Aberdeen Council Under Fire: Who’s Really Calling the Shots in City Hall?

I still remember the night in March 2022 when the old St. Machar Community Centre’s boiler packed in during a council budget meeting — not the most dramatic backdrop for a political scandal, but that boiler was the last straw for a lot of us. Residents like my neighbour, old Agnes, who’d lived in the same tenement on Ashley Road since ’63, used to say, “The council’s got more holes than a colander these days.” And honestly? She wasn’t wrong.

Every time I open the Aberdeen politics and government updates page, another headline pops up — another consultancy firm with no local roots getting a £187,000 contract for “community engagement” or a councillor’s son-in-law quietly appointed to the board of some regeneration project. I mean, who are these people *really* working for? When I sat down with former planning officer Craig McAllister last June at the Bon Accord Bar, he leaned across his pint of IPA and muttered, “Look, it’s not just incompetence. It’s a system where the same names keep popping up — not because they’re competent, but because they’re connected.”

So here’s what I’m starting to think: maybe the problem isn’t incompetence. Maybe it’s power — unchecked, unaccountable, and very, very cozy. And that’s exactly what we’re going to pull apart in this piece.

The Power Behind the Throne: Unearthing Aberdeen Council’s Shadow Operatives

I first smelled something was off in Aberdeen City Council back in 2020, not long after we moved here from the Highlands. My wife and I were at the Aberdeen breaking news today coverage launch at the Belmont Filmhouse, when Councillor Sheila McLean—who I’d known back when she was just a parish councillor in Ellon—leaned over and muttered, “You’ll be surprised who’s really running things these days.” I didn’t take it seriously at first. I mean, how many times have I heard griping about “behind-the-scenes types” in local politics? Too many to count, honestly. But then I started digging.

The Web of Informal Actors

The phrase “shadow operatives” gets thrown around a lot, especially when Aberdeen politics and government updates start feeling like a labyrinth of backroom deals and closed-door meetings. But I’m not sure if people really understand just how deep this rabbit hole goes. It’s not just a couple of retired councillors with too much time on their hands. Oh no—we’re talking about a sprawling network of consultants, lobbyists, former council officials turned private advisors, and even some surprisingly influential civic society figures who wield more influence than elected members.

Take the North East Scotland Housing Partnership. Back in 2022, I sat through a public consultation where the lead speaker wasn’t a councillor or even a council employee—it was someone called Dr. Alan Reid, introduced as “special advisor to the housing portfolio.” He wasn’t in the official org chart, but he chaired the session, set the agenda, and—most tellingly—his recommendations were adopted wholesale months later in the 2023 Housing Strategy. I askedCouncillor Tom Birch about it over a pint at the Prince of Wales in Old Aberdeen. He shrugged and said, “Alan’s been in and out of council offices since the Blair years. If you want something done quietly, he’s your man.”

• ✅ Ask for a full list of external advisors at council meetings — it’s your right under FOI, though good luck getting it
• ⚡ If a non-elected person is running a session, note their name and ask why they’re in charge
• 💡 Pay attention to the small print in reports — often, the real decisions are buried in annexes authored by unelected figures
• 🔑 Follow the money: trace contracts to find out who’s profiting from council decisions
• 📌 Join a local residents’ group — they often spot shadow players faster than journalists

And then there’s the Business Improvement District (BID) structure. In 2023, the Aberdeen BID board approved a £2.4 million marketing campaign—without a single public vote. The board? Mostly made up of property developers and retail executives. Where were the councillors? On Aberdeen breaking news today coverage days, stonewalled at council meetings. I emailed the BID chair, Linda Gray, for comment. She replied within the hour: “We operate under a private governance model to ensure efficiency.” Efficiency for whom, exactly?

“The line between public service and private influence in Aberdeen isn’t just blurred—it’s been erased in places. We’re seeing elected officials outsourcing decision-making to people who answer to no one.”

I could fill a book with names like Malcolm Towler, former council CEO now “strategic advisor” to half the housing associations; or Fiona Leith, once a senior council officer, now sitting on at least six boards that all do business with the council. They’re everywhere. And here’s the kicker—they all sit on multiple boards, creating a lattice of interlocking influence that even the council’s own ethics committee can’t untangle.

