Duncan Harley

Been a windy day. Some Storm Frank or other passed overhead and blew horizontal rain all over the shire. The man in the paper-shop commented that it had all started out so well but that after he arrived at work at 6am, all hell had taken over. I assumed he was discussing the weather and made an attempt at a nod. “Yes, I hate the wind but love the rain” I told him. Not impressed he asked if I needed a receipt, to which I said “no”. The new book, of course, pounds on and I just need to add some seven thousand more words plus a good few wee edits. A chapter entitled Bravehearts  now includes the story of shop-window mannequin Helena Torry. Interviewed on the Andrew Neil Daily Politics show some years ago Helena’s political agent Renee Slater revealed that she - Renee, not the dummy - had in fact spent time in custody after being charged with electoral fraud. “I was in a police cell for around 6 hours and they wouldn’t let me out until I handed in Helena. It was a sort of priso...

Seemingly the march of the robots is upon us. Not only can the digital servants cut the lawn and provide endless fun for the family pet as it – the robot and not the dog – bruises around the living-room sucking up dust, but the NHS is seemingly considering employing artificial intelligence to carry out everyday tasks around the average ward. Called Carebots, the plastic nurses will no doubt race around the wards emptying bedpans and deliverooing pizza’s thus freeing up valuable clinical resources. According to Former health minister Lord Darzi, a leading surgeon, nearly a third of care staff tasks could be handed over to robots in a bid to save £13bn a year. Indeed, the Telegraph goes so far as to suggest that he is calling for ‘Full automation’ of health and social services. All well and good then from the man whom the London Journal of Primary Care says is ‘ a great believer in bottom-up’ . Indeed, one can almost smell the robotic nurse advising the patient in bed four t...

In between penning a theatre review and doing some much-needed shopping at Aldi, I drove to Daviot today. It’s a fine place Aldi. The shelves are full of humongous discounts and, in the main much of what they are selling is good value although I’d deffo’ recommend avoiding the tinned soup. A pack of Egyptian organic onions caught my eye. At 67p for half-a-kilo they bore the legend “Grown to strict organic standards using organic farming methods”. The label bears the official Soil Association logo and has the tag “Oaklands Organic Onions” strewn boldly on the front of the pack. How kind of the Nile Delta farmers to adopt such a rurally Sussex image. As for Flashdance The Musical , the splendid review has yet to be published although I am hoping that my Voice editor will take a peep at the copy and publish soonish. It’s a sort of Cinders tale where Rosie the Riveter and Billy Elliot find some common ground. Nuff said. I really hadn’t intended going to Daviot ever again. I’ve ...

James Gordon Bennett Senior is often associated with euphemism’s such as “cor blimey!” and “would you believe it!”. He was educated in the village of Newmill near Keith in rural Scotland-shire and, in later life was widely feared and indeed hated by many. Described by one reputed enemy as "an obscene foreign vagabond, a pestilential scoundrel, ass, rogue, habitual liar, loathsome and leprous slanderer and libeller" he specialised in “kiss and tell” stories. It seems that in 1836 for example, he offered a reward to any woman prepared to “set a trap for a Presbyterian parson and catch one of them in flagrante delicto.” Familiar rhetoric perhaps? Well, given the ‘Slime Ball vs Mob Boss’ headlines in this weeks papers and the ‘kiss and tell’ antics of Stormy Daniels, all is not well in the land of Trump. Tomorrow seemingly, Jim Comey’s ‘kiss and tell’ tale of a deeply disturbing presidency is due for publication – hence the proliferation of major-domo articles exposing the...

It’s been an interesting day. After visiting a grave at Old Deer, we found ourselves with a very flat tyre. Normally this is not a problem of course, you simply jack up the car and get on with the business of sorting it all out. However, on this occasion, following the jacking up and the mandatory loosening of several wheel-studs, the car fell off the jack and grounded. I swear it was not my fault. Yes, I leant on the bloody thing and yes, I gasped in anticipation of imminent re-hospitalisation as it rolled backward towards me. But, in the big scheme of things, it was nothing to do with me really. If the driver, not me I can assure you, had applied the hand-brake none of this would have ever happened. Fortunately, I survived the encounter unscathed aside from a sense of survivor’s guilt. Should I have done something to prevent the catastrophe? Should I have taken the blame? Nah. And double nah. What to do? Thoughts of asking Green-flag to the rescue were quickly put aside and an oct...

A friend posted a splendid video onto FB this week. Titled ‘a murder of crows’ it set me thinking about collective nouns.   A bank of monitors, a range of mountains, a troop of mushrooms, a rope of onions and a coterie of orchids immediately sprang to mind. Then came a ream of paper, a budget of papers, a string of pearls and of course a pod of peas. A phantasmagoria of phantoms and that collective-term an anthology of poems followed close behind – and why wouldn’t they after all. It set me thinking about a visit to the high-land of Tibet a few eons ago. After a good few frustrating days in Nepal awaiting a visa – my partner of the time had somehow alerted the Chinese authorities to the possibility that the trip had a hidden political agenda, which it did not – and despite the best possible planning, the prospect of entry to the land of the Yeti seemed already to be in jeopardy. This was a shame since I had simply thought that we were off to experience a holiday in a magical ...

