Not all white

AMIDST the Brexit burach we console ourselves with Diary stories from the rest of the EU we have featured in recent years, including the Motherwell reader on holiday in the south of France who was watching a white-faced mime artist performing on the promenade. Said our reader: "As people watched him, a chap walking past wearing a Glasgow football top did not break stride but made an exaggerated mime of putting his hand in his pocket then throwing imaginary coins in the artist's cap, and carried on walking."

Got his back up

A READER on holiday in Spain realised that the couple lying next to him at the hotel pool were from Glasgow when the chap, who was admittedly very hirsute on his back, asked his wife to rub some sun-tan oil on him. After a few seconds of rubbing, she exclaimed loudly in an unmistakable west coast accent: "Ma goad, Robert. It's like rubbing custard on a shagpile carpet."

Fruity reply

WE remember former referee Brian McGinlay officiating in Spain when his linesman was hit by a pomegranate thrown from the crowd. Writing the match report, Brain wasn't convinced his spelling of pomegranate was correct, and neither of his linesmen were sure. So his report to Fifa explained:"My linesman was struck on the head with an orange."

Colourful remark

NOR do we forget the classic joke of the Glasgow couple who splashed out on an upmarket hotel in Spain where they found themselves lounging at the pool beside a history professor and his wife. The prof turned to the Glasgow chap and asked: "Read Marx?" "Yes," he replied. "I think it's those wicker chairs."


IT HAS always been tricky for Scots communicating with those whose native tongue is different to their own. A Bellshill reader was in a shop in the famous pilgrimage town of Lourdes in France, where a wee Glasgow wummin was attempting to ascertain the price of rosary beads. Her question: "Whit dae these come in at, hen?" appeared to confuse the shopkeeper somewhat.

You name it

TALKING of language, a reader in Texas came across a local businessman named Jim Apple and whimsically wondered if it would be confusing if he tried to book a hotel room in France. And that story reminded a modern languages teacher of kicking off a test with the relatively simple name enquiry: "Comment t'appelles tu?" One pupil simply looked at her and replied: "Aye, you've got me there, miss."

Camping it up

GOING further back in time, a reader was recalling his days stationed in Germany with the Scots Guards, and being ordered by the sergeant to go out and water the roses in the flower beds. "But sergeant," he pointed out, "it's raining." Confirming that folk in the Army don't always think the same way as others, the sergeant barked back: "So what? You've got raincoats haven't you?"

A l'eau blow

A READER once heard a passenger on the bus into Glasgow bemoan the fact that foreign translations are so easily available online. He was telling his mate: "Brought the girlfriend some perfume back from Spain. Then she spoils it by going online and discovering the name translated as 'Tester. Not for sale'."


"I WANTED to book a holiday in the South of France," said the chap in the pub. "But the wife wants to spend the money on having a boob job," "So." said his mate, "it's Monte Carlo or bust?"