The Press and Journal (Aberdeen and Aberdeenshire)
And what exactly was wrong with the Union Terrace Gardens of yesteryear?
TIM BEE, THE CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTOR
Dear Sir, I must agree wholeheartedly with your recent correspondent who pointed out the pointless profligacy of the plan to build an adventure playground in Union Terrace Gardens.
Yet again, Aberdeen City Council have managed to shoot themselves in both feet as efficiently as someone using an AK47 as a shoehorn.
The exact way in which the Gardens should be redeveloped has been the most polarising issue for Aberdonians since the question of whether Thains or Aitkens make the best butteries; but I think we can all agree that no one wants to see a park in the middle of town which is attractive and accessible to young families and in easy reach of shops and restaurants.
It’s madness. I know I speak for everyone when I say we want the dark, foreboding, dangerous Union Terrace Gardens of our youth, complete with discarded Special Brew tins and the faint smell of wee.
People like me, Aberdonian born and bred who love this city, can’t be persuaded to come into town. I myself haven’t been to the city centre for 15 years. That has everything to do with this incompetent administration’s perverse obsession with “redevelopment” and nothing to do with the fact that I now live in Houston.
What we need are Vision and Action. So come on Aberdeen City Council, have a vision and do action. Specifically what that might involve is definitely your problem and will, of course, be wrong.
But why not start by encouraging the return of the kind of big names that are synonymous with Union Street? I’m talking about the likes of Woolworths, C&As and Watt and Grant. I just want it to be 1981 again. Is that really too much to ask?
VIEW FROM THE MIDDEN: RURAL AFFAIRS WITH JOCK ALEXANDER
It his been an esculent wik in the village. Ab’dy here his been fascinated tae see folk in the big metropolises, like Huntly and Insch, struggling wi’ the kind o’ supply issues fit are standard fan ye bide at the back o’ beyond.
Last wik Nando’s hid tae shut 50 branches across the country due tae a chicken shortage. According tae the heid mannie o’ the British Poultry Cooncil, the struggle to get hold o’ chicken is due to Brexit and the problems o’ retaining workers efter we left the EU. Or, if ye only see the BBC news, “Labour issues” fit maks it sound like it’s a’ Kier Starmer’s fault.
But that is jist the tip o’ the iceberg o’ current food issues.
In the same wik, McDonald’s ran oot of milkshakes. I hiv nivver hid a McDonald’s milkshake masel but I am telt it is a remarkable liquid, fit, at low temperatures, his the consistency o’ weet concrete. Meaning that onyb’dy trying tae sook it through a stra, ends up looking like Edvard Munch’s The Scream; or, if yer nae intae fin-de-siècle Expressionism, Celine Dion.
And then there wiz disturbing news fae Manchester, far pork scratchings linked tae salmonella poisoning caused a product recall. Fa wid hiv thocht there could be ony potential health risks associated wi’ consuming an aminal cried a “scratching”?
Usually consumed in pubs, on the basis that ye’d hiv tae be blootered tae think they’re a good idea, local pig magnate Skittery Wullie swears by them, whereas I swear if I inadvertently hiv een. As my aul granny used tae say: “Niver eat nithin hairier than yer ain top lip.” And coming fae her, ’at wis fairly saying something.
CAVA KENNY CORDINER, THE FOOTBALL PUNDIT WHO GOES IN HARD EARLY DOORS
The Dons’ European dream is over for another season, after they got humped 3-1 at Pittodrie by FK Carrier Bag.
Old Kenny was there, hoping for magic under the flashlights. But instead of a night I’ll always remember, it was an evening I’ll never forget. The Dandies started well, but the Azerbajis nicked an early goal, then got a second as a gift from the linesman, before a third what we gave away cheap and it was “Good night, Viennetta”.
Apparently Lewis Ferguson pulled one back from the penalty spot, but I never seen it as by then me and Dunter Duncan was in the Bobbin.
In the bar we was downing our sorrows discussing the new manager. Dunter says to me, he says “What do you think Kenny? Glass half empty?” And it was, so I says “Thanks very much, I’ll have another pint.”
My granny said niver eat nithin hairier than yer ain top lip