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The Flying Pigs: Nose out of joint over World Cup being held in Catarrh

There are a lot of good reasons why the World Cup shouldn’t not be happening where it is.
There are a lot of good reasons why the World Cup shouldn’t not be happening where it is.

The latest topical insights from Aberdeen musical sketch comedy team, The Flying Pigs.

Cava Kenny Cordiner, the football pundit whose first touch is a tackle

The Tartan Army has been suffering a bit of the green-eyed mobster this week as both Wales and England has announced their squads for the World Cup in Catarrh. I thought finding out what players is heading out to the dessert would spoke my interest in the tournament, but to be honest I is still feeling a bit ambidextrous about the whole thing.

There is a lot of good reasons why the World Cup shouldn’t not be happening where it is. Melody says that the hosts has a bad record by the Human League, and they don’t not show the proper respect to the BLTGCHQ community. But even more importantlier, the World Cup shouldn’t not never be held in winter – especially if it means the matches are all on telly in the morning. I think everyone what loves football would agree, the tournament ought to be held in the Summertime, in a country where fans can safely drink all day and maraud through the streets causing havoc.

The Flying Pigs

I see disgraced former FIFA gaffer, Septic Bladder, has been saying it was a mistake to award the World Cup to Catarrh in the first place, which is much the same as the Tories complaining that Liz Truss was Prime Minister. But at least they had the sense to bite the plug and pull the bullet.

Of course, Old Kenny never quite managed to break onto the international scene when I was playing. As a needlessly brutal midfield enforcer, I didn’t have a snowglobe’s chance of being picked ahead of Graeme Souness. There was once when I was at the Dandies that Jock Stein came to see us playing United at Tannadice, and I hoped to put on a show to give him something to think about. Unfortunately, within five minutes of Jock taking his seat, I had been sent off for throwing an elbow at Maurice Malpas. I definitely missed that opportunity – mind you, I didn’t miss Maurice!

J Fergus Lamont, arts critic and author of ‘Lorraine Kelly – The Wilderness Years’

Oh joy of joys – just outside the city’s premier monument to brutalist architecture; the old John Lewis store (née Nor-Co), I stumbled upon a striking new art installation. And I mean that literally, as I tripped and bruised my ankle, having failed to notice the conglomeration of bicycles lying on the pavement, as if flung from a passing lorry. Delighted by my discovery, I espied the distinctive ‘abstract leopards fighting over a shield’ insignia that indicates the work of pre-eminent Da-daist collective, The Aberdeen City Council.

You won’t have heard of it, as it has received little, if any publicity, but the ‘Big Issue eBikes Scheme’ is perhaps the most uplifting interactive performance piece I have ever experienced, and I include in that the summoning of Santa by the massed singing of ‘Jingle Bells’ by Cubs and Brownies at the Attic Theatre’s unforgettable ‘Sinbad The Sailor’, 1978.

Participation is achieved through an ‘app’ – baffling for me, but the work of a moment for a passing youth who got me started for the very reasonable fee of 20 Silk Cut and a bottle of Blu Wicked. Once aboard the ebike I was able to sally forth and explore the city centre at my whim. An exhilarating treat for the senses, from the maritime aromas of Torry to the endorphin rush when I emerged unscathed from the road works at Woolmanhill. The whole experience a rapier-sharp metaphor for the regeneration of the city centre itself – a challenge to be sure, but worth the perseverance for the sheer pleasure it can bring.

After one hour I returned my trusty steed to the rank and checked my app to find I’d been charged £12.

I wept.

Tanya Souter, Lifestyle Correspondent

I da ken about youse, but I wiz jist fizzing fan I seen someb’dy had tried tae egg King Charlie. Fit is this country coming tae, I thought tae masel? Three goes, afore being stopped by the bobbies, and the boy missed ivery time. At’s jist unasseptable, ‘at, is it? The standard o’ egg-throwing his clearly gone way doonhill since I wiz at school. I mind hitting the deputy-heid’s Fiat Panda square on the windscreen on my last day at Springhill Primary, and ‘at wiz a moving target.

I div hae some sympathy for the loon – that gesture required self-sacrifice. I mean, hiv ye seen the price o’ eggs?

Mind you, it canna be easy for Charlie being King these days, either. He’s nae a rich as the Prime Minister, he’s nae allowed tae spik aboot environmental issues ony mair, and he’s being totally misrepresented on the new series o’ ‘The Crown’. Dominic West, fa I wid happily sook the face aff o’, disna look nithin like him. Aye, nae offence, yer Majesty.

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