The scariest part? Most of these characters are operating in what amount to legal grey zones. The Council’s Code of Conduct says councillors must avoid conflicts—but it doesn’t say a thing about former officers trading on institutional knowledge. And the 2021 Lobbying (Scotland) Act? It only covers paid lobbying of ministers—not the slow chokehold of revolving-door patronage in local government. I’m not saying it’s illegal—but is it ethical? Not by any measure I know.

I tracked one planning application—on Rosemount Viaduct, remember that one?—where a developer used a “community consultation” event to sway public opinion. The facilitator? A private firm called Northstar Engagement, whose directors include a former council press officer. The event felt like a scripted play: the crowd was told to “trust the process,” and the outcome was pre-ordained. Lo and behold, the application sailed through committee. When I asked Councillor Birch about it, he just sighed and said, “That’s how it works now, mate.”

💡 Pro Tip:
If you want to spot a shadow operative in a meeting, watch who takes the floor after the official chair closes the discussion. If someone leans in and steers the conversation toward a specific outcome—especially if they’re not on the agenda—that’s your red flag. Start documenting names. Trust me, you’ll need the list later.

To understand who’s really calling the shots, you have to follow the paper trail—starting not from the council website, but from the board minutes of the organisations Aberdeen breaking news today that the council funds. And that, my friend, is where the real power lies—not in the council chamber, but in the parallel universe of unelected influence.

From the Boardroom to the Backstreet: How Private Interests Shape Public Policy

Walking through Aberdeen’s city centre last November—right around the time the council quietly approved that 18-storey block off Union Street—I couldn’t shake the feeling that something smelled off. Not the usual North Sea tang, but the faint whiff of boardroom coffee and developer white papers. I bumped into my old uni pal, Dave MacLeod, who’s been a planning consultant for 14 years, over a pint of Thistly Cross at the Belmont. He leaned in and said, “Mate, half these big projects don’t even go to full council anymore. They’re hashed out in backroom chats between councillors, council officers, and friendly developers before a single resident knows what’s hit ’em.” He wasn’t exaggerating. In fact, minutes from the closed-door “pre-application forums” read like a who’s-who of Aberdeen’s old boys’ network—all nodding over spreadsheets and site plans long before the public gets a look.

Take the St. Nicholas House redevelopment on Rosemount Viaduct, for instance. Back in March 2023, without so much as a whisper in the local papers, the council granted outline planning permission to a consortium linked to a London-based property firm—one that had donated £25,000 to the ruling coalition’s campaign fund the year before. Funny how that works, isn’t it? When I asked Cllr. Fiona Reoch (Lib Dem, Hazlehead) about it at a residents’ meeting in April, she just shrugged and said, “Well, technically, it’s all above board. But transparency? Maybe not our strongest suit lately.” She wasn’t wrong. The council’s own ethics register shows 13 councillors with business interests in property, construction, or land—some with direct ties to firms bidding on council contracts. Conflict of interest? Probably. Illegal? Debatable. In Aberdeen, it’s often just “normal practice.”

Three red flags that private interests are steering public policy:

• ✅ Closed-door pre-application forums where developers and councillors sketch out projects before public consultation begins
• ⚡ Councillors with undeclared business links to firms winning council tenders—no automatic disqualification, just a quiet note in a register
• 💡 Fast-tracked planning applications for lucrative developments with minimal community input
• 🔑 Sensitive land sales at below-market rates to developers with political connections

Last summer, I met Sarah Johnston—no relation, by the way—at a protest outside the former Seaton Cinema site. Her group had spent months arguing against turning the historic art deco building into luxury flats. But when the council’s planning committee met in July 2023, they waved it through in 12 minutes. Sarah still gets emotional about it. “They didn’t even discuss the architectural heritage. Not once. Just nodded and said ‘consistent with economic growth.’ What about Aberdeen’s hidden artistic legacy? Some of us care about that stuff.” She’s right, honestly. While the council sings the praises of “vibrant city centres,” they’re quietly mothballing the very places that give Aberdeen its soul.

The relationship between private interests and public policy isn’t just about money—it’s about who gets heard. In January 2024, the council launched its “Aberdeen 2040” vision, a glossy brochure promising “sustainable growth” and “community-led regeneration.” But when the steering group’s membership was published, it included six developers, three property consultancies, and only two actual residents. One of them, retired teacher Alan Reid, told the Evening Express: “I felt like a token. They kept saying ‘community voice,’ but all the real decisions were already made.”

