill in the bowl
An smore the gairdens en masse

Widdie’s “olive brunch”, fin it cums tae the crunch
Is nithing the sort if ye think
An ultimatum mair like, an een wi shud spike
Tho the eyn gemme is noo at its brink

So fa’ll raise the bar, in ess oot an oot war?
Wull fifty million bi seen as a bribe?
An concrete wull flow, on the girss doon alow
On champagne Sir Ian wull imbibe

Can the gairdens survive, fowks hopes kept alive
Or micht it dee in a nest o vipers?
Wull siller win the day, in aa ess affray
Help’t oot bi some ither snipers?

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013

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Mar 142013
 

With thanks to Richard Bunting.

Conservation charity Trees for Life has received a grant of £45,900 from the Heritage Lottery Fund (HLF) for the training of disadvantaged conservation volunteers in the Scottish Highlands.

The funding will enable volunteers from diverse backgrounds, including older people and those who are unemployed or on low incomes, to help directly in the restoration of Scotland’s ancient Caledonian Forest in stunning locations such as Glen Affric and Glen Moriston.

Volunteers, who otherwise might not get the chance to do so, will be able to take practical action to protect the natural environment, learn about threatened habitats and species, and benefit from time spent in green places and activities that are good for mental and physical health.

Alan Watson Featherstone, Trees for Life’s Executive Director, said:

“This Heritage Lottery Fund grant is great news for the Caledonian Forest and for local communities, as it will allow disadvantaged volunteers to help save Scotland’s equivalent of a rainforest and its unique wildlife. By doing so, they will develop new skills and gain a rewarding experience from spending time outdoors in the inspirational wild landscapes of the Highlands.”

Colin McLean, Head of the Heritage Lottery Fund in Scotland, said:

“In what is the Year of Natural Scotland, this is a great opportunity for people, who would not normally have the chance, to visit the countryside to learn new skills and gain a better understanding of our natural environment. By encouraging more people to experience nature first-hand, hopefully we are inspiring their enthusiasm for its long-term conservation while having fun along the way.”

Activities will include hands on conservation work in breathtaking locations surrounded by mountains, forest and rivers – including tree planting and protection, and work in Trees for Life’s tree nursery at its acclaimed Dundreggan Estate, a biodiversity hotspot situated to the west of Loch Ness.

Although only a fraction of the former CaledonianForest now survives, Trees for Life volunteers have helped to plant more than one million trees at dozens of locations, and to create 10,000 acres of new forest. The award-winning charity is restoring the forest to a spectacular wilderness region of 1,000 square miles in the Highlands to the west of Loch Ness and Inverness. For more details, see www.treesforlife.org.uk or call 0845 458 3505.

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Jan 242013
 

Duncan Harley reflects on Life, the Universe and Everything. A sideways look at the world and its foibles.

Unlocking the Mind: More Snow

It was snowing in Pitcaple this afternoon, and in fact it’s still chucking it down big time.

The white stuff has returned with a vengeance; fortunately I am well stocked up with pies and cat food.

All day the TV news has been advising drivers to avoid non-essential trips. Mind you, they sent some reporters out in 4x4s to “see how far they could get”, which sounds fairly non-essential.

That aside, it gave me time to chill out and watch a film. I chose The Man Who Wasn’t There.

It’s a 2001 neo-Noir film, written and directed by Joel and Ethan Coen. It’s about a barber.

If you need a plot summary, there’s quite a good one on Wikipedia.

Though a black and white film, The Man Who Wasn’t There was shot in colour and transferred to black and white. Some prints were however accidentally released with the first couple of reels in colour. It’s nicely shot and the plot is superbly flat.

Folk such as Big Dave die, other folk lie, some cut hair and near the end there are flying saucers. It’s a bit like life, really.

The central theme of the film is that when you look too hard at situations, they become complicated and hard to understand. That reminds me somehow of Andy Warhol’s work.

We all know, and love or hate, the Campbell’s Soup prints but, in my opinion, Warhol’s films are still quite challenging, despite the lack of any obvious plot.

