Believe it or not, I’ve a couple of major thingies in common with Blustering Boris.
For a start, the hair. He’s flyaway, shapeless, blond. Snap. Thanks to months without a cut and several unsuccessful dips into the dye-pot, to my horror I seem to have contrived to bleach my locks even lighter, into a sort of platinum, bawdy Mae West “Come up and see me sometime” style. Ye Gods. No wonder I daren’t go near the shops lest the al’ mannies think I’ve got my ain special offers!
Bojo and I also share the delights of being overweight, each on diets, trying to exercise oorsellies into better shape. There he was on telly the other night, splat on the floor doing press-ups, dressed – bizarrely – in white shirt and smart troosers. You’d have thocht the real PM of this country (Dominic Cummings) would have advised his puppet to wear a track-suit. But hey, Bozzer, aren’t those workouts sheer purgatory – a bit like when you’re interrogated by Keir Starmer in the Commons?
It’s aboot six weeks since I went to the doc about my breathlessness and she told me I was, plain and simple, too fat. And I mean too. Ootski went mountains of affa fine bread, lashings of butter, fields o’ tatties, churns o’ cheese. Confident the pounds would roll off, satisfyingly multiplying into stones, I was sadly dumfoonert. One day on the scales doon a bittie, the next day – oh fit a sickener – up a good bittie mair. Me that had been starvin’ masellie for days, now totally demotivated. Stuff this for a diet plan… so what’s a calorie-challenged, food-lovin’ quine tae dee? Exactly. Sent oot for an Ashvale jumbo fish supper. Oh dear Lord Ashvale, you canna half cook battered haddock. Food of the (fat) Gods.
Sure enough, in spite of my toddles roon the block, I’ve lost no more than nine (going on eight) pounds in six weeks. Meanwhile, super-upholstered star Adele is now an amazing seven-stone doon, skinnymalinkie. I doff the lid of my unused and rapidly going-off hummus to you, quine. Trouble is, I canna stick hummus – even the tarted-up, caramelised onion or spicy-pepper kind. Still tastes foostie to me. Lumpy and bumpy. Gads. Isn’t that what my mum used to feed oor budgie? That’s my trouble. I don’t like low-calorie sh…ch.
Meanwhile, I haven’t joined (perish the thought) but linked in Facebook to a slimming site where – surprise, surprise – all the “posters” reveal to the world gloriously unembarrassed photies, letting everything hang out how they were and the new supa-slimma glam pix after they’ve lost the equivalent weight of a small car. Good on ye!
They also post details and photies of their daily, sticking-to-the-rules-of-the-club, diet. Scyooze me? While I’m nibblin’ awa’ at a yukkie, salad-cream-free avocado salad, followed by half a banana and an olive-spread (gads) crispbread, according to their photies, they’re gorgin’ into huge plates of BBQ chicken, baked tatties, veg and fruit tarts. And even the occasional “syn” of crisps.
Exactly what I’d thrust doon me thrapple if I wisnae on a diet. And they’re losin’ pounds every day!
Learn from traffic-free York streets
It comes as no surprise. Once again, the city is divided over whether Union Street should be permanently pedestrianised.
It’s halfway there at the moment, in an attempt to keep us Covid-friendly. But already comes the division between those who want to see all traffic permanently banned from the Golden Mile and those who fear it could be a killer-blow for shopholders.
Twas ever thus, even back in the 70s and 80s when the St Nicholas and Bon Accord centres were being built and other cities throughout the UK were having their main thoroughfares imaginatively pedestrianised. Take the wonderful centre of York as an example. Bulldozers and traffic were banned. The result – one of the most stunning, environmentally and shopper-friendly cities in the UK.
But Aberdeen dithered. Eventually, councillors made the catastrophic decision to demolish instead of redevelop. Bulldozers smashed into George Street. The wonderful old shopping hub and its thrilling stores smashed down: The Rubber Shop. The Co-opie. Reid and Pearson’s. The wee fashion shoppies. The superb butchers and bakers. Even now, makes me weep.
Since then, Aberdonians have kept being told the pedestrianisation of Union Street was a no-goer. Nowhere to divert the bussies off Union Street. Cause utter chaos. Really? With a bit of wisdom, imagination and professional flair from our highly paid transport and planning officials, surely they could come up with a successful pedestrianisation plan?
Leave our John Lewis store well alone
Panic, panic in my breestie when I read in the EE that my darling John Lewis is planning to close some stores as a result of the coronovirus crisis.
My favourite shoppie in all the world. Ootside, the Aberdeen one is a mighty carbuncle – the horror that was the 70s Co-opie building. Inside, it’s all cool, calm and crowd-free.
Here’s hoping, especially for all the staff and their jobs – and me and my future happy browsing – it’s going to survive. JL IS US!
This article originally appeared on the Evening Express website. For more information, read about our new combined website.