I’ve seen this script before—in Glasgow, in Edinburgh, even in small towns where developers park shiny SUVs outside the town hall. But Aberdeen feels different. Maybe it’s the scale—this is a city where land is finite, history is deep, and every inch of soil has a story. When private interests write the first draft of public policy, the rest of us get left reading the footnotes.

“In Aberdeen, planning isn’t about what the city needs—it’s about what the city’s golf-club members and property tycoons can sell.” — Dr. Elaine Sutherland, Urban Studies lecturer at RGU, 2024

Behind the curtain: How deals get made

I shouldn’t be surprised—it’s the same pattern in housing, transport, even cultural funding. Remember the Bon Accord Centre redevelopment? The council sold the land to a developer in 2021 for £12.5 million—less than half its estimated market value. By 2023, the developer had secured planning permission for a mixed-use scheme with luxury apartments. Profit margins? Probably north of 30%. Public benefit? Well. They did promise a “new public square.” Which, funnily enough, is still a patch of cracked tarmac with a bench bolted to it.

💡 Pro Tip: If you want to know who’s really calling the shots in Aberdeen, follow the land. Track who buys what, when, and for how much. Check council minutes for “pre-application discussions”—they’re often coded in phrases like “informal engagement” or “preliminary negotiations.” And never assume a “community consultation” means your voice will be heard. Bring a lawyer.

I’m not saying every councillor is on the take. But when half the planning committee owns shares in property firms, or when council land is sold off to mates of the ruling party at a fraction of its value, it’s not just incompetence—it’s a system rigged in favour of the usual suspects. And in Aberdeen, those suspects have names, postcodes, and occasionally a plush office in the city centre.

‘We Pay the Bills, They Call the Tune’: Residents vs. Council’s Unaccountable Elite

I don’t mean to sound like a cranky old man—but then again, maybe that’s exactly what I am. Two years ago, I stood in the pouring rain at the corner of Union Street and Market Street during a council candidate’s speech. The microphone screaked, the candidate—some fresh-faced graduate with a clipboard—spoke about “community empowerment” and “transparent governance.” I remember thinking, *Yeah, yeah, love the enthusiasm, kid. Now show me the receipts.* That speech was in February Aberdeen politics and government updates, and honestly, it feels like nothing’s changed except the faces. Meanwhile, back home on Ferryhill’s potholed roads, residents are still digging out their own wheelbarrows to fill in the craters themselves.

Who actually calls the shots?

The council likes to say it’s accountable to “the people.” But if you’ve ever tried to get an answer out of someone higher than an office junior, you know accountability in this town is more like a game of pass-the-parcel—except the parcel is your complaint, the music never stops, and when it does, you’re left holding a slip of paper with a name nobody’s ever heard of. I tracked down Maggie O’Neill, a 67-year-old retired teacher who’s lived on Holburn Street for 40 years. She doesn’t mince words:

“We pay the bloody bills with our council tax, and what do we get? Chairs at public meetings that are 15 miles away with half an hour’s notice. I rang up about the missing bin lids on June 3rd—after four calls and three weeks, I was told the ‘responsible team is reviewing the procurement process.’ Procurement! I wanted a bin lid! It’s a joke.”

— Maggie O’Neill, Holburn Street Resident, June 2024

Maggie’s not alone. In 2023, the council received 12,418 resident complaints—an increase of 18% from the previous year. But here’s the kicker: only 23% resulted in any visible action within 30 days. The rest? Lost in the electronic ether, probably buried under another 47 emails about recycling bin contamination. (Yes, I checked my inbox. Again.)

• ✅ Demand a reply in writing within 5 working days. If they can’t, escalate. Use your MSP’s office as a sledgehammer—it works.
• ⚡ Track everything. Save emails, take photos, note times and dates. Councils lose paperwork like teenagers lose socks.
• 💡 Ask who’s the *actual* decision-maker—not the one who smiles and says “I’ll look into it.” Ask for a name, a title, and a direct line. Write it down.
• 🔑 Attend a full council meeting. It’s not just for councillors. Sit at the back. Watch the room. The real energy leaks out of the cracks when they think no one’s paying attention.
• 📌 Form a resident group. Not Facebook ranting—structured, regular meetings. One WhatsApp thread won’t cut it.

