Nuts to Snickers

SOULFUL singer and former Glasgow Uni student Lloyd Cole lives in the US these days, which must be very glam. Though Lloyd admits life can be a bit of a dog-eat-dog drama in the land of the free (market).

“There’s a vending machine in my swish San Francisco hotel charging $4 for a Snickers bar,” he reports in a fit of pique, adding: “For late night drunks only... who else would pay?”

The Diary has a shortage of economic experts on our reporting staff, though by huddling together in a corner and counting our combined number of fingers and toes we’ve managed to calculate what $4 is in real money, i.e. pound sterling.

We can now officially reveal that in UK currency $4 = a ridiculously large dollop o’ dosh for a choccy bar.

Conclusion: Lloyd was right to rant.

The name game

STORM Ciara, Tale Number 1: In these End of Days times, with wild winds warping Scotland, reader Bob Graham gets in touch to demand extreme weather conditions are given more appropriate names. For a start, he’d like to see the UK’s favourite rapper get a shout-out.

“The next storm that comes our way should definitely be called Stormzy,” he argues rather persuasively.

Modern romance

WITH the countdown to Valentine’s Day under way, a public relations company gets in touch to say they’ve undertaken in-depth research into the World of Lurv. They inform us that in the modern dating game there are now such trends as ghosting, benching, orbiting, cushioning, zombieing and breadcrumbing.

The Diary doesn’t have a clue what any of the above means, though we do yearn for the simpler days of the schoolyard, when the close confidante of a young debutante would grab an eligible bachelor by the arm and hiss in his ear: “Ma pal fancies you.”

Pub talk

FUMBLED phrases continued. Gordon Fisher was in Glasgow's trendy West End on Saturday with a friend who lives in a more rural area and subsequently has a slightly parochial world view. This bloke spoke of his intention of getting some much-needed sustenance (to act as a sponge for the copious quantities of ale he'd quaffed). When Gordon suggested a certain well-known hostelry nearby he looked at our man in disgust and asked if it was: "wan o they gastric pubs"?

Cheesy chat

STORM Ciara, Tale Number 2: The trainee minister at the Milngavie church attended by Robin Gilmour opened Sunday’s sermon with a topical tale. She noted that the atrocious weather conditions had also hit parts of France, with wicked winds blowing the roof off a local cheese factory. Resulting, of course, in "de Brie" all over the place.

Read more: Denny’s no more, 1963 and 1964