Team talk

IN a former life the Diary Editor was a young rapscallion, rampaging around the town of Livingston.

Being a shy and retiring rapscallion, he never joined any of the gangs proliferating at the time, for this was the era before Instagram and TikTok, when teens had to devise their own entertainment, which mostly involved lurking menacingly.

Those savage yoofs of yore are currently being recalled on social media, with shout-outs to the Livi Punks, Skinz, Craigshill Rowdies and Deans Chippie Mob. (Connoisseurs of fried cuisine, apparently.)

Other exotic - possibly mythological - gangs from the region have been mentioned, including the Howden Holograms and the Bussy Hussies, whose abiding passion was to congregate at bus stops.

The most inspiring social media comment is delivered by a Livi chap who haughtily drizzles scorn on the notorious gang culture.

“We were too busy playing tennis and croquet to interact with ruffians,” he snips.


Extra! Extra!

KICKYBALL fan Ian Noble from Carstairs Village watched a match between St Mirren and Aberdeen.

“Given the amount of added time played,” he harrumphs, “it could be described as a game of three halves.”


Pea-ing down

THE Diary recently shone a spotlight on Ethel, our 93-year-old office tea lady. 

Which reminds Robin Gilmour from Milngavie of a grand feast which took place at a venerable Scottish varsity.

The dignitaries were clad in their splendiferous robes and were being served by an elderly waitress.

Being a tad shaky, she accidentally emptied a bowl of peas into the Chancellor’s hood.

“Oops! Sorry, son,” she warbled, “Ah’ve just pit aw ma peas in yer pixie.”


Money matters 

SOUND financial advice from reader Claire Thomson: “They say the camera adds ten pounds. So take photos of your credit card.”


Lunching on lit

“IT’S often claimed everyone has a book inside them,” says John Mulholland. “Mine was a bit dry and tasteless, nonetheless I managed to swallow it.”


Fighting talk

A PAL of reader Jim Morrison once visited London with family. Getting on the tube, he and his son spotted the late actor Mark McManus, who was reading a book.

“Look, dad,” trilled the son, “it’s Taggart!”

“It's not Taggart,” corrected dad, “it's Mick McManus.”

“It's not Mick McManus,” growled the actor, not looking up from his book. “It's Mark McManus.”

Still glaring at his book, he added: “Mick McManus is a wrestler… and not a £$%^&*@ good one, either.”


The anatomy lesson

BONING up on his medical knowledge, reader Ronald Hicks tells us: “The most musical part of your skeleton is your trom-bone.”