IN the 1980s reader David Gray attended a stag weekend in Padstow, Cornwall. After a few beers the revellers wobbled their way to a swanky fish and chip restaurant where the nosh was top notch. In no hurry to leave, the lads ordered more beer and prepared to treat their fellow diners to a hearty sing-song.

At which point the owner of the gaff materialised and kindly offered to half the cost of the bill if the stag party staggered off pronto. “Years later, when he became famous, we realised we’d been politely moved on by Rick Stein,” says David, proudly.

Dolly grip

THE following tale may be hard to follow for those without an engineering background, as it focuses on the intricacies involved in car maintenance. John Lawson, from West Kilbride, tells us he had to explain to an auto mechanic that he had Dolly Parton stuck in his car’s CD player. The canny car expert immediately arrived at a solution to the problem. “Have you asked her to breathe out?” he enquired.

Offensive language

PHILOSOPHICAL thought for the day comes from comedian John O’Brien who asks: “Has anybody ever heard someone say ‘No offence,’ and then followed it up with something that isn’t offensive?”

To which we respond: “No offence, John. But isn’t that a rather daft question?”

Tea-ing up

AS a result of his disastrous Newsnight interview, Prince Andrew has become the butt of numerous jokes. Though it transpires that ridiculing Andy isn’t a new national pastime and has, in fact, long been a pleasurable and diverting entertainment for the masses. Reader Norrie Brown informs us that a few years ago, when Prince Andrew was patron of the Young Champions Trophy, he was at Dundonald Links in Ayrshire to watch the golf. Spying the Prince, a caddy on an adjoining fairway yelled over to him: “Hey, Andy, yer maw’s on the phone. Yer tea’s oot!”

Scrambled thoughts

REGULAR readers have no doubt been sighing with relief, believing

the Scatter/Scramble debate over.

To which we respond: Nuh-uh. Kenneth Morin joins the argy-bargy by claiming it was definitely a scramble during his childhood in the south side of Glasgow. He also provides more details regarding the custom, whereby children hounded a wedding party, demanding dosh. “The waiting crowd of kids (and some older folk) would shout “Hard-up, hard-up!” to encourage those departing in wedding cars and taxis to be generous with their largesse,” says Kenneth, fondly recalling those halcyon days of

Mafia-lite shakedowns.

Half-baked advert

GAG time, courtesy of reader Paul Boyle. A sign in a baker’s window proudly proclaims all cakes cost a pound. A man enters the shop and chooses a mouth-watering cake, for which he’s charged an eye-watering £2. Understandably aggrieved, he protests against this false advertising. To which the baker responds: “Ah, but that’s madeira cake.”