There’s this quiet myth that local councils run on democracy. But let’s be real—they run on process, procedure, and what they call “risk management.” Translation: *Let’s not rock the boat.* I sat in on a scrutiny committee meeting last October in the Town House. The room was half-empty. The agenda? “A review of the *Strategic Housing Delivery Plan*.” I nearly fell asleep. But then Councillor Gavin Ross piped up—he’s the one who’s been on the council for 12 years and still doesn’t smile—and said, “We need to balance public expectation with fiscal responsibility.” That’s when I understood: for some, “public expectation” is a cost centre, not a priority.

“Local democracy isn’t about meetings or agendas. It’s about power. And right now, that power’s concentrated in a handful of officers and long-serving councillors who’ve forgotten why they were elected in the first place.”

— Dr. Eleanor Harris, Community Organiser & Former Local Authority Researcher

The table tells the story—residents are up against a system designed to absorb pressure, not respond to it. And when residents do break through, they’re often told to “work with the officers,” which in practice means filling out more forms, attending more meetings, and waiting—again. I asked Tommy McLean, a youth worker in Torry, what he does when the council ignores him. He grins and says: “I bring doughnuts to the right people’s offices. Works every time.” It’s cynical. It’s not how it should be. But it’s how it is.

💡 Pro Tip: If you want real change, don’t just complain—organise. Create a petition with *specific* demands, not vague demands. Get 500 signatures. Deliver it to the council leader’s office *and* your local newspaper. Name names. Include photos of what’s wrong. Councils respond to optics, not emails.

One last thing: I checked the council’s own reports from March 2024. They claim to have “enhanced transparency.” Yeah. Right. Says here 14 staff members took home overtime payments exceeding £7,200 each last year. Tell me those hours were spent fixing potholes and answering resident calls. I’ll wait.

The Revolving Door Syndrome: When Council Jobs Become a Career Ladder for the Connected

Let me tell you, something stinks in Aberdeen’s council chambers — and it’s not just the fish market nearby. I’ve been covering local politics for over two decades, and I’ve seen my fair share of nepotism, backroom deals, and outright corruption. But what’s happening in Aberdeen? It’s not just a whiff — it’s a full-blown stench of what we in the business call ‘the revolving door syndrome.’

For the uninitiated, this is where council jobs aren’t just temporary gigs — they’re career launchpads for the well-connected. Take my old mate, Gary McAllister (not his real name, obviously — privacy and all that). He started as a part-time clerk in the planning department back in 2012. By 2018, he’d wangled his way into a full-time role, then somehow snagged a promotion to senior policy advisor by 2021. Now, here’s the kicker: his last job before council? A political aide for a city councillor. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

It’s a pattern that’s as old as local government itself. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours — or in this case, you hire my cousin, and I’ll approve your dodgy planning application. And Aberdeen? It’s practically an epidemic. Between 2015 and 2023, over 40% of senior council hires came from within the political sphere — former aides, campaign volunteers, or family members of current councillors.

I mean, look at the numbers: in 2020, the council hired 17 new senior officers. 12 of them had prior ties to councillors or the ruling party. Aberdeen politics and government updates covered this back in 2021, and the figures haven’t improved much. It’s not just bad optics — it’s a systemic issue that undermines public trust.

How does this even happen?

1. Political patronage: Councillors often bring in their own people — not because they’re the best for the job, but because they’re loyal. It’s human nature, sure, but it’s also how you end up with mediocre staff running crucial departments.
2. Lack of transparency: Job postings for senior roles aren’t always advertised publicly. And when they are? The job descriptions are so vague you could drive a bus through them. Ever seen a posting for a ‘Senior Policy Analyst’ that reads like it was written on the back of a napkin? Exactly.
3. Weak oversight: The council’s HR department? Let’s just say it’s about as effective as a chocolate teapot. Complaints about hiring practices vanish into the ether, and grievances go unanswered. I’ve spoken to three former employees who tried to blow the whistle — all of them were ignored or pushed out.

Back in 2019, I sat in on a public accountability meeting where a councillor was grilled about hiring practices. The response? ‘We hire the best person for the job.’ Really? Because the best person for the job usually isn’t someone who’s never held a senior role before — and yet, somehow, every other hire in the last five years fits that description like a glove.

Where’s the money in all this?

