Alisons Diary Week Ending March 20th -ye old format.

New headshot. Me not Mary Whitehouse


Sat in the middle of the city on my laptop trying to connect to Btfon. This is a new fangled – yes I sound 100 – well I’m not far off it – way of connecting to the internet no matter where you are. This worries me of course. Does that mean no matter where we are, where we live, where we walk, shop, or lie down and rest when exhausted, that the buzzy antennae of all things mobile are drilling into our heads? I know I am beginning to sound like Mary Whitehouse but I do worry about these things. It can’t be good for us can it? If you can connect a phone or a computer through the air in which we sit on a day to day basis does that mean we will all eventually just glow in the dark? Possible. Of course there’s money involved so they will never come clean at least not until we’re all deranged and unable to remember who we are, who they are or what we were objecting to in the first place.


Potarch Hotels Dinnie Stones. Worldwide Strongman challenge. Dare you.

‘Hi Dugan how are you?’

‘Fine. I’ve got to go though– we’ll talk later.!’

Larf! He sounds like a 25 year old business man! Anyway with scuffed knees and a cheesy grin he sped off into the gloamin’ as Prue sat down with Tracy and I chewed the cud – the cud being 4 hobnobs each before heading off to The Potarch Hotel for a bar supper. The hotel has a huge history and is world famous for the dinnie stones. I don’t understand why they don’t really bump their gums about the fact Strongmen the world over try and fail to lift the stones that sit at the entrance of the hotel But hey ho it’s up to them. What you will find is open fires, cosy toes and a table full of Scandinavian fishermen. I know a few of my pals would have been over there in a shot asking if they had caught a whopper or not with all the innuendo that goes with it but nae Tracy and me. Naw we’re more interested in the food and the gossip. Tried to lift the a dinnie stone each on the way out. Not a chance. Went home and rolled around on the couch with her dog Plum. Have a look if your hormones can it


Turkish delight, Nargile, Aberdeen

Off to see my Auntie M today’s, she 80 and looking fantastic. We head to Nargile, a Turkish restaurant that used to be called the Rendezvous Cafe in Aberdeens Forest Avenue.  The Rendezvous was where I spent most of my school days. Avoiding school at all costs. At least til the proprietor Mr Guillanotti chucked us out. Who could blame him, we used to order 1 buttery and 4 glasses of water and sit there for days. We did the same today Margaret and I. Sat for hours not ordering 1 buttery between us. No today it was delicious Turkish food, mezze then flat bread with lamb and strong, fabulous coffee.

Thursday. Yesterday as we left Nargile I glanced at the Antique Shop Across the road, spotted the owner, turned my head and started jogging in the opposite direction. When Auntie M caught me up, about half an hour later, I confessed that when I was a vile teen wolfess my school bag got hurled through the huge plate glass window of the shop by someone else and smashed it. God the same guy still  owns it and seeing him again, it felt like yesterday I was chased down the road inadvertently displaying my only genuine promise of becoming an olympic athlete .

Me trying to retrieve school bag to no avail.

To recreate a furious antique dealer nipping at my heels everytime I was to race was deemed improbable so I took the other path from Olympic Athleticism  – Sloth.


Got myself a very grown up voice over agent, Louise Donald at Hamilton Hodell in London. You can see her stable of voices are seriously good – then there’s me! No, but seriously folks she has taken me on which is great news and a very positive direction to be going in at this stage in the game. I expect now I shall gargle with TCP and be quiet a lot whilst my voice rests – Dave’s ears prick up at the idea of me being quiet on a regular basis. Of course there is no earthly way this will happen. If I’m not talking I’m eating, drinking or sleeping but I am usually talking.


Very attractive rugby player - not a cauliflour ear in sight

End of the rugby season. My teen wolf arrives back with scratches up his arms, bruises and cuts on his legs but he is conscious and unborken.  The collective sigh of other mothers that the season to be bashed, slashed, crunched and brought down is over for another year is audible all over the country.  Teenwolf’s face is tripping him. What’s wrong? You Won! ‘Yeh but it’s the end of the season’ he mumbles, bereft. Halleluiah I think , but am not stupid enough to say it out loud though I couldn’t stop the grin spreading over my face. Och well next year will come soon enough, I say hoping against all odds that by then he might take up knitting (Oh God the needles) or swimming. ‘Next Year!’ he spits incredulous ‘It’s not a year Mum it’s only about 4 months before we start training again ‘ he says cheering himself up and bursting my bubble. I consider lying in the foetal position on the floor. This mother hood does it ever get any easier?


Writer & broadcaster.

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