Dull duo

SPORTING fella Ian Noble from Carstairs Village notes that it’s the annual Boat Race this Sunday, though, alas, he is not tremendously excited about the occasion.

“I stopped watching it years ago,” grumbles Ian, “because it’s boring. The same two teams in the final every year.”

(For the same reason the Diary stopped taking an interest in UK politics – also a two-boat sprint – a very, VERY long time ago. Though we do wish that nice Mr Gladstone good luck when he next comes into conflict with Mr Disraeli.)


WE’RE discussing dodgy din-din descriptions, where ditzy diners get confused while ordering a meal. Russell Smith from Largs overheard an American visitor to these shores cunningly attempting to blend into his surroundings in a Scottish restaurant by saying to the waiter: “I guess I’ll try some of that good ol’ leekie cockie soup.”

Band boss

THE Diary recently discovered that the tram equivalent of a trainspotter is affectionately referred to as a tramorak.

Now Gordon Casely gets in touch to tell us what the leader of a band of buskers is called… a buskerductor.

Baby… maybe

OVERHEARD in a Glasgow café. A vocal young fellow was explaining his thoughts regarding his future.

“I really don’t know if I should get married and have babies,” he explained to a friend. “A baby means happiness, joy, the continuation of life. No baby is money, lack of responsibility, no one to care about but myself.”

“It’s a no-brainer, really,” said his friend.

“Yeah, you’re right,” agreed the first chap. “No baby it is.”

Screwy season

THE weather has been doing that confusing thing it often does round these parts. One moment the sun is shining coquettishly; two minutes later the rain threatens to turn Scotia into a new Atlantis.

Reader Shirley Grant was discussing this discombobulating phenomenon with a pal.

“Yes,” agreed the pal. “I always think that March is neither winter nor spring, just some weird hingmy in the middle. That’s why I call it Springmy.”

Bru poo

THE wife of reader Ted Hewitt recently bought herself some Irn-Bru shower gel plus an Irn-Bru soap.

After using them, she stormed into the bedroom in her dressing gown and said: “They’re horrible. I smell of Irn-Bru.”

“What exactly did you think would happen?” wondered Ted.

Windy witterings

LITERARY Diary correspondent Samantha Sullivan gets in touch to tell us she’s working on a book about hurricanes and tornadoes.

“It's only a draft at the moment,” she adds.

Read more: Having a vision is key to a spec-tacular life