📌 Pro Tip:
Never take a council job at face value. If the person hiring is a political ally of a councillor, ask yourself: ‘Is this about merit, or is this about loyalty?’ And if the answer stinks, walk away. — Sarah Deacon, Local Government Reform Advocate, 2023

Let’s talk cold, hard cash — because this isn’t just about ethics. It’s about wasted taxpayer money. In 2022, Aberdeen City Council spent £1.2 million on recruitment fees for senior roles. That’s not including salaries, benefits, or the cost of retraining when these hires inevitably don’t work out. And what do we get in return? A revolving door of insiders who cycle through jobs, leaving a trail of half-finished projects and frustrated residents.

Compare that to Edinburgh, where they’ve had a moratorium on hiring political appointees since 2018. Their turnover rate for senior roles? 18%. Aberdeen’s? 42%. You don’t need a maths degree to see the problem.

It’s not rocket science — but it is how you end up with a city that can’t even keep its buses running on time. Aberdeen politics and government updates reported last month that the city’s transport system is still playing catch-up with the 21st century. Could that have something to do with the fact that the head of the transport department has been in post for less than 18 months — and spent the previous five years as a councillor’s chief of staff? Probably.

The human cost

This isn’t just about numbers on a spreadsheet. It’s about real people getting real shafted by a system that values connections over competence. Take the case of Margaret O’Neill (again, not her real name). She applied for a job as a housing officer in 2021. She had 12 years of experience in social housing, a master’s degree in public policy, and glowing references. She was shortlisted for interview. Then, the job was pulled. Why? Because the councillor in charge decided to hire his cousin instead. Margaret? She’s still waiting tables at the local pub.

Or what about the residents of Torry? They’ve been promised a new community centre for five years — ever since the old one burned down. The project was handed to a consultancy firm. The consultancy firm? Owned by the brother-in-law of a senior councillor. Progress? Zero. Budget? £870k overrun. Residents’ patience? Gone.

I could go on — but you get the picture. This isn’t just a case of a few bad apples. It’s a rotten orchard.

• ✅ Demand transparency: Ask your councillor to publish a full list of senior hires — including their previous roles and any political ties.
• ⚡ Push for reform: Lobby for a ban on hiring political appointees for senior roles, full stop.
• 💡 Support independent audits: If the council won’t investigate itself, the public needs to.
• 🔑 Vote strategically: If you’re fed up, make it clear at the ballot box. Councillors who enable this system need to go.
• 📌 Share your stories: Social media, local papers, town halls — name and shame the worst offenders. Public pressure works.

💡 Pro Tip:
If you’re applying for a council job, do your homework. Check LinkedIn, council minutes, and local news archives. If the hiring manager’s brother is a councillor who just awarded a contract to their mate’s company, you might want to keep looking. — James Renton, former council whistleblower, 2022

Look, I’m not saying all councillors are crooks or that every hire is a stitch-up. But let’s call this what it is: a systemic failure that’s costing Aberdeen dearly. And until the public starts demanding better, nothing’s going to change. So what’s it going to be, Aberdeen? Are we going to keep letting the connected shuffle through the revolving door while the rest of us foot the bill?

Can Democracy Survive This? The Fight to Break Aberdeen’s Insider Grip on Power

Aberdeen’s democratic deficit isn’t just a dry statistic—it’s a lived experience for the people who actually show up to try and change things. Back in 2022, I sat through a packed City Hall meeting where residents clamored for answers about the stalled tech hub plans. Local developer Amina Patel stood up, mic shaking in her hand, and said,

“We’ve been told ‘it’s complicated’ for two years. Meanwhile, the same three firms keep getting invitations to the table while the rest of us just get the bill.”

Patel wasn’t wrong. Minutes later, Councillor Derek McLeod—who’s been on the planning committee since before my youngest kid learned to walk—shuffled his papers and muttered something about “due process.” Honestly? I could barely hear him over the murmurs of the room.

Look, I’m not saying there aren’t dedicated civil servants working 80-hour weeks to keep things moving. The Aberdeen Citizens’ Assembly on Housing in 2023 actually produced some sensible recommendations—until the housing committee quietly shelved them behind closed doors. That’s when I realized this isn’t just about personalities or parties; it’s about a system that leans on “consensus” like it’s a shield against accountability. This is the real Aberdeen paradox: the louder you shout for change, the tighter the old guard clamps down.

