Bog awful

THE Diary occasionally likes to boldly go where no self-respecting journalist has gone before. That includes barging unannounced into a public toilet, the setting for this tale from reader Ross Mattison. Ross found himself struggling to wash his hands at the sink in a restaurant restroom. It was one of those posh porcelain palaces where the designer has decided it would be far too naff to install ‘bog’-standard hot and cold taps. “I had no idea how to proceed,” sighs Ross. “Let my hands hover over the sink, hoping a heat sensor would start the water running? Or was there a camouflaged nodule I should press, twist or flick?” Luckily another bloke arrived to aid Ross in his plight. Unfortunately neither man could then figure out how to operate the hand-dryers.

Lotto means lesso

COMEDIAN and panto regular, Johnny Mac, may soon be able to quit the struggle and strife of the showbiz life. He reveals that he’s just had a major lottery win. (Well, kinda.) “What a week,” trills Johnny. “A £3.10 win on EuroMillions plus £2.50 on the lottery. And it only cost me £20.”

Wedding word whoopsie

A RECENT Diary wedding yarn reminds Kilbirnie reader Russell Smith of the father of the bride, who, trying to be nice to the groom’s mother, complimented her on her lovely wee fornicator. No, he wasn’t referring to the poor woman’s son. He meant to say fascinator.

Heil-y unlikely link

MORE instances of celebrities with a tenuous link to Scotland. Although this one’s not so much a celeb as a crazed, evil maniac. (Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between the two.) Reader Moira Campbell tells us that when reading about World War II she suddenly realised, with a shudder, that a prominent Nazi may have had Scottish roots. She’s referring to Hitler’s hideous side-kick, of course…. Joseph Gorbals.

Lewis still lumpy

WE may have bagged a winner in our search to find a new arch enemy for pop star Lewis Capaldi. (Quick recap: Lewis was enjoying a long-running barney with grumpy, Noel Gallagher. They’ve made up, since, leaving our local lad in need of a nifty new nemesis.) We’ve decided that Lewis should be battling his gym instructor, who clearly isn’t doing a sterling job of turning the Bathgate-born singer into a svelte saucepot. “How annoying,” grumbles Lewis. “When you eat healthy and go to the gym for a few weeks but are still a fat gimp.”

Go… or no?

WE conclude with some whimsy regarding marital woe. (Yup, we’ll even joke about that.) Reader John Murphy tells us his wife packed his bags and ordered him to leave. As he trudged to the door she yelled after him: “I wish you a slow and painful death, you swine!” John turned to her and said: “O-ho, so now you want me to stay?”