Posh purchasing

THE Diary was sad to hear that Edinburgh’s landmark Princes Street store Jenners is to close after 183 years of trading.

Reader David Black reminisces about the days when you could tell an Edinburgh lady by the cut of her fur coat, and a gent by the size of his Dundreary whiskers. An era when Jenners emporium was the creme de la creme of upmarket department stores, where only the elite could afford to shop.

Those with aspirations, though lacking the necessary means, often visited the much less exclusive J&R Allan on South Bridge.

Thus when faced with the question: “Och, where did you get that lovely het, Senga?” one might salvage some social credit with the slurred reply: “Oh, it was Jay an Rs, Betty.”

Dead language

THE Diary has been investigating the mysteries of medical terminology. John Carmichael from Broughty Ferry says that in Dundee the seriousness of an illness can be altered by rearranging the order of words. A person who is “No’ affy weel” may simply have a bad cold, whereas if they are “Affy no’ weel” the relatives are likely to be gathering at the bedside.

Planetary concerns

PUZZLED Rab Henderson from Falkirk wants to know if members of the Flat Earth Society ever go on round the world cruises.

Love’s sharp pangs

LOVE means never having to say you’re sorry. It also means getting jabbed in the arm with a pointy implement, first thing in the morning. At least it does for Moira Love (yup, that’s her real name) from Cumbernauld, who informs us that she and her husband have been booked to get their coronavirus vaccines at 8.15am on Sunday, February 14, an auspicious day in any lovey-dovey’s diary.

The appointment means there will be no petal-strewn breakfast in bed.

“Though maybe we’ll be offered chocolates and a glass of Bucks Fizz on arrival at the vaccine centre,” says Moira, who is as much an optimist as she is a romantic.

Hoping for hopping

A PAL of reader Fred Robertson still enjoys whizzing around on a skateboard, even though he’s now 47 years old.

Fred inquired if it wasn’t time he hung up his wheels and found a more mature mode of transport.

“Good idea,” said the pal. “I’ve always wanted to try a Space Hopper.”

Trash talk

WE continue devising alternative meanings for well-known locations. Joe Knox suggests: Rothesay = That man talks rubbish.

Boozy birdies

HISTORICALLY-MINDED reader Matt Hannah tells us: “Before the crowbar was invented crows just drank at home.”

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