Jug-Ears and Horseface revisited

OK, I said I would be quite happy to get the hype over with, but there’s just one more thing to observe upon about the entire affair (pardon the expression)

They’re having their honeymoon in Aberdeen, of all places. Christopher Brookmyre summed up Aberdeen in my estimation.

‘Scotland’s Fourth City’ wasn’t exactly a winning slogan, especially considering that there was a dizzingly steep drop-off after the first two, and it still put them behind the ungodly shit-hole that was Dundee.

The also self-conferred nickname ‘Silver City’ was another over-reaching feat of turd-polishing euphemism. It was grey. Everything was grey. There was just no getting away from it. The buildings were all – all – made of granite, and the sky was covered in a thick layer of permacloud. It. Was. Grey. If Aberdeen was silver, then shite wasn’t brown, it was coppertone. It was grey, as in dull, as in dreary, as in chromatically challenged. It was grey, grey, grey. And the only thing greyer than the city itself was the the fucking natives.

“A big boy did it and ran away” © Christopher Brookmyre, 2001

Says it all really. What a fun honeymoon they’re going to have.