No way would Norway sell up this pad

Published on Thursday 28 August 2008 09:03

WINDMILL on my mind. Dodgy days, even for oil-rich Norway. They are pulling out of their consulate in Regent Terrace and from October 1 they'll be represented by an honorary consul, the zoo's boss David Windmill.

In which capacity he'll be assisted by Nils Olav, the penguin much photographed the other day inspecting the Norwegian troops who stole the Tattoo show. Not just stole it, positively marched away with it.

Such was their immaculate performance, the acting consul general Kjellaug Myhre hosted an afternoon reception for them (and other of their fellow nationals) at Regent Terrace.

Kjellaug arrived there in March to supervise the reorganisation. Closing the consulate but they're holding on to that grand townhouse and renting it out

It's a shrewd investment if the oil runs out and they have to sell. There's always the salmon and recycled Viking helmets.

Bad medicine

Real scary. I've just seen an artist's impression of the proposed Scottish Centre for Regenerative Medicine. An architectural mis-masterpiece if ever we saw one. Has to be seen to be disbelieved.

Reminds me of old sepia snaps of Gestapo HQ in Berlin and the KGB's head office in Moscow. Makes St James House or Meadowbank House look like the Palace of Versailles.

Our visionary city council planners want to stick it up at Little France, opposite the Infirmary where patients, when they pull back the curtains and see this across the road, will have a relapse and scream "nurse!"

Cost to you: 59 million (for starters), a snip compared to what was blown on the Parly pile. We need infinitely more than a spoonful of sugar to help this medicine go down.

Tune in for cash

It's called bandeoke. A limp variation on karaoke (and whatever happened to that?). Bandeokes, with a live band backing the singers, are being held in Davidson's Mains at Ye Olde Inn Sunday nights. Untold wealth to be earned, with 50 quid to the winner and September 14's bonanza night. A 200 jackpot for the triumphant finalist.

Apparently there are plenty dead gallus Elvis and Johnny Cash clones. But no jazzers. Surely there's a wannabe Ella or Sydney D out there. Yeeha!