Two EE stories this week had my life flashing before my teary eyes.
Three momentous events in one week. Nice-but-nobody-special Joe Biden scrapes through to the US presidency. A lovely couple, who sound like the legendary scientific geniuses Louie and Marie Pasteur, crack the Covid vaccine. And … Mo finally gets her flu jab. Fit next? Trumpie conceding he wisnae swicked?
At last, sense has prevailed. After weeks of protests from the beach-loving public, Aberdeen City councillors have U-turned.
It can happen to anyone, often at the worst possible time.
Up hands if you’re desperate for a roarin’ good laugh to cheer you up?
My spies tell me the stress of lockdown is turning us into harrumphin’ al’ grumpfutticks.
It's like half a century is just yesterday away.
My heart goes out to our young folk who’ve just started university.
Where did it all go wrong? This week I should be laid oot on a sunbed perfecting my tan by an aquamarine pool, sippin’ a cocktail and thinkin’ o’ you peer folkies back in Aiberdeen as the autumn weather kicks in.
Fit next? This pandemic is fair diggin’ in. Plunged into lockdown in March, most of us thought it would all be over by summer – autumn at worst.
It's been a week of Covid firsts. First time at the dentist since October, having missed my six-month check-up and hygienist rake-oot in April.
There may not be a Braemar Gathering tomorrow, but Her Maj seems to have had a superb gatherin’ of her ain folk over the past week.
I am excited, but also infuriated. Monday’s Evening Express brought me the great news of plans to stage an open day in our beloved Bon Accord Baths to mark its 80th anniversary.
I wonder if most of the rest of the UK is having a right good laugh at Aberdeen.
On Tuesday, I was in Seventh Heaven. After 14 long weeks of lockdown isolation from my greatest luxury, it was returned to me today.
Well, at least I’m bang on trend. There’s BoJo urging us overweighters to lose five pounds in a bid to save the NHS a whopping £100 million over the next five years, as he launches his Better Health Campaign.
How should I put this? Let’s go with Fred Flintstone’s: Ya-ba-da-ba-doo!
You may have noticed I’ve been bangin’ on for a whilie about my holiday to Majorca.
Cheers! After our long Lockdown, the Neest’s bars and cafes were allowed to start serving us – strictly al fresco and 2m apart – on Monday.
Believe it or not, I’ve a couple of major thingies in common with Blustering Boris.
Too be, or not to be... two metres from the gadgie next to you?
Sprawled in front of the telly on Saturday night, probably like most of us in lockdown.
I reckon I can finally say farewell to an old, old friend.
What a lockdown-easing delight of a weekend. Like thousands of others in Scotland, I came finally face-to-face (but nae too close) to my nearest and dearest, after three months of virtual contact.
I have interviewed many people for jobs. But while I was watching our prime minister answering questions in front of the House of Commons liaison committee on Wednesday, never have I been more sure about someone I definitely would not employ.
As our children might be back to their desks in August, can I send a wee Hero-gram to a group who’ve so far missed out on the pandemic praise? The mums and dads.
It should have been a week of transformations.
To any regular readers I have to ‘fess up: I didn’t do the dirty deed.
Thanks to Facebook for so many wonderful photies from donkey’s years ago.
Usually the main topic of conversation when I’m on the phone to my mates these days is what we’re watching on the telly.