If I could have been remotely fashed, I’d have shot off an ‘Angry Of Aiberdeen’ email to the Beeb.
As it is, more than 100,000 furious viewers did the jobbie for me last Friday, when the corporation binned most of its schedules for tributes to the Duke of Edinburgh.
I knew nothing about programme-ditching, because I was watching stuff from my planner, until I started getting a series of texts from my kids, “fuming” about the blanket-coverage of his life and death.
And Lordy, it sure was OTT; BBC One and Two with rolling, identical biogs and obits; from the same talking heads who were saying exactly the same things across the airwaves. BBC Four just shut down. No Masterchef final. Unfor-flaming-givable!
I’d a bit of a soft spot for Phil The Greek, as Private Eye aye cry him. I’ve no objections to fulsome tributes. It’s just that the cap-doffing and bowing were too much for too long. I’m sure the al’ mannie himsellie – who loathed publicity and showy sentiment – would have been horrified.
Her Maj was so lucky. How many quinies meet and fall in love with the boy of her dreams and end up being married for seven decades?
Who better a husband for a woman virtually imprisoned in the straight-jacket of her all-consuming public duty as a sovereign than someone whose strength would be her constant support but whose untameable, down-to-earth sense of humour could make her laugh in private?
He sacrificed his own life as a naval commander to be constantly subservient to his wife. Not many men could pull that off for decades (yes, even in the lap of palatial luxury) and still be the perfect husband – loving and beloved.
He could be harrumphy and devastatingly blunt.
His po-faced humour led to affa gaffes. But what a tonic – lifeline, even – to offset the strict, characterless formality of royal public life?
In the 90s, my then hubby (involved in the Outward Bound movement) was invited to a Duke of Edinburgh Awards do at Buck Hoose, then dinner at St James’s Palace.
Fit a panic I was in to buy a rig-oot, eventually bowling up in a multi-coloured sequin jacket bought for an arm and a leg at a boutique in Cults.
As we queued to be introduced, I clocked the Duke was much smaller than I expected. Dinky, even. He’d a wordie with a’body.
When it was our turn, he looked straight at me, kinda shocked – eyebrows raised. Oh mummy, daddy, fit the…?
Then he did something that made me fall for him on the spot. Focused on my sparkly jacket, he put his hand up to shade his eyes, with an expression that deffo said: “Ye daft quine. Fit div ye look like?” RIP.
Duty’s plot line a battle of Hastings
Do you need a PhD in criminology to follow the convoluted plot of Line of Duty?
I keep having to pause and rewind to replay bits of dialogue which are obviously crucial, but have swished ower my peer, slow heidie first time roon. They speak so fast. And in initials. On Sunday, the entire nation was up nose-to-telly screen trying to mak oot the fotie in the file. Truth be told, I’m nae that sure why.
Now I’m panicking because the final, dramatic climax looks like involving a whole load of characters and incidents from past series, all of which are mince in my memory. Love you Hastings!
Wee needle niggle for you, Nicola
Fit’s the chunces of my getting the exact same jabber for my second jab, eight weeks on? We over-70s Pfizers had been told back in the first week of February, we’d get our seconds in May.
However, out of the blue came a white (not blue) letter telling me I’d an appointment at P&J Live on Monday.
The sooner the better. I’d heard there were sometimes long queues there. I’d waited 35 minutes first time round. However, getting in, the queue was small and I was through in 15 minutes.
Led down the line of booths to… exactly the same nice gadgie from February. The doctor/dentist doing a PhD. Alongside him, a student doctor quine who’d be telling me aboot the side-effects.
I tell you – the NHS doesn’t come better than that. So I told them I’d had only the sore arm last time. Ah but… sez he: “Sometimes the second Pfizer vaccination has more side-effects than just the sore arm.”
That was me. Waited for the headaches. Nothing. Even the sore arm was painless by midnight. However, a slight niggle, Nicola Sturgeon.
When I headed for the “resting” area and was given some bumff, I asked if it included a card proving I’d had the two jabs, like folk in England are getting.
No, saying he kept being asked that. The Scottish Government hadn’t set up such a scheme. So what if we want to book a holiday and need to prove we’ve been double-jabbed? Let’s start needling Nic about it.
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