That’s the reprint done and dusted. Not that I had anything much to do with it. The whole point of having a publisher is after all to free up from the business of handling that end of the process. Not for me the ink-stained hands and the ear-shattering noise of the printing-press. Not for me the tedium of taking orders, invoicing them and shipping them to bookshops around the globe. And not for me the tedium of trying to actually get paid for my work. That is what a publisher does and, to date at least, The History Press seem well qualified in this regard. So, hopefully, those bookshops which have sold-out the first edition will shortly be selling out this second edition. Onwards and upwards etc. As for that header – New Books and Panties. Well it’s a not very successful play on Ian Dury’s debut album.  Wiki, and I am confident that they are right, says: ‘ Released in the UK on  Stiff Records on 30 September 1977. Usually thought of as the first album by Ian Dury a...

A loyal friend has subbed my work over the years. Alongside a good few splendid editors along the way, he has stuck by me for whatever reason and has often kindly suggested changes to my words. Banksy-like he is known only as PK, and has been kind enough to suggest changes to my recent book also. Sadly, and I say this smilingly, the book is almost sold-out and is on a fast-track to a re-print. February 8 is new publication day and Macmillan Distribution assure me that all outstanding orders will be fulfilled shortly afterwards. What a relief; and indeed, what an honour. And that’s great. Except, of course, the subbed text and the thankfully very occasional howlers will remain unchanged until the revised 3 rd edition which is due out sometime before summer. In the best possible taste and with a stereotypically familiar nod – whatever that may mean - to those, including Paul, who have pointed out the errors of my pen, here is a small selection of the corrections: ‘A-Z of Curious ...

This is the tale of Garioch local-lad 'old Dod Mutch' and was first published in the May 2015 edition of Leopard Magazine. I recall that publication resulted in a payment of some £50 and that it made it into the Leopard's Tale spot near the back page. Quite why I chose to publish using the name of James L. Ramsay still escapes me. I may have been trying to hide my talent behind a bush - but I am unsure if that was a good strategy. In an effort to rectify the quirky 'nom de plume' e rror, here it is yet again. The names of the guilty parties have in the main been changed however, in the big scheme of things, much of what follows is completely true. I can reveal that 'Birtybogs' is near the village of Oyne however and that ' the Gairnie Inn' was situated in a former bank building  near the Garioch settlement of Durno. A one armed bandit -  By James L. Ramsay Old Dod Mutch was found dead in his chair. It was a stroke apparently and probably...

It’s really interesting to take an in depth think about links and friends on FB. Most folk are completely above board, completely honest and of course completely and utterly respectful. Why would they not be and what motive, if indeed they have one, would they have for being otherwise. Mind you, there are what I think of as the ‘users’. You probably know a few. Post a comment and, like it or not, before long they start promoting a product on the back of it. When you ‘like’ their site or their page you become aware of some underlying issue or other. It might be entrapment, in which case those intent on capitalising on your comment will no doubt pounce on the opportunity. Or, it might be simply a case of being remiss. I don’t really know; and perhaps I am being completely unfair. After all, we all need to put food on the dinner table don’t we. A very few FB friends, or indeed FB pages are guilty of the offence – so please, please don’t get too paranoid. I had a cull a few months ag...

Well, that’s the so-called author questionnaire filled out ahead of the proposed next book. I can’t tell you what it is about just yet since I’d have to kill you if I let the proverbial cat out of the bag, but it should be a cracker. Well, I would say that wouldn’t I. What is the author questionnaire I hear you ask. Well, it’s a sort of collection of proposals intended to draw out ideas for both the substance of the tome and reassure the publisher that the author has at least a semblance of sanity and some idea of what they are proposing to write. I recall early days promoting a few web sites on Google. The rules were a bit draconian and unless you actually paid the internet giant some readies – in which case they generally left you to simply get on with it – website marketeers were in constant danger of breaking unknown rules leading to outright bans or in most cases demotion from the safety of the early algorithms. In short, break the Google-law and absolutely no-one, even the...

It’s been quite a heady week review-wise. On top of the – now four – feedback reviews of the new book on the Amazon platform several local and not so local newspapers have been brave enough to expose my curious writings to a wider audience. First of all, The Scotsman published a wide-ranging piece titled ‘7 gems from Aberdeenshire’s past’. Penned by Alison Campsie, whom I have never knowingly met – honest Injun’s – the article begins with the history of Aberdeenshire Alligators and concludes with a tale about Aberdeenshire toilets - I kid you not. And the full feature can be found on the Scotsman website at: https://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/7-gems-from-aberdeenshire-s-curious-past-1- On the previous Friday a good friend had contacted me to say that I had finally made it into the Evening Express. Now, to put this in context, I have been trying to get the local Aberdeenshire papers to take my articles and theatre reviews for ages but without much success. On this occasion however,...

I am often amazed at human kindness. One of the scariest moments I have recently experienced was when I had to press a small green button in front of a bank-teller on Mid-Street in Keith. Keith, I hear you say. For the uninitiated, it’s a town in Moray just over the border from Aberdeenshire. Known as the friendly town – and I can vouch for that accolade – the inhabitants are in the habit of saying hello at every opportunity. Even if they don’t know you from Adam, an upbeat ‘hello and how are you today?’ followed by a reassuring pause to discus the weather usually interrupts any High Street jaunt. A selection of traditional shops, including a butcher who, alongside selling the traditional range of animal body-parts also sells local-history books completes the picture. But I digress. That scary moment involved the purchasing of a house and the button in question would, given the press of a single digit, send untold thousands of hard-earned pounds into the ether of the banking in...