Jim Alder, Scotland's last Commonwealth marathon champion (1966, in Kingston) presented the marathon medals at Hampden yesterday.

He was concerned that his tickets and accreditation would not turn up, but got them at the last minute. Alder also won 10,000 metres bronze that year, defying officials who said he must not run but instead conserve his energy. Menzies Campbell, the future Liberal Democrats leader and a sprinter on the Scottish team, helped sneak him into a taxi to the start. "Scottish officials grudgingly congratulated me - then told me I had better not mess up in the marathon. No pressure!"

It may be Craig MacLean's colossal thighs that helped power him and Neil Fachie to double gold on their tandem bike, but his backside seems to be garnering all the attention. Reportedly a raft of media outlets are looking for more information on the Speysider's sculpted gluteus maximus. "I think it needs its own twitter account," MacLean tweeted yesterday. "I'm open to name suggestions . . ."

Spectators heading to the rugby sevens final at Ibrox yesterday were guided through the streets of Govan by a series of signs featuring a pictogram of a pedestrian striding purposefully towards the stadium. At least that's what most of them showed, but one of them had been cleverly altered with a marker pen to give the figure a walking stick and a pronounced stoop. A comment, perhaps, on Rangers' recent transfer activity?

The eldest diarist limping away from the marathon witnessed a scene of such pathos that he buckled under it, reduced to uttering a strangled sob. And not for the first time in the Barras. An unidentified woman athlete who had just completed the event was hirpling towards a Commonwealth Games vehicle but her relieved sigh was replaced with a groan as a Games official gently pointed out that her bus was "just a couple of hundred yards up the road". After all, what is an extra furlong after one has galloped 26 miles and 385 yards?

Overheard in Finnieston . . . The security levels are predictably high and the mass of police is supported by a cadre of officers carrying automatic weapons. "They must be expecting trouble,'' said one Glesca soul. His mate replied: "Either that or they are ushers at a Paisley wedding."