Done and dunted

WE recently mentioned a footy match where the underdogs became the overlords of all creation.

Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, though it was still pretty darned impressive when Darvel FC managed to dunt the Dons out of the Scottish Cup.

Reader Joe Knox agrees, for he says: “My youngest daughter is always telling me the use of the word marvellous is old-fashioned, but even she can’t quibble with me saying marvellous darvellous.”

Nifty numberplate

EAGLE-EYED David Donaldson was driving towards the Clydeside Expressway when he spied a small van in front of him belonging to a property maintenance and repair company. The registration number of the van was J11Y NER, which amused David, for as he points out: “In Glasgow it's not a joiner you call when something needs repaired – it’s a jyner.”

Page rage

WE’RE discussing school pupils and their curious ways. English teacher Roberta Leslie informed a class they would be reading The Great Gatsby.

“Can’t we just watch the movie?” pleaded one girl, adding: “I just can’t face turning all those pages.”

Tipp-Ex travails

AMERICA has been beset by a series of political shockwaves, with Donald Trump and Joe Biden both conceding that they kept classified documents in their private residencies, even though they should have been safely stored in government property.

Such revelations terrify Jack Murphy from Pumpherston. In a hissed whisper he nervously admits: “Twenty-three years ago I accidentally took a half-full bottle of Tipp-Ex home from the accountancy office where I worked, along with a slightly cracked plastic ruler.

“Somehow I never got round to handing them back. Now I’m praying the FBI don’t have jurisdiction in Pumpherston, or it’ll be Guantanamo Bay for me.”

Rhyme time

YESTERDAY Scotland celebrated the birth of our national Bard, which reminds reader Stuart Parker of a chum of his who struggled unsuccessfully to build a career as a performance poet.

Alas, the poverty-stricken rhymer was never able to pay for a round in the pub.

When it was his time to purchase pints, he’d mournfully repeat these oft used lines: “I’m the brassic Byron o’ the Buroo, a shillingless Shelley who cannae shell oot – boo-hoo.”

Says Stuart: “If all his rhymes had been that good, he might have had more success as a poet.”

Read more from the Diary: Burns and the chieftain of the pudding disgrace

Dead funny

GENEROUS reader Andy Moore tells us: “I’ve been thinking about donating my organs when I die. Though I’m not sure what to do with the rest of my musical instruments…”