Tag Archives: TV

TECHNOLOGY is everywhere and we are now so used to it we just forget it is there. Although I know that, for instance, my brother reads this in Malaysia, I often cannot quite get my head round the fact that it is not just crofters from Boddam to Barvas who have a peek.

Some unlikely Press and Journal readers have scrutinised my words recently. Like the Russians, for example.

After my sceptical comments last week about the ash cloud and the over-the-top response from the authorities, I had a call from a friendly TV newsman called Demetre.

Turns out he is with the TV channel Russia Today and he wanted to bring the nonsense spouted by me for a cheap giggle in the P&J last week to a wider audience.

Like who? I asked. Like people in Russia and expat Russkis around the globe. Gulp.

As I reached for my Russian For Dummies book, he said it was for the international service, which was also in English.

I ended up being interviewed online by webcam. I was told to stare at this wee plastic camera, which I had previously only ever used to put my Jaffa Cakes on as I stabbed out my words of wisdom. Loudly and interestingly, I pontificated to the nation of perestroika and glasnost about my scepticism over the flights ban.

Afterwards, I smiled a self-satisfied smile to myself. Didn’t I speak well? Who else would have made such fascinatingly clear and well-defined points? I was convinced the Russians could not turn up their noses at my contribution. Sure enough, they said they were using me in the main news.

When I switched over to Russia Today on Sky TV that evening, I was horrified. My webcam had been sited far too low on my desk and had somehow zoomed in. The most obvious thing about the contributor in the Hebrides of Scotland was the really quite awful and utterly disturbing view of the inside of the Maciver nostrils.

That is to say nothing of my chins, all of which, from that unflattering angle, seemed to have taken on a life of their own while I spoke and wobbled continuously. Aaargh.

So, hello to all our Russian readers. Actually, I think that should be privet. For the benefit of all the perplexed Aberdonians reading this, I should point out that’s not Gaelic, by the way. I am assured it’s the traditional Russian greeting straight from the Gulags. Which I suppose means it is Russian for something like: “What’s the craic the day, cove?”

So, for subjecting the viewers of Russia Today TV to that awful and intimate insight into my nose hair and internal orifices, I do humbly apologise. President Putin, if you are reading this, I wish to say that I am sorry. Or: “Mne ochen zhal,” as they say in downtown Moscow.

To recover from that trauma, I set off to the grounds of Lews Castle with daughter and dog. There were quite a few people about doing similar dog-walking things. We turned back at Sober Island as we had watered enough plants and sniffed enough bottoms.

When I say “we”, I mean Hector, our miniature schnauzer. Just in case you thought . . .

Anyway, the fresh air and blood surging round my veins made me a bit silly. I thought it would be a good idea to fling the dog’s lead up over the branches overhead and catch it as it fell. Good exercise for me too. Whee.

However, in front of the Woodlands Centre, it went up but didn’t return. The lead landed on a fork probably 25 feet up in the branches. And there it stayed.

What should I do? I thought of ordering the progeny to scramble up the tree, but she didn’t seem overly keen. So what if she had fallen? We were within a mile of a hospital with perfectly adequate A&E facilities. Kids nowadays; no sense of adventure.

Of course, I was perfectly willing to start climbing myself. Unfortunately, no forklift trucks went by that I could ask to get me up to the first branch.

Maybe if I threw something up I could dislodge it? I did consider swinging Hector by his tail and flinging him aloft. Sadly, his tail was docked before we got him, so all he has is a wee stump. You couldn’t swing a cat by it.

Then I got it. I would take off one of my trainers and keep throwing it up into the tree until I dislodged the lead. It is easier said than done to hit something at that height. It was taking a lot of practice to get even near it.

Courtesy of waymarking.com

My first efforts were way off and dislodged nothing but leaves and pieces of bark which showered down.

Then three lady joggers came prancing along. They seemed taken aback. All they could see was this fellow throwing his shoe up into a tree and then quickly jumping out of the way before it fell back and clobbered him on the head. And he was doing all that while hopping on one leg.

They stood there, open-mouthed.

Apparently, at first they thought I was taking part in some bizarre game or ancient, pagan ritual. They couldn’t see the dog’s lead high up in the branches.

After the falling shoe walloped me on the cranium for the umpteenth time, I took a breather and explained to the bewildered runners what I was doing.

“There’s a dog’s lead way up there. Honest, there is. Look, I’m not mad. Why are you smiling? Hey, come back. You can see it if you stand here.”

It took ages for the lead to fall. By that time, the joggers were well away and by now will have told many people that they saw a peculiar man who spends his time throwing his shoe at trees.

I wonder what they would make of that in Russia.