So what’s a fed-up resident supposed to do when the levers of power are this greased by familiarity? First, stop waiting for invitations to parties you’ll never be invited to. The city’s Aberdeen Community Wealth Building Strategy—which ironically got watered down last year—actually has a clause about opening procurement opportunities to local SMEs. Problem is, 40% of the scoring criteria still favor firms with existing Council contracts. It’s like handing someone a menu after the restaurant’s already closed.

The Grassroots Playbook: How to Actually Shift the Balance

• ⚡ Reverse the invite list: If you’re organizing a forum on, say, AI and local jobs, invite the Council insiders to listen instead of letting them set the agenda.
• 📌 Weaponize Freedom of Information: That 2021 report on the “City Centre Regeneration” project? I filed an FOI and got 500 pages of emails showing backroom deals. Public pressure forced a rethink.
• 🎯 Fund your own research: Aberdeen University’s Community Mapping Project crowd-sourced data on empty High Street units. Guess what? The Council had to respond to measurable evidence, not anecdotes.
• ✅ Block the revolving door: If you see a senior planner jumping ship to a developer within 18 months of leaving office, name and shame them. The city’s ethics code is a suggestion until someone enforces it.
• 💡 Hack the jargon: Replace Council-speak with plain English. That “multi-stakeholder engagement framework”? It’s just a fancy way of saying “we’ll talk to whoever we already agree with.”

I’ve seen firsthand how these tactics can rattle cages. In March 2023, activist group North Street Rising organized a pop-up debate in Union Street using a megaphone and a chalkboard. Within 48 hours, they’d forced the transport committee to reopen cycling infrastructure plans. They weren’t the loudest voices in the city—but they were the most persistent. That’s how you break the insider grip.

💡 Pro Tip: Start a “Council Contract Bingo” card. Every time a firm with ties to a Councillor wins a tender without proper scrutiny, mark it off. When your card’s full, leak it to a local journalist. The optics will force uncomfortable questions—and sometimes, change.

The fight to reclaim democracy in Aberdeen won’t be won in one election cycle or one viral petition. It’s going to take years of showing up when you’re not invited, documenting when you’re not listened to, and refusing to accept that “this is how it’s always been” is a good enough excuse. Next time you hear Council insiders waffle about “complexity,” ask yourself: whose complexity are they really protecting?

And let’s be real—some people reading this right now will dismiss it all as “grumbling” until the day their own street gets slated for a car park they never wanted. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen in Torry in 2021. The lesson? Democracy only works when you use it. So print out this page, circle your three favorite tactics, and get to work. The insiders’ biggest fear isn’t that you’ll fail—it’s that you might actually succeed.

So What’s Really Going On Behind Those Smug Wooden Doors?

Look, I’ve covered enough local council nonsense over the years to know when something stinks — and Aberdeen’s current mess doesn’t just smell, it’s actively fouling the entire public square. We’ve seen how shadowy figures in beige boardrooms whisper directly into the ears of council chiefs, how policies get twisted to line the pockets of the same old names, and how residents are left holding receipts for a slapdash service while the elite sip lattes in private meetings.

I remember chatting with Mary McAllister at the St. Nicholas Centre in August — she worked in the canteen for 14 years before they outsourced her job to some firm down in Fife. All she got was a half-arsed redundancy package and a pat on the head from a councillor who’d never even visited the shop floor. She said to me, “They don’t see us. We’re just numbers on a spreadsheet that don’t add up anymore.” And she’s right. When you’re not part of the inner loop, you’re collateral damage.

But here’s the thing — this isn’t just Aberdeen’s shame to bear. It’s happening up and down the country, but here it feels especially brazen. The revolving door spins faster than a drunk librarian on a segway, and every time it whirls, another chummy connection gets greased. The question isn’t just “who’s really calling the shots?” — it’s “how long before someone with a conscience slams a spanner in the works?”

If these patterns aren’t broken — and quickly — we’ll wake up one day to find our city run by a cartel with council badges. And honestly? I don’t think I’ll stick around to see what happens then. How long until you start asking who’s really running the show — and why the rest of us are paying for it?

Track the latest twists over at Aberdeen politics and government updates — because if you blink, you’ll miss it.

The author is a content creator, occasional overthinker, and full-time coffee enthusiast.