Fighting talk

DIARY readers will undoubtedly agree that the UK is in dire need of another reality TV show.

There’s only been a gazillion of them on the box since January, so we could definitely do with a few more.

Which is why we’re so pleased that I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here is returning to our screens.

The Diary Editor, who considers himself one of the nation’s premier superstars, has been readying himself to be invited into the Australian bush, and even purchased a pair of boxing gloves, in case one of the show’s notorious challenges involved fisticuffs with a boozed-up kangaroo.

Unfortunately the Editor’s invitation must have got lost in the post. Though he tells us he’s still delighted with his boxing gloves, and now plans to use them as a sophisticated incentivising tool, to make sure the office scriveners keep up a hectic pace of work.

The scriveners also welcome the boxing gloves, admitting they make a pleasant change from the cat o’ nine tails.

On the subject of tails - or tales, perhaps - here’s some classics from our archives, which will tickle your ribs more than a body shot delivered by a sozzled kangaroo…


Taking the plunge

A FORMER St Aloysius pupil in Glasgow said: “In the late 1950s we had swimming lessons one morning each week, and had to sprint through Cowcaddens to the local public pool, and woe betide any stragglers. The PE teacher was a wee hard man and took no prisoners.

“One luckless lad was seen to be getting changed too slowly, and he was picked up and hurled half-dressed into the pool. As he sailed through the air he yelled the immortal line: ‘Ah’m no’ at your school.’”


Colour conundrum

A READER phoned to ask if we knew the colour of the wind, then he said: “Blew.”


Darn it all

A MIDDLE-AGED lady was spotted coming out of a charity shop in Edinburgh’s Morningside, waving a pair of socks about, and calling back into the shop as a parting shot: “It’s just laziness! They’re still a good pair if you gave them a wash and stitched the holes.”


Half-baked response

A READER recalled potatoes being sold door-to-door. Our reader’s mother, being a farmer’s daughter, and thus familiar with numerous varieties of potatoes, asked the laddie what type they were.

After a brief pause, he replied: “Raw yins, missus.”


Corny confusion

WE recall the woman who ordered a garment whose colour was described as cornflower. She was indignant when it arrived and was blue, for she assumed it would be white, like the cornflour she used in the kitchen.

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The name game

“MY grandma was 80% Irish,” explained a reader. “Her name was Iris.”