Bertie clarifies the debate on North Sea oil reserves

Yesterday I overheard Gail talking to a friend.

"I can't believe how much rubbish is being written about Scotland's future North Sea oil reserves. Honestly, I think even Bertie has a better understanding of the issues involved than most of the media commentators".

For once I shall ignore Gail's rather insulting use of the word 'even' and take her statement at face value.

After all, I live in the heart of Europe's oil capital and my human, a geophysicist, has been engaged in the business on and off (mostly on) for over 30 years. Naturally, my keen and attentive flappy little ears have picked up a wealth of knowledge about the petroleum industry.

But I think it will help if, instead of oil and gas, we consider the subject in terms of doggy treats.

Got your attention, right?

Let us imagine that once upon a time, many millions of years ago, a huge number of doggy treats were  buried under the ground in deposits of varying size and depth. And that this would form the only local supply of treats ever available to dogs in the UK.

For years, no-one knew they were there, but one day, a basset hound caught a faint whiff of something interesting in a field. A passing Scottie noticed the hound sniffing the earth, and started digging. Lo and behold, he had discovered the UK's first treat hoard.

A border collie, observing the action, used her brain and figured out that there were likely more treat deposits scattered around, and hired a gang of scent hounds to sniff them out and terriers to do the excavation work.

Initially only the larger and shallowest deposits were found, but selective breeding of scent hounds with ever more treat-sensitive noses meant that medium sized treat stores could also be detected, and likewise terriers with bigger and bigger front paws made for ever more effective digging operations. Meanwhile, the increasing global population of dogs meant the market for treats grew and grew, increasing the value of each individual treat.

Naturally it was the canny border collies, in partnership with some poodles, who organised and ran the sale and distribution of the treats and made off with most of the profits, although they did have to pay an annual tribute to a gang of powerful German Shepherds and Rottweilers who also controlled the permits to dig.

No-one knew exactly how many dog treats were buried at the outset, and so estimates of the number left at any point varied considerably. The uncertainty was compounded when the task of calculating remaining treat reserves was sub-contracted to a litter cross-bred from a Bulldog and a Shih Tzu……..*

It was also unclear if, as locally sourced treats became scarcer and scarcer, people would be prepared to pay ever more to extract them, or if they would look to overseas treat supplies instead. And no-one was certain whether further selective breeding could improve performance of the terriers and the scent hounds sufficiently to locate and dig out the remaining small or more deeply buried deposits. The cost of maintaining these precious (in every sense of the word) specialists was already going through the kennel roof.

One dog who without doubt understood all this was an Aberdeen-based billionaire treat magnate, a border collie known as 'Woody'.  Although Woody's judgement had in recent years been called into question when he attempted to move beyond his core expertise and started trying to design a city centre dog park, no-one questioned his deep knowledge of the complexities of the treat business.

And so when he said that there are not so many treats left as a certain power hungry but deceitful Gordon Setter named Alex had claimed (based on so-called 'expert advice' from a grovelling lapdog), then we can all agree that Woody should be believed.

All clear now, I trust.


*Blame Her from Scotsmad for this one…

Elizabeth Duthie and Sir Ian Wood

See this lion in my local park?

He lies, along with his three companions at the foot of a most impressive monument.

Let's have a closer look.

Oh I am so grateful to Elizabeth Crombie Duthie.

Just imagine, without her generous and far-sighted gift, I and so many other local dogs would not be enjoying daily walks Duthie Park, a wonderful green space not far from our home in the city.

What do we know about Miss Duthie? (Quickly consults Wikipedia...)

It seems that she was a member of an affluent local shipbuilding family, yes you've guessed it, the Duthies. She purchased the 42 acre site in 1881 and gave it to the Aberdeen City Council, for the enjoyment of the local people.

I expect you are wondering why I am telling you this.

I am aware that not all of my readers closely follow Aberdeen's politics and affairs.

Well I want you to know that I am not at all against the idea of rich folk using their wealth for the public good.

But for sure I am still bouncing for joy at the news that last month our councillors decided to reject an offer of £50 million from Aberdeen oil billionaire Sir Ian Wood. This money was to part fund a huge vanity project in another part of town, to build a so-called 'City Garden' - actually mostly concrete and totally at odds with the character and heritage of our central Aberdeen - which would have left our local government even further mired in debt than it is already.

Yes you're right, well remembered, I've blogged about this long running controversy before (see 'A visit to Union Terrace Gardens').

Well Sir Ian Wood - who is a bit miffed, to say the least, that his apparently generous donation has been rejected - let me set you a challenge.

You are without doubt a smart and determined chappie, and your entrepreneurial energy has helped bring prosperity to Aberdeen. So I'm sure that if you set your mind to it, you could come up with a plan to spend your money in a way that would bring as much pleasure to as many citizens of Aberdeen (and their dogs) as has Elizabeth Duthie's wonderful Victorian park. And then I promise you I'll be barking my support so loud you'll hear me all the way from Union Terrace Gardens to the Wood Group operations in New Plymouth, New Zealand. (I consulted the company website, and that was the furthest office from the UK shown on their map.)