One of his most famous films, Sleep, features poet John Giorno sleeping for six hours. The 35-minute film Blow Job is one continuous shot of the face of DeVeren Bookwalter receiving oral sex from filmmaker Willard Maas, although the camera never tilts down to see this. Another, Empire, consists of eight hours of footage of the Empire State Building in New York City at dusk. Then there is the film Eat, which consists of a man eating a mushroom for 45 minutes.

This is a shot of the lock on my back door. Simple in the extreme, although you could write a book about it. Who made it, how it was made, when it was made, who has locked and unlocked it over the last 70 years or so…

In the morning, if the blizzard persists, I intend to watch The Great Escape for the 34th time, just in case I missed anything. I first saw it at the age of 12, with my Aunty Isobel from Inverurie.

She fancied Steve McQueen something rotten.

But that’s another story.

The Great Gale of 1953

As the Met Office threatens to spread even more of the white stuff across the North East of Scotland, warning bells are sounding amongst those of us who recall the Great Gale of 1953.

On 31st January and 1st February 1953 a great storm surge, accompanied by gale force winds, swept out of the north, causing widespread flooding of coastal areas in the UK and Europe. Often referred to as the 1953 North Sea flood, the storm caused massive devastation and loss of life.

The Netherlands, a country mainly located below mean sea level, suffered extensively, recording 1,836 deaths.  In England, 307 people were killed in Lincolnshire, Norfolk, Suffolk and Essex.  Nineteen Scots are also recorded as having died.

Now, in 1953 I was a babe in arms and I have no direct recollection of events.  It seems however to have been a seminal, even just eight years after the conclusion of hostilities in that second ‘war to end all wars’ and just ten years before the assassination of Kennedy.

The forests of Aberdeenshire had just begun to re-generate from the effects of the wars and were now flattened yet again by the gales.

Ammunition boxes, pit props and even aeroplanes such as the de Havilland Mosquito had all been end users of the forest industry.

A recent article in a local North East newspaper suggests that the Lancaster Bomber and Spitfire Fighter were also made of wood; however, I have to report that this was thankfully not the case.

If you take a walk in any local woodland you can still see the signs. Stumps, earthworks and gaps filled with birch.  Old uprooted trees and pits where trees once rooted. It’s all there alongside the signs of ridge and furrow.

A few years ago, I met a man in an Inverurie pub who told me about his memories of the great gale of 1953.  As always, I took some notice of his story and stored it away for future reference.  I told a few friends over the years but some were too young to understand, and some were too old to be interested.

Anyway, the man I met in the pub all those years ago had been a gaffer in a team of foresters charged with the task of clearing the roads between Inverurie and Huntly. Hundreds of trees had been blown down and the blizzards had made things even worse.

According to his account, it took them 10 days to cut their way along the roads.

These were the days of primitive chainsaws, two handed crosscut saws and hand tools, so I guess 10 days was quite reasonable in terms of time and motion.

Mind you, they went via Alford which surprised me even at the time. After all, the direct route from Inverurie to Huntly is via the A96 and Alford is a good few miles to the west.

I think he may have been a cryptic crossword puzzler, to be honest.  The mindset of the breed is quite alien to most folk and can appear beyond understanding.

The Guardian’s Araucaria, one Reverend John Graham, had been setting clues for the readers of the paper for over fifty years as a creative process when he found that he was afflicted with the Emperor of All Maladies.

Instead of saying something like, “I’m not really very well and have a poor life prognosis, thank you for solving all my puzzles,” he created clues which puzzle aficionados seemingly interpreted as an indication of his probable imminent demise.

One read: “’has 18 down of the 19, which is being treated with 13 15.”

The folk at Bletchley Park would, in my opinion, have been hard put to crack that one.

Anyway, back to the weather.  I have now stocked up with some petrol for the generator and bird nuts for the red squirrels.

If the Met Office has got it wrong, I will be asking for compensation, of course. If they have got it right, I may be selling some snow on a collect your own basis. Bring your own truck!

I have carefully avoided any reference to the great horse burger disaster which, seemingly, wiped £300m off Tesco’s share price. Should you want a laugh, however, I heartily recommend the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre’s take on the fiasco on YouTube.

Happy snow days.

Grumpy Jack

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